Like many of us, Sam never questioned her ability to have children. When she and her husband decided to start a family, she assumed the process would be simple—stop the pill, try for a baby, and before long, she’d be pregnant. It’s what we’re taught in school, after all.
Her first pregnancy happened quickly, and she welcomed her first child in 2013. But when trying for a second, she was met with a painful reality she hadn’t expected—miscarriage, loss, and the realization that fertility isn’t always as simple as we’re led to believe. Over nearly a decade, Sam experienced six pregnancies, three devastating losses, and three beautiful babies she now has the privilege of raising. Her journey also led her to become an advocate for fertility education and miscarriage support, working to break the silence around these experiences.
In this interview, Sam shares the highs and lows of her journey, the misconceptions she once believed, and the advice she wishes she had been given before she started.
When did you start thinking about your fertility, and why?
As my husband and I approached our wedding, we knew we wanted to start a family. But at that time, I didn’t think about fertility challenges at all—it just wasn’t something on my radar.
What were your expectations before embarking on your fertility journey?
I assumed it would just happen. You come off the pill, have sex, and boom—you’re pregnant. That’s what we were taught in school. Our entire sex education was focused on preventing pregnancy, with no real discussion of fertility. They showed us how to put a condom on a banana and drilled into us that unprotected sex would lead to an immediate pregnancy. There was no mention of how conception actually works, how common fertility struggles are, or how fragile the process can be.
What was your fertility journey like?
I fell pregnant fairly quickly after our wedding and welcomed our first baby in 2013—she was a dream. But our challenges started when we tried for baby number two.
In just six months, we lost two precious babies to miscarriage. It was a traumatic time, made worse by the lack of support or validation. I was terrified that we wouldn’t be able to give our firstborn a sibling and devastated at the thought of never holding a newborn in my arms again.
In 2017, we finally welcomed our second child, but I struggled with postpartum anxiety and felt robbed of the first four months of his life. It felt like yet another cruel blow after everything we had been through.
Then, in 2020, we lost another baby during COVID. It was a terrifying time to be pregnant, and I had to attend the scan alone due to restrictions. When I received the devastating news, my husband wasn’t there to hold my hand. That loss hit me hard—not just personally, but publicly. By then, I was leading Pink Elephants, an organization supporting women through miscarriage, and I felt a responsibility to grieve openly, to represent the pain so many others were silently enduring.
Finally, in 2022, we welcomed our third and final baby. She completed our family. I could finally breathe again.
How did you feel when you encountered each hurdle?
I was broken. And yet, people would say things like, "At least you can get pregnant," or "At least you already have a child." As if that erased the grief.
The most shocking part was realising how little I knew about my own fertility. I was an educated woman with a professional career in my early 30s—how did I know so little about my body? Why wasn’t fertility health something we were taught about properly?
What was the most surprising part of your journey?
Pregnancy after loss in 2021 was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced. I knew this was my last attempt—I couldn’t go through it again if it ended in another loss.
Every single day, I lived in fear. I checked for blood every time I went to the bathroom. I don’t think I took a deep breath for the entire nine months. I ended up on anxiety medication, but even that couldn’t take away the constant worry. Pregnancy after loss isn’t just about joy—it’s about holding your breath until you finally reach the finish line.
What was the most rewarding part of your journey?
The first four months of my last baby’s life. That period will always be one of my most cherished times.
For the first time, I could truly surrender to the experience. I wasn’t worrying about getting pregnant again, about loss, about navigating another two-week wait. I had spent nearly a decade in this cycle—six pregnancies, three devastating miscarriages, and three babies carried to term.
Now, I was finally on the other side. I could be present with my three children while also honoring the babies I lost through my work at Pink Elephants.
What do you think is the biggest misconception about fertility?
That women just fall pregnant easily after unprotected sex, and that every pregnancy leads to a healthy, full-term baby.
Through my work over the past decade, I’ve had the privilege of listening to so many women’s stories—stories of heartbreak, hope, and resilience. The road to building a family is rarely as straightforward as we assume, yet so many of these struggles are still not talked about openly.
What’s even more frustrating is that the next generation is still being taught the same outdated sex ed that I was. My eldest daughter is 11, and her school curriculum still barely touches on fertility health. How can this still be the case? We owe it to the next generation to give them the knowledge they need to make informed choices about their bodies and their futures.
What helped you cope during this time?
It might sound cliché, but yoga really helped. Making space for myself each day gave me a sense of control when everything else felt uncertain.
I see the term self-care thrown around a lot, but for many women, it can feel like yet another thing we’re failing at. What I’ve learned now is that strong boundaries are crucial. Prioritizing yourself throughout your fertility journey isn’t selfish—it’s necessary.
Find yourself a wing woman—someone you can confide in completely. And if you can’t show up for an event or a conversation, don’t feel guilty. Just let that one friend know. I remember being at my best friend’s baby shower, hiding in the bathroom and crying. I was happy for her, but devastated for myself—we were supposed to be due at the same time, but my baby had died. I wish someone had given me permission not to go.
What’s the one piece of advice you’d give to anyone who hasn’t yet started their fertility journey?
Educate yourself. Do your research. Learn about preconception health.
One thing my GP told me has stuck with me ever since: "Pregnancy is a marathon for your body. You wouldn’t run a marathon without preparation—so why wouldn’t you prepare for pregnancy?"
Disclaimer
This article is for general informational purposes only. It is not intended to be medical advice and is not a substitute for medical advice. You should speak with a medical professional if you wish to assess your fertility and before making any decisions about healthcare, including contraception.
