For many mothers, conceiving again after loss carries a haunting duality — the longing to create life, and the fear of experiencing death. It can often feel more about preventing death, than creating life.

After experiencing the death of a baby, it’s understandable to feel wary of your own body — to question its safety, its reliability, or even its capability to protect life. There can be an ongoing fear of what the body might do again — of what is beyond your control.

This experience — what I call Death Before Birth — is rarely acknowledged. Our Western understanding of grief allows us to comprehend loss when a person has lived a visible life, when others have known and loved them too. But pregnancy loss is different. It is known only to you.

You are the only one who has felt that life move within you, who has bonded in ways unseen, who has carried the love, the hope, and the death — all within your own body.

Grieving a baby who never took a breath doesn’t fit our usual ideas of mourning.

This type of grief is disenfranchised — often minimised or misunderstood — and that can make it even more painful.

In our work together, I hold this truth gently and without fear. To name it. To validate it. To acknowledge the trauma of carrying both life and death within your body. Healing begins when your story is recognised in its full complexity — not softened, not simplified, but held with the respect and tenderness it deserves.

Loss affects both parents, often in very different ways. While one person may express grief openly, the other might feel the need to stay strong, to protect, to hold things together. Fathers and non-birthing partners are often overlooked - expected, either of themselves or of others - to manage, to keep going, or to simply “be there”.

If you are a father or non-birthing partner, your grief matters too. You also carried dreams, expectations, and love for this baby. You may feel lost in your own pain while trying to support your partner — unsure of how to help, or even whether your feelings matter.

In counselling, I offer a place for both of you — together or individually — to speak honestly about what this loss has meant. My role is to help you each find your footing again, to strengthen communication and connection, and honour the unique ways you both grieve and love.

When a baby dies late in pregnancy or shortly after birth, words often fail to describe the depth of the profound heartbreak. Stillbirth is not only the loss of a baby, but of a future — the first cries you never heard, the milestones you’ll never see, the plans that will never unfold, the lineage which is suddenly vanished.

You may feel disconnected from your body, from others, or from the world around you. There may be moments that replay in your mind, or questions that will never have clear answers.

I know this terrain intimately. I have experienced stillbirth and miscarriage myself, and I understand the shape of this grief.  My personal experience, alongside years of specialised peer mentor work in the perinatal loss field, allows me to hold space for you with both empathy and deep understanding.

Together, we can gently tend to your grief — honouring your baby, your love, and your story — while finding ways to reconnect with yourself and the world at your own pace.

You may have barely shared the news of your pregnancy before it ended, and yet the love and attachment were already there. You might wonder if it’s “okay” to feel this sad or notice others trying to minimise your pain.

It’s more than okay — it’s human. Grief doesn’t measure itself in weeks or trimesters. It lives in the depth of your love and the dreams that were forming in your heart.

Counselling offers you space to give voice to that love — to speak your baby’s name, to talk about what was lost, and to allow your feelings to unfold without judgement. You don’t have to carry this silently.

When a pregnancy must end for medical or personal reasons, grief can be layered with guilt, anger, confusion and love and the weight of having had to choose between equally painful outcomes.

If this is your story, you are not alone and your pain deserves compassion, not judgement. Termination for medical reasons (TFMR) and other pregnancy endings can be especially isolating because they are rarely spoken about openly — yet they are every bit as real, and as devastating.

Together, we can hold space for all the parts of this — the sorrow, the confusion, the love, and the complexity. We can make sense of what happened in ways that feel respectful and healing, helping you move toward peace and self-compassion.

After loss, the decision to try again — or to navigate ongoing fertility challenges — can feel overwhelming. Hope and fear often walk side by side. Every cycle, every scan, every test result brings anxiety and uncertainty. You may find yourself bracing for loss, even as you long for new life.

In counselling, we can explore these emotions safely, help you hold both the hope and the fear, the love for the baby you lost and the possibility of future pregnancy. We can work together to find steadiness in uncertainty, and self-compassion in a process that can feel unpredictable and fragile.

An ectopic pregnancy can be a deeply distressing and confusing experience.

Alongside the grief of losing your baby, there’s often the shock and fear that comes with emergency medical intervention or surgery — what can feel like a second layer of trauma.

In our work together, I offer space to gently process both the physical and emotional impact of what you’ve been through. Together, we can explore the loss, the fear, and the ways your body and mind are trying to  make sense of it all, helping you begin to rebuild safety and trust within yourself.