No one ever imagines they’ll be sitting in a hospital bed, staring at a quiet ultrasound screen, hearing the words, “I’m so sorry, there’s no heartbeat.” No one pictures walking out of the hospital without their baby in their arms. No one prepares for the haunting silence of an empty nursery, an untouched car seat, or a postpartum body without a baby.
But if you are here reading this, it means you do not have to imagine it. You are living it. And my heart is with you.
There is no right way to begin this journey, but this post is a starting point—a place for you to land, breathe, cry, and be reminded that you are not alone.
Let’s start here: Baby loss comes in many forms. All of them are devastating. And all of them deserve to be named, honored, and supported.
Every single one of these experiences deserves compassion and care. You deserve to be held in your loss, no matter what form it took.
In those first few days, time warps. Your brain might feel foggy. You might be moving through quicksand. Every noise might feel too loud. Or too quiet. You may feel frozen, disoriented, and disconnected from the world around you.
That is not just emotional—it is physiological. Research shows that acute grief triggers the same brain regions as physical pain. You are not “being dramatic.” You are in trauma.
What you can do in the first days:
Organizations like Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep offer free professional remembrance photography. If that feels right for you, ask a nurse or doula to coordinate it.
Grief after baby loss is not a checklist. It does not come in tidy stages. It is a spiral—a wave—a storm and sometimes a soft wind. You may feel peace one hour and devastation the next.
Anger, guilt, confusion, rage, numbness, and jealousy are all part of grief. You are not doing it wrong. You are doing it with love.
Research from the National Library of Medicine shows that perinatal grief is multidimensional—it touches identity, self-esteem, relationships, spirituality, and physical health. It is not just sadness. It is everything.
“When the anticipated relationship with a child is severed, the impact is profound and long-lasting.”
— PubMed Central: Perinatal grief and its impact
Grief has no timeline. But one thing we do know is that grief softens when we feel seen, heard, and understood.
In the early months after losing Evelyn, I felt like the world had moved on without me. Everyone else had permission to keep living. I was suspended in grief, invisible to most. Until I found others like me.
Finding community does not take away your pain, but it can help hold it.
Being around people who do not flinch when you say your baby’s name, who do not rush your story or avoid your grief—that is what helps us survive.
Whether it is a local support group or an online space full of moms who get it, being in community gives us language for what we are experiencing. It reminds us we are not broken, just grieving.
Resources for community:
One of the most powerful and painful truths of loss is this: you are still a parent. Even if the world no longer sees your child, you are still their mother. That bond deserves recognition.
Ways to honor and connect with your baby:
Some people may not understand why you do this. That is okay. This is your relationship. This is your love. It never ends.
Healing is not forgetting. It is not “getting over it.” It is learning how to carry the pain without being crushed by it.
Over time, you may find space for other emotions again—joy, gratitude, laughter, even hope. These are not betrayals of your grief. They are signs that you are surviving.
For me, healing looked like therapy, art, long walks, deep friendships, and building Evelyn James & Company. I tried everything: somatic therapy, EMDR, reiki, sound baths, books, journaling, medication. It was not one thing that helped—it was the collective, layered support over time.
You may feel like you’ll never be okay again. But “okay” just looks different now. It is not going back. It is going forward with your baby held in your heart.
There is no roadmap for baby loss, but there are fellow travelers who can walk beside you. People who will hold your story. People who will whisper your baby’s name back to you without fear.
You are allowed to take your time. You are allowed to fall apart. And you are allowed to rise again—slowly, gently, and in your own way.
There is no perfect way to grieve. Only your way. And we are here to remind you that your love for your baby is real, powerful, and eternal.
I’m Vallen Webb. I’m a mom to five, a bereavement and postpartum doula, a podcast host, a grief advocate, and the founder of Evelyn James & Company. But more than that, I’m just a mom who had to learn how to live again after her baby died.
And if you’re walking that path too, I see you. I love you. And I’m here.
Find more resources created by Vallen at Evelyn James & Company.
Empty Cradle, Broken Heart by Deborah L. Lewis
An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination by Elizabeth McCracken
The Worst Girl Gang Ever by Bex Gunn & Laura Buckingham
The Baby Loss Guide by Zoe Clark-Coates
Whole: Navigating the Trauma of Pregnancy Loss by Heather Dolson
Pregnancy Loss Affirmation Coloring Book
Pregnancy and Baby Loss Guided Journal
Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep Remembrance Photography
Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support Groups
Postpartum Support International (Hotline, Provider Directory & Resources)
Evelyn James & Co Support Guides
Evelyn James Grief Marketplace
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