On August 6 2021, I had a miscarriage. It was my first pregnancy and I was 13 weeks. My first  ultrasound was scheduled for the following Monday, and we were just getting ready to tell all of  our friends. I remember I was working that day, and when I went to the washroom and saw  pink I tried not to panic. I told my husband, and he googled what I already had—that it can be  perfectly normal to have some spotting—but I think I knew in my gut what was happening.  

I’m not sure how I expected to feel afterwards, but I never expected to feel such deep grief,  loneliness and confusion. I didn’t expect these feelings to linger for so long. In January of 2022,  not long after starting to try to conceive again, I found out I was pregnant. My emotions were  all over the place but the one I felt most was fear. 

Cautiously optimistic, I remember using that phrase a lot. I was scared to eat the wrong thing,  or to do anything too strenuous. I worried about the hot bath I took and that wine I drank  before I knew I was pregnant. I was scared to be too far away from home or from my doctor in  case something went wrong. Every trip to the bathroom was filled with the fear that I might see  blood and I was convinced any ache in my abdomen meant something was wrong. The logical  part of my mind knew it wasn’t anything I did or didn’t do that caused my miscarriage, but my  anxiety had different ideas. On top of all of this I also felt guilt, this feeling that I somehow took  the joy of our pregnancy away from my husband and my family because I wasn’t able to share  in their excitement.  

I thought after the 13-week mark I would feel better, and when that didn’t happen I thought that  after 20 weeks I would. Our 20-week anatomy ultrasound went well, and everything looked  perfect, but a few days later I started to have some bleeding. This would be terrifying for any  pregnant person but as someone who has suffered a loss it took me right back to the day I  miscarried. After a stressful few days and a trip to early labour and delivery, we were thankful to  learn everything was ok but we never found out what had caused the bleeding. It felt like a  cruel joke.  

After that, any progress I had made with my anxiety was erased. I struggled with trusting my  body my entire pregnancy. I was lucky to find a therapist who specialized in perinatal mental  health early in my pregnancy and who I continue to see, and she has helped me to find ways to  manage all these thoughts and feelings. At 38 weeks and two days my beautiful baby girl was  born. She was strong and healthy and I wondered how I had ever doubted she would be  anything else. 

I still find it hard to see photos announcing pregnancies or counting down the weeks, tummies  in full view. I feel envious. What is it like to experience pregnancy without previous loss?  Without intrusive thoughts trying to convince you something is wrong? I remember the anxious  feeling I would get when I was about to tell someone I was pregnant, worried something bad  would happen the moment I did. I didn’t tell my brother I was pregnant until I was 16 weeks,  my best friend until 20 weeks. I wish I could have enjoyed it more.  

I can’t help but feel my anxiety stole my pregnancy from me. I didn’t like being pregnant, it still  feels wrong to say that, even now, after more than a year of therapy. Pregnancy is hard  mentally and physically and it’s important to acknowledge that. It doesn’t mean you love your  baby any less, that you don’t want this pregnancy. It’s ok to admit you’re struggling and it’s ok  to grieve the joy you never felt. 

—Elizabeth