The Raw Reality
Monday 28th Sep
The bit nobody tells you about baby loss
I’m going to be honest.
Right now, my knee f**king hurts.
Like, “perhaps we should reconsider this life choice” hurts.
And my brain is tired, my body is tired, and there is a small part of me wondering why the hell I ever thought voluntarily running 10K was a good idea.
But then I remember why I started.
And suddenly the sore knee doesn't seem quite so important.
Because this isn't really about running.
It isn't about kilometres.
It isn't about proving that I can do something I never thought I'd be capable of.
It's about babies.
Dead babies.
There. I said it.
Because that's the part people often want to soften.
They'll say “pregnancy loss” or “a little angel” or “everything happens for a reason.”
But sometimes there isn't a damn reason.
Sometimes your baby dies.
And you are left standing there trying to understand how the world can possibly continue turning when yours has just stopped.
I've experienced baby loss.
I've experienced the kind of grief that doesn't disappear just because the funeral is over, or because enough time has passed, or because you've had another child.
You don't get to trade one baby for another.
You don't forget.
You don't “get over it”.
You just learn how to carry something that is impossibly heavy.
Some days you carry it quietly.
Some days you carry it angrily.
Some days a song, a date, a photograph or a completely innocent question can rip the wound wide open again.
And sometimes you find yourself crying in the middle of Morrisons because something reminded you of what you lost.
Grief is weird like that.
And that's why I'm doing this run.
I'm running for the parents who left hospital with empty arms.
For the parents who never got to hear their baby's cry.
For the babies who existed, who were loved, who mattered ,even if they were only here for minutes, hours, days, or never got the chance to be born.
I'm running for the people who still know exactly how old their baby would be.
For the people who quietly count birthdays.
For the people who wonder who their child would have looked like.
For the people who still have names they don't get to say often enough.
For the people who have been told to “try again” when what they actually needed was someone to acknowledge that the baby they lost was their baby.
But every step is for something bigger than me.
Every horrible, sweaty, painful kilometre is a tiny reminder that these babies deserve to be remembered.
Their lives mattered.
Their deaths mattered.
Their parents matter.
And their stories deserve to be told.
So if you've donated, thank you.
If you've shared this, thank you.
If you've simply stopped and read this, thank you.
And if you're someone who has lost a baby yourself, I hope you know this:
You haven't forgotten them.
You don't have to.
You never have to.
Because love doesn't have an expiry date just because a life was short.
So I'll keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Even when it hurts.
Even when I cry.
Even when I swear at my knee like it's personally betrayed me.
Because somewhere along this route, there is a little bit of hope in every step.
And every step has a name behind it.
For the babies we didn't get to keep.
💙🩷
Share
