Navigating Pregnancy Loss With a Bereavement Doula
I lost a baby in 2011. Years later, I can still recall the pain and details of that time period more vividly than almost any time in my life. I remember being on hold, waiting for my doctor’s office to pick up the phone, while I sobbed and listened to the prerecorded hold message taunting me: “Pregnancy is a time of joy and endless wonder. Thank you for choosing our team to accompany you on this wonderful journey. Please remain on the line and someone will be with you shortly.” I remember driving to the hospital thinking that if pregnancy loss is as common as they say, why do I not know anyone who’s had a miscarriage? And what do I tell people about this depth of grief I’m experiencing when, clearly, I’m not supposed to feel this way since it’s so common and no one else seems to be phased by it? What did I do to cause this? What if I never get to be a mother? As my mind spiraled out of control, I remember desperately wishing there was someone I could talk to who understood what I was experiencing and wouldn’t be uncomfortable or burdened by the confusing, messy grief that was consuming me. By that time, I had already planned to have a Birth Doula to help me through pregnancy and delivery, and I knew Postpartum Doulas were available for after the baby arrived, but it wasn’t until years later that I discovered that such a thing as a Bereavement Doula existed.
It is estimated that approximately 20 percent of pregnancies result in miscarriage, and 1 out of every 160 pregnancies result in stillbirth. Sometimes pregnancy loss occurs at home unexpectedly. Sometimes you find out devastating news at a routine appointment and you have to choose whether to terminate the pregnancy or wait for it to “take care of itself.” Sometimes you find out the full-term baby you’re carrying is no longer alive and the delivery you’re about to have will not result in you bringing home a healthy, living baby. No one wants to think about these outcomes, but they are appallingly real scenarios for many families – and for the past few years I have been helping these families through the unthinkable.
While my work as a Birth & Postpartum Doula is often more straightforward, my role as a Bereavement Doula varies greatly between each family and their unique scenario. It may look like attending an induction of a baby who hasn’t survived, hand-holding through difficult doctor appointments while horrific decisions need to be made, or providing advice on how to manage breastmilk supply for a baby that’s not there. I am a support for when people are at their most vulnerable, when it feels like there’s no one around to help navigate what’s happening and what’s to come. I’m often contacted by mothers or couples who have recently had a miscarriage and, while the physical symptoms have passed, are struggling to emotionally process what has happened. Occasionally, I’ll receive a call from someone who experienced pregnancy loss years ago and while they’ve moved on in their outside life, they feel that there’s healing work to be done and they’d like to process their experience with someone who is trained to hold space for this type of loss.
Out of all the training I’ve received as a Bereavement Doula, one of the most deeply significant concepts I learned was through a course at the Institute for the Study of Birth, Breath and Death. I was taught how to be present and hold space for people experiencing this uniquely profound type of loss, not to try to take the pain away. As simple as that concept is, it goes against nearly everything we’re taught as a society when it comes to emotional pain and difficulty. We want to fix or ignore what happened – often because of our own discomfort with pain – which can leave a bereaved person feeling incredibly alone and isolated. Instead of ignoring someone’s pain, I enter into that space and sit in it with them; instead of leading, I walk alongside.
The searing pain I used to feel when thinking of my own pregnancy loss has dulled to an ache. I still think of how old my child would be now and I feel an incredible longing to know what they would be like. But these past few years that I’ve been able to help other families through their own losses, I can’t help but feel an acute sense of gratitude for my own experience. I am able to hold space for people with an air of empathy that wouldn’t be there had I not experienced my own loss. I am open about my loss because I want to dismantle the stigma that perpetuates the silence after pregnancy loss and I don’t want others to feel as alone as I did.
