You Are Not Alone: A Letter to Every Mother Who Has Loved and Lost

              You Are Not Alone: A Letter to Every Mother Who Has Loved and Lost

I waited ten years to hear the words, “You’re pregnant.”

Ten years of hoping, praying, dreaming.

When I finally saw those two lines, my world lit up. At last, I was going to be a mum. At last, the day I had prayed for had come.

The first scan — a little foetus. My heart swelled.

The second scan — a heartbeat. Oh, the joy. I could have carried the sound with me forever.

Then came the third scan — and my world broke.

No movement.

No heartbeat.

A silence so heavy it crushed me.

I can’t describe the feeling of knowing that I would never hear that tiny heartbeat again. My heart sank deep into a darkness I didn’t know existed. Doubts began to creep in.

Did I do something wrong?

Did God decide I was a bad mother and take my baby away?

Was I not deserving of this precious gift?

The pain was more than sadness. It was anger. It was hatred. It was confusion. It was feeling betrayed by my own body. And while I was hurting, so was my husband. But where I poured out my emotions, he held his inside, quietly questioning himself, wondering what went wrong.

We both lived in doubt. And when you live in doubt, nothing in life feels right.

                                      Still Healing, Still Believing

I never thought I’d be writing this. But here I am — not because I have healed completely, but because I refuse to give up. No matter what people say, I will not let myself believe I don’t deserve to be a mother.

I do deserve it.

I deserve good things.

I deserve joy.

And so do you.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I imagined little feet on the floor, bedtime stories, laughter filling the house. My heart became a home for someone I had never met. And then — it was gone. The emptiness that followed is something only a mother who has lost her baby can truly understand.

Every Mother Feels It Differently

Some of us cry for days. Some can’t cry at all. Some are filled with questions, others with rage, and some just go numb. There’s no “right” way to grieve.

Maybe your loss happened in early pregnancy.

Maybe it was later.

Maybe it was a stillbirth.

Maybe your baby took their first breath and their last in the same moment.

Maybe it was a decision you never wanted to make but had to.

Our circumstances may be different, but the love we felt — and the ache we carry — binds us in a way words can’t fully explain.

If You Are in the Middle of This Pain

Hear me when I say: you are not alone.

Your baby mattered.

Your grief is real.

Your feelings — whatever they are — are valid.

People may tell you to “be strong” or “move on,” but grief doesn’t work like that. There’s no timeline. There’s no shortcut. There’s just one step at a time. And on some days, even that will feel impossible.

Walking Towards Healing — Together

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still learning how to heal too. But here’s what I know — healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about finding a way to live with the love and the loss, side by side.

Some days, you’ll smile again — and maybe feel guilty for it.

Some days, you’ll cry without knowing why.

And that’s okay. That’s part of the journey.

We can’t change what happened. But we can hold each other’s hands through the darkness, remind each other to breathe, and keep our babies’ memories alive through the way we live and love.

To Every Mother Who Has Loved and Lost

I see you.

I stand with you.

And I carry my baby alongside yours in my heart.

We may never “get over” this, but together, we can learn to live again.

We can heal — not by letting go of our babies, but by holding onto them differently.

You are not alone. Not now. Not ever.

An Invitation to Join the Healing Circle

If you have walked this road, or if you are walking it right now, I invite you to join me in what I call the Healing Circle.

It’s not a physical place — it’s a space in our hearts where we meet as mothers, where our love for our babies connects us beyond distance and circumstance. In this circle:

We speak our babies’ names without fear.

We share our stories without shame.

We hold space for tears, for silence, and for hope.

We remind each other that it’s okay to feel — and that it’s okay to dream again.

This is where we remember together, grieve together, and slowly, gently, begin to heal together.

If you feel ready, share your story. Whisper it in prayer, write it in a message, or hold it in your heart — knowing that in this Healing Circle, you will always belong.

Because none of us should have to carry this alone.

By- Aurelia Jonas (MAAURA)

Personal Growth & Relationship Coach .

Email ID: maauragrowthcoach@gmail.com

Insta ID: maaura57