Two years since I told my story of pregnancy loss onstage

Two years ago, I spoke onstage about pregnancy loss to 150 people at an International Women’s day event.

It’s so hard, so exposing, to put yourself out there in the most vulnerable way imaginable. And my loss had only occurred four months previously. But I knew in my gut I wanted to speak in front of that audience, and that I wouldn’t regret it. Because all I could think about after coming out of hospital were how many other women and girls in the next rooms must have been going through that same thing completely alone, without a partner beside them.

Speaking about pregnancy loss in March 2024, at Feel Good Club

And something so beautiful happened after I shared my story on that evening in March 2024, at Manchester’s Feel Good Club.

As I stood onstage with Heard Storytelling founder Caz, she asked the whole audience to close their eyes. Every woman who’d also lost a pregnancy was then asked to raise her hand. I was so moved to see the amount of hands that went up, in solidarity with me and with each other. We experienced something so healing in that moment, as we all felt united and something so beautiful emerged from our shared pain.

If there’s one thing we all need to feel less alone, it’s to know that other people have been through what we struggle with. Around one in four women experience pregnancy loss. So I trusted that people would need to feel seen in my story, and I trusted that people would be kind, and see me too. If we can use our voice to help others feel less alone, that’s a privilege we can choose to exercise.

That event became a catalyst that freed me in many ways, and continues to drive what I do as a trauma-informed somatic therapist and breathworker. Helping people reconnect with themselves after loss, embodying emotions rather than analysing and intellectualising them; denying them, feeling unworthy of them. Staying connected with themselves in pregnancy, too, and after birth. And supporting people of any gender to process any kind of trauma in the same way.

During my time in hospital, as well as after the medical termination (the baby had a 0% survival chance), I embodied the knowledge I’d accumulated during my training. I unwittingly became my first client, in a way (the loss came right after I qualified in conscious breathwork and somatic release). So I came to know what worked for me when I needed to move through grief; what helps us stay with ourselves; feeling, not numbing.

It’s so easy when we’re drained, vulnerable and in the midst of this unspoken hell (pregnancy loss is still so taboo, let’s face it), to escape into our heads and let the mind take over. To let negative thoughts keep us small, afraid and distracted.

Loss is so painful, but it’s more painful to suppress it; to pretend it doesn’t exist, that it was never real. The tension from resistance is more exhausting than just feeling it all. So we have to just let ourselves be in our pain. That was the biggest positive I took from it. We learn what we’re capable of when we stay with our emotions. The wound is where the light enters; the only way through is through.

We don’t find healing by gritting our teeth, being ‘strong’, carrying it all on the inside and powering on. It comes from softening into it all, letting emotions flow, being so familiar with every sensation in the body. Waves of grief is such an accurate description of how the pain ebbs and flows through you. Releasing, releasing, releasing. Not to make anything go away; just surrendering control, so our body can move through what it needs to.

With embodiment work, the aim isn’t to try and feel better, but to get better at feeling. Being so present that the overthinking mind quietens. The beauty and improbable contradiction is that in dark times, small joys in small moments seem wonderfully miraculous.

We forget, of course; I did, over and over. Going back to being in my head, the what-ifs, the what’s-nexts. But I always knew what to do when I remembered to come back; how to return to my centre, to my grounded place, my true self and point of empowerment.

After sharing my story, I pressured myself a little to continue fulfilling some sort of activist role, advocating, fighting for change. But my own grieving process couldn’t be rushed past. I had to put myself first, even as I started to hold more space for others (in fact this made it even more important to prioritise my needs; in order to be a safe space holder). I was starting to run weekly breathwork classes, so this was a huge comfort to me to be in those authentic spaces of emotional processing. No masking, no need to stay tense, contracted, holding it all in.

In breathwork classes and somatic therapy, people having the courage to show up in their vulnerability inspired me to stay tender and open, too. It gave me hope in the human race, when things could feel really dark at times. When I could easily have swung back to that tendency many of us have; to keep ourselves isolated in our pain. Not trusting others to respond with what we need, fearing rejection, or not wanting to burden them with what we carry.

We’re not separate. We can rely on other people, and share our pain, because they’re also hurting; they need us too. We can also hold ourselves through more than we think; emotional regulation skills are so valuable. We matter, our loss matters, grief matters, having hope matters. Listening to ourselves, and trusting our own voice, and sharing it regardless of how it might be received, matters.

Despite what the news cycle may perpetuate, people are good. Whatever you’re going through, take a chance on them and let yourself be seen. Whether reaching out for support, or talking to someone. My messages are always open too, if you ever need someone to talk to. Don’t go through it alone.

Our self-protective patterns, our defensive adaptations and survival strategies that have formed in our bodies, can leave us feeling more unseen; unacknowledged; unloved, maybe. Our minds can tell us so many untruths; I wish I had learned this sooner in life, but we are not our thoughts. When we’re lost, we rediscover love from within. We find who we are and what we know, by connecting with our body’s wisdom. By creating resource in our nervous system, so we become our own safe space.

We have a feeling body beneath our head and shoulders, which carries so much untapped intelligence. When we listen to our intuition, we hear our most authentic inner voice.

All the beautiful notes of support given to me by audience members that night

Thank you to everyone who wrote me such beautiful, kind notes that day two years ago, and left me with a little piece of your heart as I offered mine to you. I still treasure them ❤️

Feel free to drop me an email if you’d like to chat - hello@theloudquiet.co.uk.

Becky x