Laetitia Felix on What I Wish I Knew About Missed Miscarriage: Healing, Grief and Hope at 45

Despite having walked the path of loss before — four times before becoming a mother — this most recent miscarriage at 45 has been the hardest to speak about.
But I’m ready now to share this chapter — not just because it’s part of my story, but because I know I’m not alone. And if you’re reading this, maybe you need to know that too.

This time, we had seen the heartbeat. My ectopic history hadn’t repeated itself.
Everything felt aligned — my body felt good, the timing felt right, the signs felt hopeful.
Even the dates — like when we found out or our first scan — felt like a message from the universe.

So when it all shifted, it hit me in ways I hadn’t expected.
Maybe it’s because everything seemed so aligned.
Maybe it’s because I felt so sure this time.
Or maybe it’s because the pain cut deeper in ways I didn’t expect.

What hurt the most was the guilt — seeing my partner heartbroken, and my daughter (who didn’t even know I was pregnant) asking innocently, “When will I have a brother?”
And the lingering question that haunts so many of us: What if this was my last chance?

I moved from shock to denial (I literally made myself believe this was a mistake) to a deep, consuming sadness.

There are things I wish I had known…

I didn’t know I could feel so pregnant — with strong symptoms, a deep sense that everything was going well — and not pick up anything intuitively while my baby’s heart stopped beating.

I didn’t know that my body could carry on as if nothing had happened, while everything had changed and there wasn’t a single sign.

I didn’t know how devastating the in-between period would be — the hollow space between hearing the words “there’s no heartbeat” and the moment I had to say goodbye.

I didn’t know I would have to make impossible decisions while still carrying the weight of life and loss at the same time.

I didn’t know the physical pain could echo so loudly in my emotional world.

I didn’t know how long it would take for my body to catch up, for the pregnancy to release naturally.

I didn’t know how deeply lonely that place could feel.

I didn’t know how it would feel to hold so much love and have nowhere to place it — because in my previous ectopics and chemical losses it felt different, as I hadn’t allowed myself to fully connect. This time, at 10 weeks, I did.

The ungrateful truth of missed miscarriage is this:
We are grieving, deeply — and yet we’re left with nothing to hold.
No photo, no goodbye, no tiny blanket or memory box.
Just an aching heart and empty hands.

And yet — I also knew something:

I knew that healing would never mean forgetting.

I knew that grief lives in both the body and the mind — and both need to be honoured.

I knew I had to allow space for healing to unfold gently — without rushing, forcing, or “moving on.”

And I knew I had tools now that I didn’t have before, to process it emotionally, mentally, and energetically.

This time — I did things differently

Despite the pain, I didn’t turn away from my body. I chose to trust it and work with it.
I didn’t choose to ‘try again’ pushed by the clock as I did years ago; I chose to let my mind, body, and soul heal and prepare again.

I knew I wasn’t broken. I reminded myself — this happened for reasons I may never fully understand, but it doesn’t mean I failed.

In fact, I saw the silver lining: I could still conceive naturally at 45.
That’s no small thing.

This time, I allowed myself to truly listen to my needs:

I let myself grieve — fully. I didn’t push it down.

I let myself rest and receive.

I used castor oil packs and raspberry leaf tea to support my body in the physical release.

I turned to EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) once I was ready, to process the trauma — especially after the cold, clinical way the news was delivered to me, with no empathy and just a leaflet. I knew I didn’t want that moment to replay in my mind forever.

I returned to acupuncture as soon as my cycle resumed — a way to restore balance and reconnect with my body.

I practised self-forgiveness, compassion meditations, and offered my body love instead of blame.

I practised Angelic Reiki on myself — which brought a sense of healing, peace, and support. In those quiet moments, I didn’t feel so alone. I could feel love, not just loss.

I met with my spirit baby, as I have learnt to communicate with him — and found peace in understanding the soul contract behind this loss.

I returned to naturopathy to balance my hormones and detox.

I reached out and opened up to trusted friends.

This doesn’t mean I have it all figured out.
Grief still visits in waves. Healing isn’t linear — one pregnancy announcement, one date, one question from a child can crack you open again.

But I’ve learned this

You don’t have to rush your way through it.
You don’t have to make sense of it all right now.
And you’re not alone.

Your story matters. Your baby matters.
And you — wherever you are in your journey — matter more than you know.

Your grief is real, even if the world can’t see it.
Your love is valid, even if you didn’t get to say goodbye.

Be gentle with yourself.
There is no “right” way through this. Only your way.