Twenty-four hours after I performed this miscarriage ritual, my body finally began to release.
I had been waiting three weeks.
A Missed Miscarriage
We went in for our 10-week appointment hopeful but left heartbroken. Our baby’s heart stopped beating at 8 weeks. But my body hadn’t registered yet, and still thought I was pregnant. A missed miscarriage, the doctors call it. The doctor proceeded to prescribe me heavy painkillers and pills to force my uterus to contract. “It will be really painful,” she said.
I listened to the instructions, confused, but knowing deep inside I was going to trust my body to miscarry naturally.
“How long can I wait before taking the pills?” I asked.
“Usually, we say one week.”
I nodded, took the prescription, and left.
I broke down crying with my husband in the parking lot, where no one could see. Our toddler was quiet for the first time that day, watching silently, understanding something was happening but wasn’t sure what.
All the plans for the future, the month by month of travel, family visits, or just rearranging life to create space for this new incredible chapter was shattered in an instant. Unable to be picked up, unable to be fixed. Just accepted with what is.
Choosing to Trust My Body
Although heartbroken, the news didn’t hit me as hard as the last miscarriage, it’s not that it got easier, it was just that I was focused on releasing. Not on grieving yet. I felt strange, knowing that the embryo was dead inside me, yet still holding my swollen belly. My symptoms of exhaustion and nausea still strong.
My husband looked at me.
“You want to do it naturally, don’t you?”
I nodded. He knew me well.
“I just want you to be safe.” He soothed, kissing me on the forehead as we got into the car.
The next few days were a blur. It was my toddler’s birthday, and I wanted to make it special. So we focused on that, and nothing else.
But the day after, that’s when I had some time to be just by myself and talk to my body.
The Ritual
I didn’t think much about it, except that this time, I wanted to share and record what I would do. Without thinking, I hit record. Talked about my journey and let the words move through me. Sharing our story is always the first step to healing.
The words felt like they didn’t belong to me. Four miscarriages. Five years of infertility. Two failed embryo transfers, three failed IUIs. How was all of that so? Where did that time go?
Watching the videos back made me cry. And I could feel my pain more deeply.
The second video. Words of encouragement. I channeled my higher self, feeling their voice, hearing the blessings of angels, self-soothe. It was what I wanted someone to say to me.
Then the third video.
Calling in the 5 directions of earth, air, water, fire and spirit. Cleansing the space, opening up the channel between my spirit baby and me. Guiding whoever else needed to be there with me.
I wrote that spirit baby a letter of all the things I felt, all I wanted them to know. And then I envisioned the connection we held, and I cut it. Saying goodbye, saying thank you to that spirit baby for choosing me at this time of our life to share, however briefly.
And then, sound healing to nurture and release. Calling in the power of our ancestors, feeling the strength of all the women who came before us, who walked in our shoes, sharing their power, wisdom, and strength.
The water then came in to bless and renew, revitalize, and replenish. We journeyed back to feel ourselves nourished and held in Mother Nature’s womb.
Surrendered into her space. Finally, I burned the letter with the fire, allowing the energy to truly transform and for something new to take its place.
And that was it. The ritual was complete.
What I Felt After
I felt lighter. I felt the shift completely change around me.
It was over. Time for goodbye.
The very next day, I miscarried.
If You’re Moving Through This Right Now
If you are moving through a miscarriage right now, I created The Miscarriage Ritual, a three-video sacred series recorded while I was living through this myself.
I am documenting my fertility journey in real time in my memoir From Maiden to Mother on Substack.
