Three September's Ago I Had My One & Only Pregnancy & Miscarriage
Three years ago this month, I had a miscarriage after years of trying, two endometriosis surgeries, and endless tests telling me my infertility was “unexplained.”
It broke me open in ways I never expected.
I had always been someone who could push through challenges: leaving home at sixteen, building a career in a male-dominated industry, starting a business from the ground up. Pushing through pain, both physical and emotional, had become second nature.
But the miscarriage… this was the first time in my life I felt like nothing mattered anymore.
It pulled me into a deep sadness, something I had never experienced, not even in the hardest parts of my past. After four years of trying, we had decided to take the summer off because we needed a break. And if I’m honest, by that point I didn’t believe pregnancy was possible for me anymore. I had never had a pregnancy scare in my life. At this point, I was resentful and just needed a free and fun summer.
Endometriosis had already taken so much: years of pain and discomfort, most of my twenties lost to trying to figure out what was wrong with me, countless dismissals by medical professionals, and endless self-advocacy just to try and be taken seriously. But this was different. This was loss. And no amount of grit could push me past it.
For a long time, I felt stuck in that sadness. Like my spark had gone out.
What I’ve come to understand about resilience is that it isn’t about bouncing back quickly or pretending you’re okay when you’re not. It’s about allowing yourself to sit in the grief, to be cracked open, and to trust that, slowly, life will seep back in.
Healing after miscarriage wasn’t linear for me. It wasn’t a matter of “moving on.” It was a process of letting go of what I thought life should look like, and slowly rediscovering small pieces of joy. Coffee with a friend. A long dog walk by the ocean. Writing blog posts to help me move through my pain.
What I’ve learned is that healing doesn’t erase the pain, it teaches you how to carry it differently.
Endometriosis taught me persistence.
Miscarriage taught me surrender, it taught me how to truly let go.
Together, they shaped the way I see resilience, not as strength in the conventional sense, but as the willingness to keep showing up for life, even when it looks nothing like you planned.
Three years later, I still think about what could have been, I don’t think that will ever go away. But in the breaking, something else was born: a deeper understanding of myself, a clarity in the life I want to create, knowing the universe has a plan for us all, and a trust that even in grief, I can keep moving forward.
Sometimes healing doesn’t look like fixing.
Sometimes it looks like learning to live in the in-between, with both the pain and the possibility.
xo,
Robyn
