For many women, part of their healing is delving straight back into trying to get pregnant again. For me, that wasn’t the case. After all three of my miscarriages, I needed time before I felt ready to dip my toe back into the possibility of risk.
I’ve now experienced three pregnancies after miscarriage, all of which were simultaneously thrilling and frightening. The gift of pregnancy is a joy, but there are no guarantees your heart will remain unscathed.
Years ago, while on a work trip to Cambodia, I toured an area that had been fraught with hidden land mines from decades of civil war, which culminated in genocide under the Khmer Rouge in the 1970s. Today these areas are known as the killing fields. While the term killing fields sunk in, I stood at the edge of one and tried to imagine what it would be like to know that any misstep could trigger a blast that would obliterate a body part, leave me blind, or end my life. The scope of terror and uncertainty and gruesome destruction made me sick to my stomach.
On a personal scale, pregnancy after loss can feel like stepping into a minefield. You can’t know how you’ll cope with the unknowns until you’re there for yourself, staring down all of the possibilities while knowing you have zero control over the outcome. The uncertainty can be debilitating.
For some women, pregnancy after loss brings a watershed of relief, redemption, and hopeful anticipation. For many it brings the weight of anxiety, fear, and confusion. Likely it brings a spectrum of emotions, including all of the above and more.
Listen to These Experiences of Pregnancy after Miscarriage
I miscarried my first baby and wondered if I’d ever hold one in my arms. “Am I a mother now or not?” I questioned. I couldn’t move forward fast enough. I was desperate to know I was a “real” mother. As soon as I got far enough along in my next pregnancy to feel the baby kick, I was so relieved. But until then it felt like I was walking along the edge of a cliff and could fall off any time.—Katie
My miscarriage came after years of infertility and finally trying IVF. Our drained savings account mirrored my drained heart. I was tired and defeated. But now that I’ve been pregnant once, I can dare to hope it might happen again. I’m terrified but also preoccupied with thoughts of trying again—the whole thing has me feeling heartsick with longing and fear.—Erika
I already had two kids before I started having miscarriages. I started to wonder if my body had timed out and my childbearing years had come to an abrupt halt. But then I got pregnant and it “stuck.” My baby is almost three years old now, but the anxiety I felt while pregnant with him was so difficult, to the point of having panic attacks. I don’t know how I would have coped without seeing a professional counselor.—Gloriana
I obsessed over the question of when to start trying again. My husband was ready immediately, but I was petrified. When we started trying for another baby, I definitely didn’t feel ready. I cried every time we had sex but also felt it was unfair to my husband to keep waiting. To this day I’m not sure who was right.—Jaclyn
When I first got pregnant after my miscarriage, I would tell God, “If you love me, you know I can’t take any more heartbreak and will keep this baby safe.” Every time I went to the bathroom I checked for blood. I was miserable, constantly wondering if God loved me enough to keep the baby alive. When I realized this one-sided bargaining was negatively affecting my faith, I was able to surrender to the process and trust him. I decided that even if something bad did happen, it had nothing to do with God’s love for me. My fear and anxiety didn’t magically disappear, but from that point on I was able to cope much easier.—Rebecca
My husband and I decided straightaway to begin trying again, but I was wracked with fear. Every month I was afraid of being disappointed by a negative pregnancy test, while also being scared it would be positive and I’d experience another miscarriage. The fear was palpable.—Lysa
When I got pregnant after my miscarriage, my grief surprised me. I thought the pregnancy would be part of my healing, and, although it was, I struggled with a ton of guilt. I felt like being happy about my new baby was betraying the one I lost, and I got sad all over again.—Amy
My miscarriage was the saddest thing that’s ever happened to me. We haven’t been able to have another baby yet, but hope to one day. Every month when I get my period I experience the grief of my miscarriage all over again, combined with the disappointment of not being pregnant. I never struggled with body image issues and self-loathing before, but I do now. No one told me becoming a mother would be this hard.—Lydia
I really believed my miscarriage was a freak thing. I was sad for sure, but still really hopeful we’d have a baby. When I got pregnant again I enjoyed every little bit of the pregnancy. Although I had moments of fear off and on for the first few weeks, I felt like my miscarriage gave me perspective and helped me to not take my new pregnancy for granted. I know a lot of women deal with fear and anxiety all the way through while pregnant after miscarriage, but that just wasn’t my experience. I was thankful and filled with faith.—Beth
I had postpartum depression after my miscarriage and into my next pregnancy. Seeing a counselor helped me tremendously, and by the time my daughter was born I felt strong. As soon as I held her in my arms, I had such joy and relief, but a few days later a huge wave of grief hit me out of nowhere. By that time I understood this was more than the normal “baby blues,” so I was quick to access the help I needed, but wow, pregnancy and birth after miscarriage were so hard.—Jessica
My first pregnancy was a surprise, but my miscarriage showed me how ready I was to have a baby. We started trying again as soon as the doctor said it was okay. Even though I had some fears, I felt determined. My determination is what helped me most to enjoy that pregnancy.—Melissa
A Daily Choice to Hope
Friend, I don’t know your background or the heartache you bring to your pregnancy journey, but I suspect you’re likely to have lost the simplicity of pregnancy you once enjoyed. Your innocence surrounding pregnancy may be withered, but your peace doesn’t have to be. You may still be grieving, but you can also experience joy. You may be acquainted with the reality of loss, but you can still have hope. It’s a myth to think that innocence and peace are one and the same, that grief and joy can’t coexist, or that loss and hope are mutually exclusive.
As I write this section of the book, I’m pregnant after my third miscarriage. I didn’t experience prolonged fear or anxiety while pregnant after my first miscarriage—probably because I genuinely thought it was a terrible, one-off tragedy. My level of anxiety increased during the pregnancy after my second miscarriage. And now, three miscarriages later, a firm pattern of loss has resulted in a level of fear and anxiety that’s completely foreign to me. It’s been almost impossible to think of my body as anything but broken. The fact that I’m still pregnant truly feels like the miracle it is.
The tension is beginning to dissipate now as I enter my third trimester, but I still have to reckon with unwelcome thoughts regularly. What if I have another miscarriage and the experience completely undoes me? What if there was enough grace for me to endure three losses but I wouldn’t be able to survive a fourth? (You can see how flawed this thinking is, but it’s unfair of me to ask you to hold on to hope if I’m unwilling to also acknowledge it doesn’t always come easily.)
Even as multiple ultrasounds, thumping dopplers, and kicks from the inside have helped reassure me the baby is thriving, I still struggle. Every single day I have to choose to put my hope in Jesus, even while knowing my hope won’t be the thing that produces a healthy baby in my arms at the end of this. It all feels so dicey.
Love Is Risky but Worth It
Losing babies has caused me to accept that there’s no magic “safe” zone you enter at the twelve-week mark. When you’ve lived through or heard stories of a baby’s heart suddenly stopping or a baby born still, an infant dying of SIDS or a child’s life claimed by a tragic accident, a friend’s adult son taking his life or a beloved tween dying of cancer, then you know you are never really “safe” from death no matter what age your child reaches. You know you’re never truly safe from a broken heart.
Love is so risky. A mother’s heart is easily broken. (And a father’s is too.)
I wish I could tell you that I always view my vulnerability as a gift or that my dependence on God always feels like a blessing instead of desperation, but it wouldn’t be true. I have struggled in my fragility and my inability to control outcomes. Over and over, I’ve needed to dive deep.
You can know all the right stuff—that the odds are in your favor, that your pregnancy is progressing normally, that there’s no reason to believe a miscarriage will happen again. But when you’ve experienced death in your womb, you are changed from the inside and you’ve got to gulp hard and learn how to be the best new version of yourself.
Yes, it’s hard. But we can do hard things.
I’m sorry if miscarriage has robbed you of the easygoing nature of pregnancy you once knew. I’m sorry if this feels scary. I’m sorry if you feel small. I’m sorry if important people in your life view your current pregnancy as a replacement for the baby you lost. I’m sorry if you’re afraid of your own body. I’m sorry if you’re struggling to trust God. I’m sorry if this feels impossible.
My friend John says, “Love always finds its destination,” and I’m convinced he’s right. I pray Love will find its way to you through the arms of a child. But if it doesn’t come in that form, know this: Love can and will find you. Yes, even when your body feels broken. Maybe especially then.
Invite Jesus to Lead You
I once started to read a book about pregnancy after loss but couldn’t get past the first few chapters without my blood boiling. The author told her story of how she meditated on positive thoughts and prayed positive prayers through her next pregnancy and the baby “stuck.” While her story resulted in a healthy, full-term baby—which is absolutely wonderful!—it also inadvertently sent the message that pregnancies that don’t make it to full term must be the fault of the mother. Perhaps she didn’t think positively enough or pray enough. The book made me so angry as I thought about my in-box full of notes from hurting women; the last thing they needed was to be made to feel like they were at fault. I’m quite sure this isn’t what the author intended, but it’s what her message implied.
While neurologists are pioneering research in the area of neuroplasticity and learning that there are aspects of our thinking that can rewrite our brains (which is life-changing!), and I also believe in the transformative power of prayer, it is damaging to send this simplistic message to hurting parents who are venturing into a pregnancy after loss. There is no magic formula to fertility. You can’t wish the baby into staying or wish your body into working. So instead, I’ll simply implore you to invite Jesus into your pregnancy. I suspect you already know how much he loves your child; please remember he loves you too. He is present to help you navigate this minefield.
Let me encourage you to bring your fears, doubts, anxieties, and insecurities to the Lord (1 Pet. 5:7). Start (or continue) learning the discipline of taking your irrational or unhelpful thoughts captive (2 Cor. 10:5). Choose daily to surrender your trust to Jesus (Prov. 3:5). Acknowledge your vulnerability but then allow his strength to be perfected in your weakness (2 Cor. 12:9–10). Humbly accept his grace (James 4:6). Let him uphold you (Isa. 41:10). Cast your burdens on him (1 Pet. 5:7). Meditate on truth, learn centering prayer, or practice mindfulness by coloring or journaling or jogging. Get professional counseling if you need to.* Love and be loved (1 John 4:19). Continue your grieving process while also taking deliberate steps to let your heart feel joy (Isa. 61:3). Allow yourself to feel gratitude for your new pregnancy while acknowledging that your loss still hurts (Lam. 3:19–22). Let hope anchor your soul (Heb. 6:19).
When you’re considering trying again but feel afraid, dive deep. When you’re pregnant again and feel anxious, dive deep. When life feels precarious and your faith feels slippery, dive deep.
I promise you’ll see God’s goodness if you look for it.
*It’s a myth to think we can “pray away” all forms of depression and anxiety. If you have been practicing the spiritual disciplines as a way to manage your emotional and mental health but feel you’re still struggling, please see your doctor for assessment. She or he will help you discern whether or not you need further help in the form of a personalized mental health plan (such as talk therapy, exercise, or medication). It is very normal to need this kind of support after miscarriage and other personal trauma.