“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.” ~Pema Chodron
I was nineteen weeks pregnant when my husband and I went for a routine ultrasound. We were to confirm that our child’s anatomy was as it should be, and we were to discover our child’s sex.
We were choosing names in the waiting room. We ran into the receptionist at the fertility clinic and exchanged hugs. We had graduated from the clinic. The tuition was expensive and the education detailed and grueling. But we were a success story.
As the technician began the ultrasound she got really quiet. I knew something was wrong.
I have tried to write about what followed. I really have. But I still can’t. What you need to know is this: three days later, on August 2, 2013, our son Zachary was stillborn.
I remember standing in the hall of the hospital waiting outside the Quiet Room to see him. Sobbing in a way I didn’t know I could sob. I remember a nurse putting her hand on my back and me saying to her through my sobs, in shock, “Life is so hard, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” she replied. That nurse was the first person to mirror to me that I was not insane. Life really was this bad sometimes.
This wasn’t the first loss of my life, although it was the most consciously heart breaking (I mean that literally: heart-breaking.)
Zachary’s death sat on top of a list of other losses: divorce, financial loss, job loss, loss of safety and security, loss of basic well-being. And eight months later I lost another child after just ten weeks.
This second loss almost ended me. I breathed pain. Once in a while I would come up for air, flailing my arms around and gasping, but before I knew it I would be pulled under again. I just couldn’t make anything stick. Nothing was moving forward.
I felt like everyone was passing me by—growing in their careers, becoming parents. One woman I know had three babies in the time I lost two.
I couldn’t stop the feelings of unfairness. Even writing this today I can feel the shame and unworthiness flooding back. Every time I thought I was gaining ground something would happen—something small like the grocery store being out of cilantro—and I would fall right back into despair.
This lasted for months. Don’t let anyone kid you—life can be painful. Devastatingly so. Life can take what you love from you and ask you for a response. There is nothing easy about it. Life can ask everything of us.
Throughout this time I insisted on trying to recover. I went for walks. I saw friends. We bought a cottage. I worked. I even tried to stop trying. None of this felt right. It felt against the grain. And it was. But I kept acting as if there was hope.
I kept making plans. I kept trying to put my pain into words.
It became clear that I had no control over my grief. It was going to take the time it took. I had to surrender to it and trust that one day something might look beautiful again.
Surrender wasn’t something that happened all at once. Sometimes I would think, “I’ve given in now,” only to wake up fighting again the next morning. But layer by layer, revelation by revelation, I finally allowed myself to have lost my son. To recognize that there was nothing I could do to get him back. And nothing I could do to ensure I had another child.
I didn’t like it. It didn’t feel good. But I existed, breathed, lived with that truth.
And then, all in one week, three friends held me up. They said, in effect, “I am not going anywhere and you are going to make it through this.” And they said, “I can bear this pain with you.”
I could say I was lucky to have these three people in my life. And I am. But these friendships were co-created. Over many months of talking to each other about our lives. And I had to be vulnerable to them and show them my pain so they could see it and respond.
How did I make it through the nightmare of losing my child? By refusing to give up expressing the pain that I was feeling.
It is a paradox, I realize. I had to keep working hard at showing myself in order to give up. But surrender is not a moment—it is a working through, with a context. It is a moment of grace surrounded on either side by days of showing up.
Here is what I learned from going to hell and back. This is my personal list of thoughts and reflections and I hope something here will resonate for someone else who is going through hell.
Invest in yourself.
This is the time to give yourself the environment you need to mourn and heal. Anxiety makes the body tense. Have a steam/sauna, massage, or cranial sacral therapy. As your mental state allows, find a restorative yoga class or practice meditation. Perhaps try therapy or dance or running.
Follow your intuition and invest time and money in the care of you.
Let life be terrible for a while.
You won’t get anywhere with affirmations when you are in the throes of grief. Respect that part of you that doesn’t want to go on. Listen to it for a little while. Give it some space.
Lean into life even when it hurts like hell.
Make plans. Self-care activities, lunch/coffee/dinner with friends old and new. Go for a walk even when you don’t feel like it. Do things you enjoy; find a new computer game, take a course.
Don’t overbook yourself but make sure you are engaging with life in some way outside of your work. It is through this engagement that something new can arise.
Take risks.
Tell people what is happening for you. This can be difficult when you are obliterated by life, because our culture expects us to put on a positive face. You will be surprised at how many people in the world can identify with pain.
Answer questions honestly rather than hiding things. Sometimes when people ask me if I have children I say, “not living.” It lets them in to my life in a deep way and often builds our connection.
Let the people who love you help you.
When I was able to share my feelings with the people I love, they listened. They responded with love and with commitment to be there with me through this. I received great gifts from my loved ones because I let them see my pain.
What if you feel that no one loves you?
- Find a therapist. If money is an issue, sometimes student clinics provide therapy with therapists in training for low cost. The love and compassion of your therapist can be a foundation in difficult times.
- Find a support group. My group of bereaved mothers saved me in those early months. It was so powerful to be with others who knew the particulars of my pain. There are many powerful support groups out there. They are low cost and are often run by passionate people—many of whom have been through something. If you can’t find one, start one yourself. The internet makes this easy.
- Participate in online forums. There are some very supportive communities supporting all different kinds of people. Of course, you have to choose carefully who you share yourself with, particularly on the internet. A good one is well moderated and supportive.
- Finally, and this can be difficult to hear when you feel unloved (I know this from experience), realize the idea that no one loves you is a misconception. You just haven’t found the people who love you in the way you need to yet. Or you haven’t opened to them yet. But you are loved. And that love will grow as you seek it out and honestly give of yourself to the process of growth and change.
Love Is Always Possible
Not in every relationship. Not in every moment. But love is always possible.
My job is to keep my heart soft. To keep feeling through what life throws at me and what life takes away. Because eventually joy will come round.
Love is the act of keeping your heart open no matter what comes. Love is the care for yourself and the world to keep it open despite fear, rage, grief, humiliation. To keep living.
That is what I have learned from my son. That is what I have learned from life. Love is possible. We need each other. And we can always love.
Heart in hands image via Shutterstock

About Alison Crosthwait
Alison Crosthwait is a stock trader turned psychotherapist in Toronto, Canada. She writes about what it is like to change, to learn, and to feel.
Thank you so much for sharing your experience & beautiful words. Very inspiring. Just what many of us need to hear.
You are most welcome. Best to you.
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Thank you so much for sharing some really painful memories. That could not have been easy. I’m encouraged to see you included something that doesn’t get brought up often– “Let life be terrible for a while”. I think we read tons of stuff about affirmations and moving forward and learning to be brave again. But many seem to miss the point that the experiences are traumatic and we aren’t able to just jump into the affirmations stage. We need to let the grief do what it needs to do. If we rush it, then all we do is bury the pain and not deal with it.
Oh my…this is brilliant…thank you for sharing your experience and wisdom .. profound loss really can feel like going to “hell and back” .. It’s a roller coaster ride with a mind of its own and it isn’t over until it decides it’s over…I sometimes wonder if we ever completely recover…maybe that’s a good thing though…if we let it…it keeps us open..
The sudden end of my second marriage was my saturation point…there was no where to hide..it was like a vault door had been torn away and a lifetime of pain, loss and suppressed feelings that had been hidden away began to ooze out..I couldn’t breath..I couldn’t sleep…it felt insane..it was insane. At the peak of it, I came across an ebook by Pema Chodron: When things fall apart. I downloaded it that day…it’s full of wisdom but I actually only remember one thing from it, that has since become a mantra: what ever is happening, what ever you are feeling, “LEAN INTO IT”.. The exact opposite of what society and our survival instincts tell us to do…turn and lean into your grief….let it wash over you, and around you, let it envelop you and then sit with it…it was excruciating..but then a strange thing happened…little by little, it began to dissipate…actually leaving a sense of bliss in its wake..it’s been 4 years since that incident broke me open…I’ve experienced minor losses since but have managed to remain open…life is actually deeper and richer than it was..I’m more present in my life than I ever was and feel more compassion and connection to other…like you, I was fortunate to have several friends who could stand with me as I went through it all…turns out they weren’t who I thought who would be there for me…but that’s another story…I’m actually grateful for all of it..
Jeff – thank you for your support and for seeing me. It was indeed very difficult to share. I need to tell myself over and over again to let myself be sad – but it is so important. Pain is so so hard. I deeply agree with you on not rushing things. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
When Things Fall Apart has held me together time after time. I am moved by your words and your story. I resonate deeply with how you describe leaning into your feelings – keeping that wound open and soft as Pema talks about. I think I was lucky in that burying it just wasn’t possible – so I was forced to grow. And yes – life is deeper and richer now. Thanks for sharing everything you have.
Touching post, thank you for sharing yourself, and your insight! I love when you said “Love is the act of keeping your heart open no matter what comes.” Hugs to you! 🙂
Thank you for sharing. I thought I was the only one who felt like life is hard. I lost my sweetheart to alcoholism in March last year and my job a few months later. I turned 42 today and don’t have a boyfriend/husband or children and no prospect of such. I don’t own my own home or anything and am on a lower paid job than before. I am still grieving losing my sweetheart and can’t talk to anybody about him as nobody cares or wants to know due to the nature of his illness and death. I feel so alone, like my life is going nowhere and nothing to show. Maybe my life is not as bad as others but I just wish I had someone who cared about me and what I was feeling….sad I know.
Thank you so much!! xo to you.
Oh how I know sadness, Emma. I am so sorry to hear about yours. You are not alone. Lots of warmth and a hug from me to you.
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Alison, your story sounds so painfully similar to mine (Even the ‘turned pyschotherapist’ part), but it was powerful & healing to read. THANK YOU for your vulnerability. It truly moved me.
Alison. Thank you so much for sharing your story, and I’m so sorry for the loss of both of your sons. I don’t know what it feels like to lose both of your sons, but it’s heart breaking to know that you and your husband were robbed of watching your sons grow into two awesome individuals. Your story moved me.
I lost both my dad, and my grandfather within a two year time frame. They meant EVERYTHING to me. I couldn’t function, and took my dad’s death way too hard. My mom kept insisting that I should go back to school, and finish my degree. I told her that I would go back to school on MY TERMS, and to leave me alone. I lost my job three years ago, and didn’t know how to get help. I purchased a self-help book on how to grieve, so I can help myself get through the process.
My aunt and uncle were the most selfish idiots that I had EVER known. Since they considered my grandfather as a burden, they wanted to place him in a retirement home. My mom wouldn’t allow them to throw my grandfather away. Neither one of them took the initiative to visit and care for my grandfather BEFORE he passed away. My aunt paid for the arrangements, which was based on guilt. Death brought out the worse in some people in my so-called “family.”
Grief doesn’t have a time frame, so it’s best to not rush the process. No one can’t get over the loss of a loved one. I took baby steps with both deaths, and still doing that to this day. I’m disappointed that my dad and my grandfather won’t physically watch me graduate from college this year, so I’ll walk across the stage in their honor.
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You are welcome, Kimberly. I am sorry to hear you have also struggled but it sounds like we are both making good use of our pain in our work with others. Best to you.
LaTrice you are strong. Very strong. Congratulations on keeping your heart open. And congratulations on persevering, engaging with life and making it through to graduation – on your own terms.
Thank you, Alison. I appreciate your kind words.
Hi, I and my ex boyfriend broke up about 7 weeks now. We’ve been together for 4 years. We had so many issues during in our relationship. We got engaged and eventually he changed his mcind not to get married soon and told me he doesn’t want kids. It broke my heart. He also told me that culture differences is another problem between us. When we broke up I beg many times. He told he doesn’t want to go back in to our relationship and he wants us to move on. I stayed another 2 weeks with him while I am looking for a new place. we had sex a couple times. He told me he just want us stay as friends.
When I moved out, he didn’t txt or call but when we each other we are fine talking like a friend. Is there anyway that i can win him back? that was the question i asked my sister and she told me he have had an encouter with the famous love doctor and i contacted him and he prayed for my relationship and my boyfriend came back to me and my relationship was restored and now we will be getting married soon. Please get to know him and ask for his help on (prayerstosaverelationship@yahoo.com). The love doctor is the best and will help you 🙂