SURVIVING BABY LOSS IN A WORLD OF COLLECTIVE GRIEF AND ISOLATION
Illustration: Via Instagram/@lianalaneart
BY ANNABEL BOWER
To the heartbroken mama who’s just heard that her baby has no heartbeat, that her last round of IVF was unsuccessful, or that her baby won’t make it home, I see you, because I’ve been you.
In a time of global chaos and isolation, it may feel as though your grief is being swept along with all of the other heartache in the world, but your pain is valid, today and every other day.
Though our stories will differ, I know what it’s like to cry into my pillow at night, to grit my teeth when people make well-intentioned comments about ‘silver linings’, and to miss a little soul so deeply that it feels as though your heart has literally been broken in two.
When my fourth child, a little boy called Miles was stillborn, I felt like my world had stopped turning in that very moment. Fear, loneliness and sorrow gripped me with an intensity I’d never experienced before. I doubted if I’d ever be able to laugh or smile again.
But, eventually, much to my own surprise (and relief), I did.
First, I had to navigate my way through the really dark and lonely days. I felt as though no one understood what I was going through but found the solidarity I craved in other loss mamas from all over the world, who like me, had turned to Instagram to find their support network. I knew that like them, I needed to find the strength to live with my grief and to allow it to sit alongside the joy and happiness in my life.
This took time and kindness - mainly kindness towards myself. I had to give myself permission to mourn for a life which I’d held only in my dreams. I had to reassure myself that what I was facing was life-changing and momentous, as sadly, the silence which often follows baby loss can trick you into thinking that you’re overreacting or worse, wallowing.
I had to stop comparing my situation to others. A baby’s gestation, or how many children you’re so fortunate to have, doesn’t in any way dictate the intensity of your grief. It’s often said that comparison is the thief of joy, I think it’s also the thief of grief. There is no benefit in measuring your experience against that of another loss mama; there’s no hierarchy in heartache, we’re all simply wishing our babies could’ve stayed.
As terrifying as it is, there’s no way of avoiding or rushing through grief, it has to be felt. To ignore it all together simply delays the inevitable. For me, writing was my saviour, I found it much easier than talking, others may find solace in yoga, walking or gardening. All of the love, the wistfulness and the ‘if only’s’ in my heart had to be expressed somewhere, as they were always on my mind.
Guilt was an emotion which reared its ugly head in many ways. Miles had suffered a brain haemorrhage in utero and despite doctors’ reassurance that it was incredibly rare, I still worried that perhaps something I’d done, eaten, thought or felt had caused it. I had to let go of this guilt and remind myself that I did everything I could for Miles and all he’d ever known was love.
After a while, I also felt guilty for wanting to be like my old self again. Grief is exhausting, it drains you of your ability to focus, to juggle - to see the world clearly. I worried that if people saw me working, functioning, laughing they’d think I was ‘better’. I craved feeling ‘normal’ again but almost felt disloyal towards Miles when I did. But these moments of lightness became my way of honouring him as I lived on without him physically by my side.
In time I became more comfortable with my grief. I don’t believe that time heals all wounds, some are too deep to ever fully recover. But time can help strengthen a wound. It’ll get nicked along the way and reopened, but its intensity will eventually soften. The scar that’s left then becomes a beautiful talisman of what was loved and lost.
There’s no quick fix to the immense heartache which baby loss brings, but to any mama who’s just had to say goodbye to the precious baby she so desperately wished she could keep, please know that it’s completely natural to feel as broken as you do. You will survive this, it’ll take time and more strength than you know you possess, but I promise you, one day, your heart will heal even if forever and always there’s a tiny piece missing.
If you or someone you know needs advice or support you can visit sands.org.au or call their 24/7 phone line on 1300 072637 or call Lifeline on 13 11 14.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Annabel Bower is an Australian author, food stylist and founder of the Miles Apart Foundation, a not-for-profit dedicated to raising awareness of the emotional impact of baby loss. She’s also the very proud mother of five, four who she will watch grow and one who was born still. Her book, Miles Apart – A heartfelt guide to surviving miscarriage, stillbirth and baby loss has just been released www.milesapart.online.
Click here purchase the book or donate a copy to someone who might need it.
Annabel can be found on Instagram @miles__apart and for all things food @foodbyannabel
The views expressed by the authors/contributors on this website do not necessarily reflect the views of NotSoMumsy. The nature of NotSoMumsy is to provide a platform for mothers to share their own personal journeys and are intended for entertainment purposes only.