Before our loss, Mother’s Day meant something simple and joyful to me. It was a day about my daughter Ruby, about homemade cards, family breakfasts and the small, ordinary moments that make up everyday life as a mum. Like many parents, I saw it as a moment to pause and appreciate the love that sits at the centre of our family.
A few years ago, the meaning of that day changed forever. My husband, Ben, and I were expecting another baby, and like so many parents in the early weeks of pregnancy we had already begun imagining the life that lay ahead of us as a family of four. We talked about what Ruby might be like as a big sister and the ways our family would grow and change.
Even in those early weeks we were already building hopes around the little person we were waiting to meet. We had chosen a name and were beginning to picture the future we hoped to share together. Our baby was called Willow, and they were already deeply loved.
The day the world shifted
When I experienced bleeding early in pregnancy, I went to hospital and was reassured that miscarriage was unlikely. I held onto that reassurance as Ben and I later attended a scan together, hoping we would see our baby’s heartbeat on the screen. But when the room fell quiet before anyone spoke, I knew instantly that something was wrong.
Moments later we were told Willow’s heart had stopped beating. I was ten weeks pregnant when our baby died and, in that moment, the world we had begun to imagine shifted completely. You walk into the room holding onto hope, and suddenly you are faced with a reality you never thought you would have to hear.
Willow wasn’t an abstract idea to us. Willow was our baby, and we had already begun imagining a life with them. The grief that followed was not just about losing a pregnancy, but about losing the future we had started to picture.
What surprised me most in the days and weeks afterwards was how often miscarriage was described in purely clinical terms. The language surrounding it can make something deeply personal feel strangely minimised, as though it is a medical event rather than a bereavement. For many parents, though, that is exactly what it is.
Invisible grief – and a new anxiety
At the same time, everyday life continued. I was still a mum to Ruby, and the routines of family life carried on around me. I still had to show up, keep going and function, even when inside I felt completely broken.
That kind of grief can feel strangely invisible. Many parents who experience pregnancy loss carry their pain quietly because they are unsure how to talk about it, or they may worry about making others uncomfortable. The world moves forward quickly, even though emotionally you may still be trying to process what has happened.
When I became pregnant again shortly afterwards, relief was quickly replaced by anxiety. Instead of excitement, I felt constant fear and hypervigilance throughout the pregnancy. I didn’t trust my body anymore, and every scan felt like a moment of held breath.
Many of the spaces I entered during that time were designed purely around celebration. Waiting rooms were filled with symbols of new life and joy, from teddy bears playing recorded heartbeats to plaster casts of newborn feet being made at reception desks. I often found myself thinking about how devastating it would be to receive difficult news in that environment and then walk back through those same spaces carrying fear or grief.
A sense of relief and a new career
When our son Alby was born safely in 2022, the relief I felt was immense. At the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about how many women must be navigating pregnancy loss, fertility challenges or pregnancy anxiety without the support they need. Too many women are dealing with these experiences quietly, feeling as though they have to minimise their emotions or cope alone.
That realisation stayed with me long after Alby’s birth. Eventually, it led me to step away from my corporate career and focus on creating the kind of support I wished had existed when I needed it most.
In 2024, I opened Cocoon in Harrogate, a fertility and women’s wellbeing clinic designed to support women through every stage of their reproductive journey. Cocoon provides fertility support, pregnancy and wellbeing scans, midwifery care, counselling, acupuncture and practical workshops in an environment intended to reduce stress and anxiety.
Alongside its clinical services, Cocoon also offers a completely free talking therapy for women who have experienced baby loss, pregnancy anxiety or fertility-related trauma. This support is delivered in partnership with Taking Baby Steps, led by former bereavement midwife Jane Bamford and ensuring emotional support is accessible regardless of financial circumstances.
Remembering Willow
Mother’s Day still brings moments of joy as I celebrate being Ruby and Alby’s mum. At the same time, it is also a day when I remember Willow and the future we once imagined for our baby. Love and loss now sit side by side in what that day means to me.
For many families, Mother’s Day is not only about celebration. It can also be about remembrance and the quiet acknowledgement of children who remain part of our lives even if they are no longer here. Willow will always be part of our family, and sharing that truth is one small way of helping other parents feel less alone.
Visit our website for more information about Cocoon’s services.
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