Not long after my first miscarriage I interviewed a brilliant psychologist, who specializes in pregnancy loss and infertility, for an article I was writing. I think I will always remember that conversation – how she managed to send some splinters of light through what was otherwise a blinds-drawn, shutters-down kind of time in my life.
She said so many things that resonated with me. And one that really didn’t.
We were talking about recurrent miscarriage – then just a distant, half-formed fear for me and not something I’d really, truly believed would affect us – and how people who have multiple losses cope.
And, among other things, the brilliant psychologist said: ‘Many women choose to give up work, or to work fewer hours.’
I remember bristling inwardly. I couldn’t see how they should be linked; how anyone could connect the two things like that: work and miscarriage.
Your job is not the reason you miscarried, I thought. Which, of course, wasn’t at all what the psychologist was saying, but to me the idea that women would take it upon themselves to give up – or at least loosen the ties on – their career veered too close to blaming themselves.
It felt alien to me, feeding into a noxious notion out there that to have baby – if you really want to have a baby – you must live this unimpeachably perfect, uncaffeinated, acupunctured-up-to-the-eye-balls, stress-free, zen kind of life. Part Gwyneth Paltrow, part Dalai Lama.
For the record, I still believe this kind of thinking is unhelpful, but my view has become…complicated.
Because after four miscarriages, I am leaving my job. Today is my last day in the office.
Not because I think my job – even with its 50 hour weeks, central London commute and a…let’s call it dynamic…office environment – is somehow a cause of what has happened to us. But because I need to do something else. I need to work less, or at least more flexibly.
Because after year of fighting it, I have to concede that I don’t work the way I used to.
I can’t. Something fundamental is missing. And I don’t think it is coming back. My response to stress is totally different these days. My anxiety threshold hovers barely above zero. My stamina is shot.
It is a hard thing to accept, that you have been made and re-made by life events beyond your control. That you are still being put back together piece by piece by trauma, by grief, in an order you sometimes struggle to recognise.
One of the things I was most anxious about – and then angry about – after our first miscarriage was whether being open about what had happened to us, giving the real reason I needed time off, would torpedo my career. Because pregnancy discrimination is real. And it gnawed at me that I might face the same problems as women who take maternity leave, only with no baby to come home to, simply by admitting that I was trying; that I had tried (and failed).
As it happened, I was lucky. It wasn’t a factor. Technically, I even got promoted. But it wasn’t enough. In the end, it wasn’t work, it was me.
I could try to convince myself that I would have made this move anyway, that going freelance and working for myself as a writer, was the logical next step – and in many ways it is – but it would be a lie. Or at least a half-truth.
No, I am doing this because I have had four miscarriages. To give myself some breathing room. Because I know cannot go through another pregnancy and do my old job the way it needs to be done. And perhaps more to the point, I cannot go through another miscarriage and still do it.
If this all sounds very downbeat, it is not meant to – I am hugely excited about this decision too. I also know how privileged I am to be able to take this leap of faith.
No, there is so much that I am looking forward to, even as I look back, with almost-but-not-quite-regret, searching for the version of myself who didn’t make it. The ass-kicking, department-running, glass ceiling-smashing newspaper executive who looked fantastic in a pencil skirt – the image 22-year-old me had of herself at 32.
Instead, I am looking forward to gentler, simpler ways (and for the record I look crap in a pencil skirt – I never did wear them).
Instead, here’s to more time spent outside and less tube rage. To more time full stop. Time for yoga, enough sleep and, yes, the bloody acupuncture, too.
I’m looking forward to more of my own cooking, more comfort-and-soul food, not soulless Pret salads. To hanging washing outside on the line and feeling like the most grown-up person in the world. To watching the nights draw down in the winter stood in my kitchen, rather than sat at my desk. To being at home at 6pm. To afternoon walks and impromptu trips to the sea.
To pub quizzes, running clubs and early nights. And Christmas – oh god, Christmas. Christmas and Boxing Day and New Year… none of them spent in an office trying to make the best of it.
In short, here’s to making space for a new life – in every sense.
The Uterus Monologues: Miscarriage, motherhood and me 
I messaged you back in October, after finding your blog following our first miscarriage. It felt like it took us forever to conceive again, but are now 6 weeks pregnant. We had a scare yesterday, my very understanding manager has told me to take the week off until our check up scan next week. So now I’m sat at home wrapping myself in cotton wool, driving myself mad just fearing being given the same news as last time. I’ve loved reading your blog, when nobody close wants to discuss things any more, you’ve made me feel like despite the ridiculously unfair hand you’ve been dealt, I have a little ally in this sh*t club. I wish you every luck in your ‘new job’, I absolutely don’t blame you for not wanting to deal with all the stuff you’ve described anymore. Enjoy your ‘me time’, enjoy going at your own pace, and I hope with every bit of my being you get your happy ending. X
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Hi Rachel, I think I remember (and I really hope I replied??) – thank you for your kind message. Freelance life is taking a bit of getting used to so far, the lack of a routine yet is so strange!
It’s so lovely to hear that the blog helps in some way. However good close friends and family are, I know exactly what you mean – there is a limit to how much they can take/feels fair to make them discuss it sometimes. I’m always here for a vent should you need it. I really hope all is going OK since your ‘scare’? Jennie xxx
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I took the decision to go part time after our 3rd ivf fail. It was a tough decision and I felt like I was letting myself and my family down, but I just couldn’t keep doing everything. Like you say, I needed room to breathe. It was the best decision and in addition has progressed my writing massively, which is fantastic. I wish you all the best, I hope it gives you the space you need and enables you to move forward once more 💜
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Thank you for sharing. I’ve heard from a few people who’ve made similar decisions now – either because of infertility, IVF attempts or miscarriages like us. I’d really never thought about it before, I wanted so badly to keep work separate from everything, to cling to that last bit of the ‘old me’, but now it seems like such an obvious one… of course you can’t keep doing it all the same way as you used to. Something has to give, I guess. Thank you for being so encouraging and kind. xxx
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I definitely get that – trying to keep everything normal, that way it didn’t effect your life too much. It didn’t ‘ruin’ it, for want of a better word. I had to let go of that and just do what I needed to do. Take care, look after yourself xx
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Well done on your decision. Enjoy every minute xx I must be the only person that did the exact opposite of what your psychologist said and ended up with my successful pregnancy. We had a fire at work and it meant I was working over 60 hours a week and completely stressed out. The next month I found out I was pregnant with my now 6 month old….I think for me it was having something else huge to focus on in life that rally made the difference.
Here’s hoping for your rainbow very soon xx
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Ha! I love this story…not that you were stressed or that there was a fire, but it is good to hear counter-intuitive stories like this rather than the ‘I transformed myself into an all-natural, Earth-Goddess and lo a child was born!’ version that gets so much air-time! xxx
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For me it was focussing on something else rather than baby making that made out baby haha xx really hope it all works out xx
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I remember being advised to stop work and had the same initial thoughts that you did… For me, however, this wasn’t an option and so I continued to work in my stressful, pressurised job (however I was surrounded by extremely supportive colleagues who knew what I was going through).
I do admire your courage to take control by going freelance. It sounds like you have definitely made the right decision. Xx
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Thanks for sharing… I know how lucky I am to be in the position to go freelance. I really do. It makes such a difference when colleagues know what’s going on, doesn’t it? The week after my first miscarriage, when only one person in the office knew, was awful. I’d been off and had to spend several days putting on my best fake smile and saying “oh yes, I feel much better now, thank you”. Because of course, they all thought I’d had flu… Hope you are doing OK. Jennie xxx
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Hi, I messaged you last year after having my first miscarriage and found your blog so useful- I remember reading this piece and wanted to read it again as I have currently gone through my 3rd miscarriage this time at 15 weeks. I am now deciding on giving up my career I have worked with children since leaving school I’m now 32 I just don’t seem to have the passion or drive for it anymore and this has happened after each miscarriage. Im at a loss as to what to do….but I know the next coming months are not going to be easy especially now we have been referred to the local miscarriage clinic. Thank you so much for your blog it brings me comfort when others don’t understand how I’m feeling.
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