Pregnancy After Miscarriage: Learning to Hope Again

Written by Emma Whiting.

March 2020.

The Isle of Man went into lockdown, and amongst all the uncertainty of those early days of Covid, my first son, Jack, was born.

He was five months old when I found out I was pregnant again.

I remember the total disbelief. This pregnancy hadn’t been planned, and my emotions were complicated. I already had this tiny baby at home, and suddenly there was another pregnancy to process. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to feel excited, overwhelmed, frightened, or all three at once.

Then, at an early scan, we found out we were expecting twins! Everything changed in that moment.

Because the pregnancies were so close together, I was offered and having regular scans. However at 15 weeks, we went for another scan expecting to see two little heartbeats. Instead, we were told that one of our babies no longer had a heartbeat.

We were given information about what to expect and told that a miscarriage was likely to happen within the following days.

But what happened wasn’t what we’d been prepared for. Over the next week, we lost both of our babies.

There is something particularly difficult about losing babies when you are already a mum. I had Jack at home. I had this beautiful, tiny baby who needed me, who was completely unaware of what had happened, while I was trying to process losing two babies I had already begun imagining a life with.

The rest of my maternity leave was incredibly difficult.

I was supposed to be enjoying those precious months with my son, but I couldn’t escape the feeling of what had been taken away. I felt guilty for not being able to enjoy that time with him in the way I thought I should.

And then the twins’ due date came and I remember struggling to make it through that day.

It felt as though the rest of the world carried on as normal, while for me, that date represented two babies who should have been here.

After that, my mental health deteriorated. Depression spiralled and anxiety grew. I threw myself into work, partly because keeping busy was easier than sitting with how I felt.

For more than a year, I didn’t prioritise myself. Not physically. Not mentally. I just kept going.

Working as a nurse gave me something else to focus on, but eventually the constant busyness caught up with me. My relationships were affected too. I felt as though nobody truly understood what I was feeling, and at times I felt that nobody else cared about the babies in the way I did.

There was a loneliness to grief that I hadn’t expected.

Eventually, after a period of burnout and stress, I reached a point where I couldn’t carry everything on my own anymore. Through sickness from work, I was referred to the local community mental health services.

That referral became a turning point.

They supported me through CBT, helped me find the right medication, and, perhaps most importantly, encouraged me to start prioritising myself again.

Slowly, I began to look after my physical health alongside my mental health. I started to feel more like myself.

And somewhere along that journey, something changed.

I began to contemplate the idea of having another baby. The thought was exciting, but it was also terrifying.

Because after miscarriage, pregnancy doesn’t necessarily begin with uncomplicated joy- It begins with memory.

You know what it feels like to see those two lines and imagine a future, only to have that future disappear. You know that a heartbeat can be there one day and gone the next. You know that reaching a certain number of weeks doesn’t automatically make you feel safe.

So when I eventually became pregnant again, I wasn’t simply carrying a baby. I was carrying hope, fear, grief, anxiety and everything I had experienced before.

Earlier this year in May, I found out I was pregnant again.

I’m not sure I will ever be able to describe the emotions of that moment properly. Of course there was happiness, but it wasn’t the uncomplicated happiness I might once have imagined pregnancy would bring.

There was fear. There was real anxiety.

There was a constant voice in the back of my mind reminding me of what had happened before.

Every milestone has felt significant. Every scan carried an enormous amount of emotion. I found myself trying to stay present while simultaneously protecting myself from the possibility of losing another baby.

But slowly, week by week, this pregnancy has began to feel more real.

And recently, we found out that our little baby is a girl.

A daughter.

After losing two babies, being told that we are having a little girl has been incredibly emotional. I have found myself thinking about how different this pregnancy feels from the one I had before, and about how much has happened between then and now.

I don’t think finding out I’m having a daughter suddenly erased the fear I’ve carried throughout this pregnancy. It didn’t erase the grief either.

Instead, it reminded me that two things can exist at the same time. I can miss the babies I lost and love the little girl growing inside me.

I can remember the pregnancy that ended and still feel hopeful about the pregnancy I’m living through now.

I can be frightened and excited. I can carry grief and joy together.

My babies who I lost will always be part of my story. They were real, they were loved and they mattered. Becoming pregnant again hasn’t changed that.

If anything, this pregnancy has made me realise just how much I have carried with me over the years.

The depression. The anxiety. The grief. The guilt. The feeling that nobody understood. The burnout. The decision to finally ask for help. The work I had to do to find myself again.

I don’t think healing meant getting to a point where I stopped thinking about what happened.

For me, healing has meant reaching a point where I can think about it without it completely consuming me.

And now, as I look towards January 2027 and imagine meeting our little girl, I am allowing myself to hope (even though I’m still scared). 

I’m sure there will be moments between now and meeting her when that fear creeps back in.

But I’m also allowing myself to feel excited.

To imagine her.

To talk about her.

To buy little things for her.

To picture Jack becoming a big brother.

To imagine our family growing.

After everything, perhaps that is the biggest thing this pregnancy has taught me.

Hope doesn’t mean that you have forgotten your loss.

It doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed a happy ending.

It simply means that, despite everything you’ve been through, you are willing to believe in something good again.

And after miscarriage, learning to hope again can be one of the bravest things you do.