By Elisa Henry Morton

At SABI, we’ve experienced that the path to motherhood isn’t always what we imagine it to be. It can be filled with unexpected twists—moments of profound joy interwoven with heartbreak or crisis moments that reshapes who we are. The stories of loss and resilience are as much a part of the motherhood journey as the first steps and sleepless nights, yet these stories often remain unspoken, leaving countless women to navigate their grief in solitude.

That’s why, we’re taking the time to share a deeply personal story from Elisa, the creator of Nourished Matrescence, a space where the journey of motherhood is honoured in all its depth and complexity.

Through her experiences with pregnancy loss, Elisa has found a way to transform heartbreak into strength, discovering the profound love and wisdom that come with finding light after loss.

Here is Elisa’s powerful story, in her own words.

Seven years ago, I didn’t know what I was capable of. I was blindly stepping into one of the most challenging periods of my life without a compass or a roadmap. It was a journey that took all of my strength. But it was this same intense journey—a cycle of loss and heartbreak—that brought me our daughter and shaped me into the mother I am today.

I was laying alone in a dark, sterile room, my heart racing as I awaited the sound of my growing baby’s heartbeat at our twelve-week appointment. The soft glow of the monitor illuminated my anxious thoughts, and I remember hoping I could somehow control the outcome. That day marked a pivotal turning point, introducing a complex journey filled with grief and reshaping my understanding of what it meant to be a mother—the first of many times I would hear the words softly whispered: “I’m sorry, there’s no longer a heartbeat.”

When I learned there was no heartbeat, the weight of despair crashed down upon me. I had suffered a missed miscarriage, a term I would later understand but was blissfully unaware of in that moment. Surrounded by expectant mothers in the waiting room, I felt completely isolated—my world had just shattered while theirs continued. The longing for a child became a powerful force within me, intertwined with the dreams and possibilities of a future that had been taken from me. 

Seven weeks into our second pregnancy, I knew we had lost our baby, but our doctor wanted to give it time to be sure—suggesting with hopeful optimism that we may have miscalculated our dates. We agreed to wait and see if I experienced any further bleeding or signs of an impending miscarriage. Nothing happened for 24 hours, and it wasn’t until the early hours of the following day that I woke up crippled with pain. My uterus was contracting, and I was in agony. I was scared, trembling, terrified of what I knew was happening. Not having the strength to stand for fear of fainting, I crawled to the bathroom. This became the haunting rhythm of my existence for the next 24 hours—cry, cramp, crawl, bleed, cry, repeat. I numbed out with mundane tasks and found solace in card games and silence.

After our second loss, I was teetering on the edge of an imaginary cliff, going through the motions of life but not genuinely feeling or being present—I was existing. Having pieced myself back together after our first miscarriage, I was terrified of falling because after the fall comes the crash—and after the crash, there are a million little pieces to put back together. I had just put myself back together, and I didn’t have the strength to fall. Exhausted, I stayed in the darkness, where I remained. 

Feeling betrayed by my body, I imposed a strict timeframe on my grief, wanting to feel better and return to my old self. In denying my pain, I built an impenetrable wall around my heart, preventing myself from truly experiencing it. I continued to push away the feelings that accompany pregnancy loss, silently crying myself to sleep each night for what felt like months on end. I remember walking through the busy streets of New York, wondering when the pain would end. But it didn’t because I couldn’t allow myself to feel it. I was still balancing on that edge, refusing to let go. But fall, I would, and into a million little pieces, I would break. And in that darkness, I would ultimately discover my greatest strength—strength that would carry me through the transformation of matrescence, bestowing powerful gifts that would shape me into the mother my daughter needed.

In the weeks following my second loss, I turned to various healing modalities, seeking solace in meditation, energy work, and journaling. These practices became my lifeline, allowing me to connect with the spirit of my future child while nurturing hope through my dreams. After experiencing two additional pregnancy losses at twelve and four weeks—one requiring surgery—my desire to become a mother intensified. I spent countless nights visualising my future baby, pouring love into the universe, and asking my spirit babies to guide me.

Each pregnancy was accompanied by a mix of anticipation and fear, a duality that weighed heavily on my heart. I vividly remember the day I took my fifth positive pregnancy test. Standing in my bathroom, heart racing, unable to believe that I was pregnant again, my joy was quickly replaced with the haunting memories of my past, leading me to fear the what-ifs. I buried the test, hiding those two pink lines deep in the back of the cupboard until I was ready to embrace the complexity of this news.

Unlike the blissful ignorance of my first pregnancy, my fifth (and first successful) pregnancy was enveloped in fear. Fear of losing another baby, fear of my ability to withstand grief so consuming, fear of loving something so fiercely only to have my heart broken. And so, protection became my saviour until my eyes locked with our daughter. I never intended for this to happen, but self-preservation meant that this would be the only way to survive this pregnancy. I stopped writing about infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss after my daughter was born.

There’s an unspoken misconception that someone who has suffered infertility or recurrent pregnancy loss is miraculously cured the moment they hold their baby in their arms.

That all of the pain, suffering, and unimaginable heartache is erased from their memory. While yes, a live birth is ‘technically’ the triumphant moment it does not erase the prolonged period of painful suffering that came before.

As I welcomed my daughter into the world, I understood that she was not just a miracle; she was also a healer—someone who had come to help mend the wounds of the past. I often reflect on the wisdom that children conceived after such spiritual crises are often imbued with unique healing abilities. They are drawn to the wounded, cultivating their gifts through the experiences of those around them. It was a profound realisation that my daughter, in her innocence and purity, had the power to heal herself and me.

For three years since giving birth to our daughter, my memories and lived experience of pregnancy loss have remained just below the surface of my consciousness—close enough for me to keep watch over them, but not so close that they can control me like they once did.

The fragility of life manifested as deep anxiety for my daughter’s safety. I became a self-confessed “helicopter mom”, checking on her incessantly to ensure she was still breathing, lying awake at night watching her every move. While I experienced immense joy with my daughter, it was challenging to hold space for both the overwhelming love I felt for her and the mourning of the journey to motherhood I had to navigate, which was fraught with anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). It took time to understand how these two emotions could coexist, embracing the "both/and" of my unique motherhood experience.

The Complexity of Grief with Gratitude

As I navigated this complex landscape, I began to understand the importance of honouring my journey and my daughter’s conception story. Each fall, as the leaves transformed and the air turned crisp, I reflected on my losses while embracing the beauty of my current reality. I learned to create space for both joy and sorrow, acknowledging that they could coexist within me. There were days when I would find myself staring at the vibrant autumn leaves, remembering the four babies I had lost, yet feeling immense gratitude for the miracle I held in my arms. Sitting outside with my daughter, we shared quiet moments beneath the trees, allowing the stillness to envelop us. In those instances, I envisioned the invisible thread binding our souls, a reminder that I had walked through fire and back to find her.

It was never just about becoming a mother; it was about the profound knowing that it was always meant to be her, leading me to this immense love.

The Power of Rituals for Healing

As October unfolds, I reflect on the significance of this month—not just as a time to honour cherished memories but as an opportunity to celebrate the healing that has accompanied my motherhood journey. Each year, I engage in rituals that honour our conception story while embracing the present, whether lighting candles or journaling my feelings. Whenever I light a candle, my daughter tells me it’s “for the babies,” a testament to the enduring connections that shape our hearts as we acknowledge that we found each other in the moon and the stars.

The truth is that my journey into motherhood was shaped by the losses I experienced, and that will forever be part of my story. Each tear I shed, every moment of grief, and the love I poured into myself and my daughter has made me who I am today.

I am a mother who understands the fragility of life, the miracle of bringing a baby into this world, and the beauty that comes with it.

As I reflect on those transformative years, I realize that I was already embodying the essence of the mother my baby girl needed. Each day, I journaled, meditated, and embraced the nurturing energy of motherhood. I treated myself with the same tenderness and care I envisioned lavishing upon my newborn. I nourished my body and soul, banking sleep and prioritising self-care so that I could be fully present for my daughter when she arrived. Instead of waiting for motherhood to define me, I chose to embody the qualities of the mother I knew she needed, cultivating a deep sense of readiness and anticipation within myself. I understood that the key to manifesting my deepest desires lay not in waiting for external validation but in fully embracing and embodying the reality I wished to create. By embodying the woman who had already received the greatest gift of all—a precious daughter to call my own—I found the true power of manifestation and strength in my unwavering faith.

I invite you to honour your unique journey—whatever that may look like, remembering that healing can coexist with joy and that our children are the embodiment of the love we carry, both for those we have lost and for the life we are building. 

With deep gratitude,

Elisa Xx

Honouring Every Journey

We are grateful to Elisa for her courage in sharing such a deeply personal and powerful story. Her journey is a poignant reminder of the strength it takes to navigate loss, the beauty of finding light in the darkest moments, and the transformative power of love. By opening her heart, Elisa has created space for others to feel seen, supported, and understood—a gift that carries immeasurable value.

To those reading this, we honour your loss and grief experience, whatever it may look like. Whether you are holding space for loss, embracing the complexities of healing, or finding joy in the love you’ve cultivated, your story matters. Loss and love are deeply interconnected, and through both, we discover the resilience that shapes us into the people and parents we are meant to be.

Let Elisa’s story be a reminder that you are not alone, and that every experience—whether joyful, painful, or somewhere in between—deserves to be held with care and compassion. As a community, we can honour every journey and uplift one another through the shared power of connection and healing.

With heartfelt gratitude,
The SABI Gals