This week I faced one of the hardest obstacles life has ever thrown me. I lost the life of my beautiful little unborn baby.
For people who don’t agree with sharing your personal life on social media then this will not be for you. As I lie here at 4am in my dark bedroom, scribbling this on the notes section of my phone, I wanted to be brutally honest with my feelings so that other women (and men) reading this who have gone trough miscarriages may not feel as alone in an area that is not talked about enough..
So here it goes.
When I was diagnosed in 2013 with PCOS, I feared the worst. What if I couldn’t get pregnant? All I have ever wanted in life is the opportunity to pass on the gift of love and happiness my parents have given to me.
From the day I was told that my chances of this may be threatened my whole life purpose changed. A fire was lit so deep in my belly, and I knew that no matter what the road ahead of me had in store, I would have healthy and happy kids.
Subconsciously every one of my actions began to shift in a direction that favoured my health and my future. I became a personal trainer, I changed around my diet. My interests & studies naturally fell towards nutrition, hormones, women’s health, weight training etc and I devoted my time, energy and career to helping myself and so many people around me get healthier and happier. Everyone who knows me well, knows how excited I am to have kids. Then, when I found a more spiritual path and began meditating, doing yoga and focusing on positivity and happiness, I noticed a shift in my life. I was happier, healthier and more importantly I was curing my PCOS. I decided to ignore all the advice of doctors gave me about medications I could take down the line to ovulate, and decided to try get it back naturally with nutrition and exercise (not planning on actually getting pregnant yet), and to my surprise, I fell pregnant naturally pretty quickly. And regardless of how much believed it would be happen, it wasn’t until it did, that I realised how scared I actually was that I might not have.
So for those couple of weeks (which felt longer than a lifetime) I bathed in what I can only describe as pure inner bliss. Everything I had ever hoped for, had happened without one bit of effort. I felt deserving, smug and honestly a little disappointed in myself for ever even doubting the strength of my mind & body in the first place.
When I told Niall, after emerging in shock from the disabled toilet in the middle of busy London Heathrow Airport, we stood in shock, he held me so tight. I’ll never forget that moment, we couldn’t stop smiling. I was balling crying and hysterically laughing at the same time. Everyone walking past us were staring in confusion. We were so happy. It was our little secret, and for only a few more weeks! When I hit the 7 week mark, my whole world was in place. I was surprised at how quickly I felt ready to share my life with this new bundle of joy nestled so deep inside me, so safe. I had such a strong connection, that words cannot describe, to this little life growing as a part of me. All of a sudden it was no longer about me, I was here now for someone else, to give every ounce of my attention into giving this little life the best chance possible.
The 12 week wait was killing me. I’m an extremely open person and have never been one to keep my private life to myself (as you can tell), so keeping this news to myself was so hard. I wanted to stand at the top of every tall building and shout out so load so that everyone could hear me that I was pregnant. I wanted everyone to know how happy I was, and to feel the joy that was racing through every cell of my body. But of course the ‘silent law’ dictated that I have to keep it quiet ‘just in case’. What a stupid law. As if I’m any less pregnant for those first 12 weeks. As if it means any less in that magical 1st trimester, as it does in the second two. I sure as hell felt pregnant so why can’t I publicly BE pregnant.
“You know, miscarriages are so common”, “you have to be so ca