08/22/2025
Today, on National Rainbow Baby Day, I want to share something deeply personal that I have never shared with anyone.
I’ve had two miscarriages, and for a long time, I never talked about them. I felt ashamed. I blamed myself.
The first time I found out I was pregnant was in 2014, just as I was about to graduate from college. I was scared, uncertain, and I cried. But after a while, my husband and I accepted it, and we were happy. A week later, I started bleeding. I didn’t know who to turn to.
It was heartbreaking—and isolating. We had announced our pregnancy early, and people kept asking, “When are you due? How’s the baby?” No one knew I had already lost the baby. Comments from others, even well-meaning ones, made it worse. I remember my mother-in-law saying, “You probably pulled a muscle or did something wrong.” I kept thinking, Did I hurt the baby? Did I not want it enough?
The worst part of it all was, I couldn’t go to my mom’s house for 30 days, because of the religious belief that a woman’s body is polluted and you cannot enter anyone’s home until you’ve passed your 30 day confinement. 
It took me years to open up and talk about it. Nobody really understands what it’s like when your body fails you, when a baby is unviable. It is lonely. It is sad. But if you’re going through it, know this: you are not alone. Miscarriages happen far more often than people realize, and it is NOT your fault. There are many reasons why miscarriages happen, and often, there’s nothing you could have done. All you can do is grieve, accept, and eventually heal.
Five years later, after finishing pharmacy school, I had our first little boy—my rainbow baby. After he turned one, we tried for another baby, and I experienced another miscarriage while working at the pharmacy. I worked through it, taking care of myself the best I could. Months later, after our cycles regulated, we tried again, and we were blessed with our second little boy.
Sometimes I wonder—what if we had had all those children? How different would our family be? Maybe it would have been a girl. We’ll never know. But I am deeply grateful for the little ones that I have today.
To anyone who has experienced loss, or who is struggling right now: I feel for you. I know the grief is unique and irreplaceable. It’s okay to mourn. It’s okay to feel broken. But there is hope. Healing comes in time, and love comes in unexpected ways.
