Balancing Grief and Hope: My Trying to Conceive Journey After Loss

Trying to conceive (TTC) after a loss is its own kind of heartbreak. Not just because of what you’ve been through, but because of what you’re still hoping for. Every month becomes a question mark. Every symptom, a maybe. And in the middle of it all is you — grieving, hoping, surviving.

When we lost our baby in October, I thought the hardest part would be the miscarriage itself. And in many ways, it was. But what I wasn’t prepared for was how hard the after would be. The waiting. The trying. The silence.

At the time of writting it is June, and we’re still trying. And while I still want this baby more than anything, I’ve also realised something else: I can’t put my mental health on hold while I wait. I can’t live in limbo month after month, hoping I’ll feel better when I see two lines.

So, I’ve been making small, important changes. Nothing drastic. Nothing that magically fixes everything. But enough to feel like I’m holding myself through this chapter with care, instead of just bracing myself against it.

This is how I’m finding my way back to balance. It’s not perfect, but it’s helping. And if you’re in chapter this too, I hope it helps you feel less alone.

Walking it out

Getting outside has made the biggest difference. I head out for a walk most mornings with a podcast in my ears — something funny, inspirational, or distracting, never fertility-related. The sunlight helps, the fresh air helps, the movement helps. And the distance between me and my phone helps too.

Cutting back, not piling on

In the early months after our loss, I was taking everything: vitamin C, zinc, magnesium, Vitex, prenatals, CoQ10, omega-3s... you name it. It felt like the only thing I could control. But recently I’ve stripped it right back.

I still take the basics (fish oil and prenatal vitamins), but I’ve stopped adding more to the mix in a panic. There’s peace in simplicity. And less guilt when I forget a tablet.

One method to track

I’ve also cut back on how I track my cycle. No more urine testing with LH strips, no more obsessing over cervical mucus, or second-guessing ovulation symptoms. I just check my basal body temperature (BBT), and with my new Oura ring, that takes no effort at all.

Letting go of the timetable in the bedroom

One of the most liberating shifts I’ve made is letting go of the calendar when it comes to intimacy. When you’re trying to conceive, sex can start to feel transactional — something you have to do at a certain time, on a certain day, with a certain goal. And honestly? That pressure can take the joy right out of it.

We’ve made a conscious effort to reconnect without the mental checklist. To enjoy each other’s company without it being about timing or temperatures. To remember that intimacy is about closeness, not just conception.

I won’t go into detail — some things deserve to stay private — but I will say this: it’s been healing. It’s reminded me that this journey is about love, not just logistics. And that joy, in all its forms, is allowed here.

The doctor said to stop trying so hard

I finally spoke to a medical professional. And while that came with a lot of mixed emotions (being dismissed, not being heard, feeling invalidated), it did give me one thing: permission to stop trying so hard.

So that’s what we’re doing. We’re still trying — but in a softer way.

Boundaries with love

It’s not easy being around friends or family who are pregnant or have little ones, especially when you’re still waiting for your turn. I’ve started giving myself space when I need it. I don’t force myself into every baby shower or group chat. I take time before I reply. And when I can, I speak honestly.

There’s strength in saying, "I’m happy for you, but today is a hard day for me."

A more mindful scroll

Social media can be a minefield. I want to support trying to conceive (TTC) and fertility creators — I really do. But for my own mental health, I’ve had to step away. I’m not following pregnancy content right now. If it comes up, I click “not interested”. Because although I am interested, I need to protect my peace more.

There’s nothing wrong with guarding your energy.

Doing life now, not later

I used to delay things. "We won’t book a holiday yet — what if I’m pregnant by then?" But that logic was keeping me stuck. I was pressing pause on joy, just in case. And joy matters now.

I still struggle with this, honestly. The "what if" of becoming pregnant always lingers. Especially because we found out our foetus had stopped growing while I was away in Spain for work. But I know that was a coincidence, not a cause. And I don’t want fear to run the show.

Remembering I’m a whole person

Trying to conceive can swallow your identity if you’re not careful. So I’ve been filling my life with the things that remind me I’m more than this one chapter. Tarot. Writing. Trash TV. The books I’ve been meaning to read.

Even writing this.

It’s a gentle rebellion against the idea that your only job right now is to get pregnant. You’re allowed to be joyful. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to exist beyond this.

Letting the feelings be feelings

Sometimes I pass a pregnant woman in the street and want to scream. Sometimes I’m fine for weeks, then cry because I saw a pram in a charity shop.

That’s grief. That’s longing. That’s love with nowhere to go.

I journal when I can. I talk to my husband. I don’t bottle it up. Naming it makes it smaller. Writing it down lets it out.

Learning to feel safe again

After loss, your body can feel like a battlefield. A betrayal. A place where something went wrong. But it’s also the only place I have to come home to.

So I’ve been slowly rebuilding that relationship. Meditation. Stretching. Gentle movement.

It helps. I deserve to feel safe in my body again.

I don’t have a tidy ending for this story yet. We’re still in the middle of it. Still hoping. Still healing. Still figuring it out.

But I’m taking better care of myself now. I’m learning that I can want a baby with all my heart and want peace in the meantime. I can carry hope and let go of control. I can hold space for the version of me who is still grieving and still growing.

And if you’re in the thick of it too, please know this: you’re not alone. You’re allowed to take up space in your own life, even while you wait for the next chapter.

You’re not just someone trying to get pregnant. You’re someone who deserves to feel whole. You already are.

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This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating. 

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