10/08/2025
“I never expected motherhood to change me so deeply. But when I lost her, I realized I’d also lost a part of myself I didn’t know was there.”
My first pregnancy happened at 35 - “geriatric,” as the doctors like to call it. By that point in life, I had already built so much of who I was: a teacher, a wife, a coach, a friend. I didn’t expect motherhood to become such a defining part of my identity. Maybe that was naïve.
When we lost Coral, it felt like something inside me shattered - not just emotionally, but physically. The emptiness was unlike anything I’d ever known, like a piece of me had been torn away before it even had the chance to fully form.
I’ve always been the kind of person who keeps it together in public. But after losing her, I couldn’t. I’d find myself sobbing in the grocery store line, at Target walking past the baby aisle… anywhere, at any moment. The grief came in waves that swallowed me whole.
What I came to realize was that losing Coral meant losing a part of myself - the version of me who was just beginning to exist as her mother, who was dreaming her into life.
Not long after we shared our loss, a friend sent me an article about microchimerism: the scientific truth that during pregnancy, even after loss, a mother carries her baby’s cells within her forever. Somehow, that gave me comfort. Even though she’s not here, a part of her, and that part of me, still lives on inside.
Throughout October, will be taking over our Instagram for a 30 day series of reflections on the many invisible losses that families suffer when they lose a beloved baby.
What part of yourself do you feel you lost through your own experience with grief or loss? What, if anything, has brought you comfort in the aftermath? Please share in the comments, and feel free to screen snip these daily reflections and share with your own personal post or story to help raise awareness about the weight of these invisible losses.