Surviving the loss of a stillborn baby

Adley H.

Losing my firstborn son to stillbirth was the most devastating experience of my life. It shattered everything I thought I knew about grief, motherhood, and myself. There’s no way to prepare for the silence where a heartbeat should be, or the way time seems to stop while the world keeps moving forward without your child in it. In the aftermath, I was overwhelmed by a grief that felt impossible to carry. People often don’t know what to say, and sometimes say nothing at all—leaving you to navigate a heartbreak that few truly understand. I know the pain of baby showers, birthdays, and milestones that never come. I know the isolation, the guilt, the anger, and the desperate need for someone who just gets it. Over time, and with a lot of emotional work, I’ve learned to live alongside the loss. I still carry it—but I also carry love, memory, and meaning. I’m here to hold space for you in your grief, whether you’re deep in the early days or years into processing the ache that never fully goes away.

Navigating family challenges, healthy relationships, and finding resilience

Charice G.

Growing up in a family affected by domestic violence, substance abuse, and alcoholism shaped my deep understanding of resilience, self-awareness, and the importance of intentional living. Knowing I was just one decision away from following the same path, I made it a priority to stay grounded—never using drugs, and being mindful around alcohol. I faced the pain of losing a child in my early 20s, a heartbreak that taught me empathy and the value of community support. Professionally, I’ve spent over 3,000 hours helping others through mental health challenges, substance abuse recovery, and parenting struggles. Now, as a HCS Lead and Quality Assurance professional in mental health services and someone working toward my LPC, I’m passionate about sharing what I’ve learned both personally and professionally. I believe in the power of communication, healing, and human connection—and I’m here to listen, guide, and support.

Navigating family challenges, healthy relationships, and finding resilience

Charice G.

Growing up in a family affected by domestic violence, substance abuse, and alcoholism shaped my deep understanding of resilience, self-awareness, and the importance of intentional living. Knowing I was just one decision away from following the same path, I made it a priority to stay grounded—never using drugs, and being mindful around alcohol. I faced the pain of losing a child in my early 20s, a heartbreak that taught me empathy and the value of community support. Professionally, I’ve spent over 3,000 hours helping others through mental health challenges, substance abuse recovery, and parenting struggles. Now, as a HCS Lead and Quality Assurance professional in mental health services and someone working toward my LPC, I’m passionate about sharing what I’ve learned both personally and professionally. I believe in the power of communication, healing, and human connection—and I’m here to listen, guide, and support.

Finding hope through infertility and pregnancy loss

Faith D.

I’m a mom who has walked through the heartbreak of infertility, miscarriages, and stillbirth. For years, I was stuck in waiting rooms, cycling through fertility clinics, facing disappointment after disappointment. There were days I couldn’t imagine ever becoming a mother and nights I wept over what I thought would never be. I’ve known the pain of loss and the weight of uncertainty, but I’ve also learned how to hold on to hope. Over time, and with support, I became a mom to two healthy boys and now have another on the way. My family doesn’t look exactly how I once imagined, but I wouldn’t trade our story for anything. Along this journey, I found strength in community, faith, and the quiet courage of showing up each day. I know what it’s like to feel out of control and desperately in need of compassion. Now, I’m here to offer that compassion to others—so you don’t have to face this alone.

The grief of parental alienation and how to keep going when your child feels out of reach

Holley B.

There is no grief like watching your child be turned against you — while you’re still alive, still loving them, still fighting to be in their life. Parental alienation is a form of emotional abuse, and it leaves deep scars — not just on the targeted parent, but on the child who is caught in the middle. I never imagined I’d experience the pain of being erased, rejected, or falsely portrayed — especially after surviving so much and just wanting to give my child the love and safety they deserved. But through manipulation, lies, and control, I found myself grieving a child who was still alive… but emotionally unreachable. The grief of parental alienation is complicated. It’s ongoing. It’s not recognized or validated the way other kinds of loss are. But I want you to know: you’re not alone. I’m still in that place — and I’ve learned how to keep showing up with love, patience, and dignity, even when it hurts. If you’re living through this, I’m here to hold space with you. To grieve with you. To remind you that your love still matters — even if you can’t see the results yet.

Navigating life after losing a spouse

Kate T.

After 21 years of marriage, I unexpectedly became a widow. As the second oldest of twelve children, I was used to taking care of others, but nothing prepared me for the grief of losing my spouse. I had to stay strong for my children, but I struggled with loneliness, sadness, and anger. Over time, I found strength in my faith, family, and friends, realizing that grief doesn’t have to consume you—it can coexist with life’s joys. When I remarried, blending families brought new challenges, but I learned to honor my late husband's memory while embracing my new life. Now, I’m passionate about helping others navigate the journey of losing a spouse, offering support and practical advice to those who are grieving.

Parenting through postpartum depression and loss

Lesa P.

When I became a mom just after turning 18, I had no idea what I was in for. I loved my daughter deeply, but I was still growing up myself—and trying to do it all alone. A few years later, I was in nursing school, pregnant again, and just barely holding it together when I found out my son had a serious heart condition. The next chapter was full of hospital visits, sleepless nights, and moments where I honestly didn’t know how I’d make it through. He eventually passed away. That loss cracked me open in a way I didn’t know was possible. There were days I felt numb, or angry, or like I was just pretending to be okay for the sake of my daughter. Postpartum depression hit hard, and for a while, I didn’t have the words to explain what I was feeling. But slowly, I started asking for help. Therapy helped. So did letting people in. Now, years later, I’ve learned how to carry both grief and joy—and I try to be someone others can lean on when things feel impossible.

Finding recovery after losing a child to addiction

Mortana (Tana) N.

I’ve been in recovery for 15 months now, but the road here wasn’t smooth—it was gut-wrenching. I lost my 24-year-old daughter to addiction, and six months later, I lost my mom. After that, I spiraled. I went back to using, not because I didn’t want to stay clean, but because I didn’t know how to cope without the right support. At one point, I was homeless, back on the streets, and I felt like I had nothing left to lose. But I knew deep down I wanted to live. I entered treatment, then sober living, and slowly started putting the pieces back together. Now, I have my own place, a car, and a job I love—working as a peer support specialist at a treatment center. Helping others keeps me grounded. I know the heartbreak of losing a child to addiction, and I know what it means to find light again after that kind of darkness. If you’re struggling, grieving, or feeling lost, I’d be honored to sit with you. We don’t have to walk this road alone.

Navigating infertility after miscarriage

Shelbe B.

Infertility was never something I expected to be part of my story, but after having two children young, I suffered multiple miscarriages before being diagnosed with complete infertility at 27. Those losses were painful and isolating, especially because I didn’t have many people who could truly relate to what I was going through. I felt like my body had betrayed me, and each miscarriage left me grieving not just the babies I lost, but also the future I had envisioned. For years, I struggled with how to move forward and sometimes, I didn’t know if I could ever accept the reality that I wouldn’t be able to have more children. The emotional toll was heavy, but therapy and support from friends helped me to work through the grief. I had to come to terms with the fact that my family would look different than I expected. While I still mourn the children I didn’t get to have, I’ve found a sense of peace in the family I do have. If you’re struggling with infertility, I understand how hard it is to feel like your dreams of motherhood are slipping away. I want to be here for you to listen and support you through this journey of healing and acceptance.

The emotional challenges of adopting a child and the grief of losing them despite your best efforts

Sheridan W.

Adopting a child was one of the most meaningful decisions I ever made. I was filled with hope, thinking I could provide a safe, loving home and a fresh start. But I didn’t fully understand how complex the emotional journey would be. My adopted child came to me with deep, unhealed wounds: pain from their past, a sense of not belonging, and emotional struggles that I couldn’t always reach. I poured all of my love into trying to help them, but no matter how much I gave, it never seemed enough. The hardest part was watching them struggle with mental health and addiction, trying everything I could to support them. I spent countless sleepless nights worrying, seeking therapy, and finding ways to be there for them in the best way I knew. But despite my efforts, they couldn't overcome their inner pain. The grief and guilt of feeling like I couldn't “fix” what was broken in them weighed heavily on me. In the end, after years of struggle, I faced the heartbreaking loss of my child. The grief was all-consuming, and I was left with the deep sorrow of knowing that, no matter how much love I gave, it wasn’t enough to save them from their own battles. It’s a pain that words can’t fully capture, but I want others who are going through something similar to know they’re not alone. If you’re struggling with the pain of trying to help an adopted child who feels unreachable, I’m here to listen and offer support.

Parenting through a child’s addiction and overdose

Susan K.

My oldest son died from a fentanyl overdose after years of struggling with addiction. He fought hard—he even went to rehab—but addiction is a brutal illness, and it eventually claimed his life. As a mother, navigating that journey was heartbreaking. I also have a daughter who struggles with alcoholism, though she hasn’t acknowledged it yet, which brings its own kind of pain. There were days when I felt completely helpless, unsure how to support them without losing myself in the process. My husband and I had to learn how to keep showing up—for each other, for our family, and for ourselves—even when the weight of it all felt unbearable. I’ve come to understand that loving someone with addiction requires a different kind of strength—one that blends compassion with boundaries, and hope with reality. If you’re a parent in the thick of it—or grieving the aftermath—I’m here. I won’t pretend to have all the answers, but I do know the road, and I can walk beside you.

Dealing with the death of a child

Susan K.

On a beautiful sunny morning of December 17th 2021, I received a frantic phone call from my son's girlfriend. My son was found dead from an accidental fentanyl overdose. At first we refused to believe it, but my mother's heart knew it was true. The first year we were numb. We went to work every day, we were on auto piolet. it was not until year two that the numbness wore off, and the pain truly set in. The past years have been a painful and incrementally slow process of grieving, drawing strength from each other, and learning to continue and love. My son was in so much pain physically, emotionally and spiritually. There are times when the guilt, shame and pain hit like a tsunami, a empathetic ear, can help you to walk through it.

The loss of a child and emotional and trauma recovery

Tim L.

12 years ago, my wife and I lost our daughter Margerrit. She died seconds after she was born, with there being nothing doctors could do. Since then, I have dealt with all sorts of triggers and other struggles, such as anxiety when my other children get sick, feeling a sense that a negative situation means doom, or just being unable to regulate my emotions well under stress.

Surviving the unthinkable

Vanessa S.

Grief has touched every corner of my life. I was involved in a tragic accident that took someone’s life and changed me forever. Not long after, I lost my soulmate to suicide. Then I lost a close friend. And just when I thought my heart couldn’t break any more, I lost my son to fentanyl a loss no parent should ever have to survive. Each of these moments shattered a piece of me. The kind of silence that grief creates is heavy, isolating, and sometimes unbearable. There’s no roadmap, no “right” way to move through it. But somehow, I’ve learned to carry it. I’ve learned that we don’t move on we move with it. If you’re living with heartbreak, trauma, or the kind of loss that changed everything, you don’t have to face it alone.