My Story

I know this grief. Not from a textbook but from the inside.

I have seven angel babies.

Early miscarriage. Late miscarriage. Complete miscarriage. Incomplete miscarriage. Missed miscarriage. Ectopic pregnancy. Each one a loss and each one a version of the future I had imagined, quietly disappearing. And for a long time, I didn't let myself fall apart. Instead I did what so many of us do I kept moving. I poured myself into work. I stayed busy. I stayed useful. I stayed anywhere but inside my own grief, because sitting with it felt like it might swallow me whole.

Then, at thirty, I had a hysterectomy. And just like that, the door closed. Not on one baby, or one pregnancy but on all of it. On the family I had pictured. On the possibility I had been quietly holding onto even through every loss. That was the moment I could no longer outrun what I was carrying. I lost myself for a long time after that. Truly lost, not dramatically, not visibly, just quietly and completely. I looked fine from the outside. I wasn't.

The turning point wasn't a single moment. It was a series of small, tender ones.

I started journalling. Just words on a page with no audience and no agenda just me, finally being honest about what I felt. I began to write. I meditated. Slowly, carefully, I sought support and allowed myself to receive it. And something began to shift it wasn't overnight and not in a straight line. But the pain, which had felt like a permanent weather system I was living inside, began to soften at the edges. I started to understand my experiences differently, not as things that had broken me, but as things that had shaped me in ways I was only beginning to understand. I realised I wasn't ok and I realised that was the bravest thing I'd ever admitted.

From that place, something unexpected grew.

I retrained. I studied grief, trauma, and healing, not because I needed a career change, but because I had felt first hand what the right support could do, and I wanted to be that for someone else. I co-founded The Last Kiss Foundation, a bereavement charity that has now been supporting families through pregnancy and infant loss for over ten years. The Last Kiss Foundation has grown into something I am deeply proud of. If you'd like to find out more about the foundation's work, or how you can get involved, you can visit The Last Kiss Foundation.

I made time for myself. Genuine, unapologetic self-care, again not as a luxury but as an act of survival and then, eventually, as an act of love toward myself. And I came to understand something that has become the foundation of everything I do with the women I work with now.

Grief is not something you get over. It is not something you leave behind. Your baby is not someone you move on from. But grief can become something you live alongside rather than something that consumes you entirely. It can become a part of your story without being the whole of it. Your loss can exist within a life that also holds warmth, connection, meaning, and even in time, joy. I know that might feel impossible from where you're standing right now. I remember that feeling. The idea that anything could ever feel light again seemed almost offensive when I was in the depths of it. But I am living proof that it is possible.

I became a grief coach because this work chose me long before I chose it.

With over 21 years of experience, more than 10 qualifications, and a life that has been shaped profoundly by loss, I bring something to this work that no qualification alone can give I bring genuine understanding. I know what it is to grieve a baby. I know what it is to grieve the future you had imagined. I know what it is to lose yourself inside that grief and wonder who you even are anymore. And I know what it is to find your way back.

Not to who you were before, that woman existed before the loss, and loss changes us. But to a version of yourself who can carry love and grief together, who can honour her babies and still build a life worth living. That is what I want for you.

You don't have to have it all figured out to reach out.

You just have to take one small step. A conversation. A connection call. Thirty minutes where you don't have to perform being okay, where you can just be exactly where you are.

I will meet you there.

Book your free connection call

Or if you're not quite ready for that yet then download my free guide for bereaved mothers and begin gently, in your own time.

Begin with the free e-book