10/08/2026
⚠️ Trigger warning This post discusses pregnancy loss, termination for medical reasons, baby loss and grief. I’m sharing my personal experience very openly and honestly, so please take care of yourself and only read on if you feel able to.
14 years ago today I gave birth to my baby boy sleeping.
I was 24 when I found out I was pregnant. I had the contraceptive coil fitted at the time, so I believed I was protected and I definitely wasn’t planning on having a baby but when I found out I was pregnant, I was happy.
At around 8 weeks, I had an early scan and was told the coil needed to be removed. I was warned that removing it carried a risk of miscarriage but it had to be done. So almost from the very beginning, there was anxiety… am I going to lose our baby? The coil was removed and a couple of weeks later I was checked again. Everything was OK thankfully 🙏. He’d held on 🤍
A few weeks later I went for my 12-week scan. By then I’d been reassured and had no real reason to expect anything would be wrong but during that scan it became clear that something was. A consultant explained that measurements of fluid around our baby suggested possible chromosomal abnormalities, some of which could be incompatible with life.
I was offered an amniocentesis test to find out exactly what was happening and once again I was faced with a procedure that carried a risk of losing our baby. On the day of the test I was incredibly anxious. I got onto the bed ready for it but I just couldn’t go through with it. I left the hospital. After more conversations with consultants and with the support of a wonderful lady who helped me through it, I eventually went back and had the test.
Afterwards I convinced myself I was going to miscarry, but I didn’t. He held on again. Then came the wait for the results. I kept hoping they’d got it wrong and everything would somehow be OK but deep down I think I already knew something wasn’t right.
Within a week I got the phone call. Our baby was a boy, he had Down syndrome. I remember thinking…Ok Down syndrome isn’t incompatible with life. Children and adults with Down syndrome can live full and happy lives. We can do this. This will be alright.
But then the conversation continued. There were other complications too, including a rare condition Jacob’s Syndrome and we were given time to decide what to do next. We could continue the pregnancy knowing the medical risks or we could end it.
It was the most agonising decision of my life. People had their opinions but I was incredibly lucky to have family and friends around me who told me they would support me whatever we chose. In the end, I decided to continue. The anxiety was absolutely crippling but I wanted to give our little boy a chance.
I was then referred to a genetics consultant in Oxford, where the full extent of the potential complications was explained to us. We were told there was a high chance he wouldn’t make it to the end of the pregnancy and that if he did survive there was a possibility of significant medical problems and suffering. After understanding the full scale of what he could potentially face, I made the heartbreaking decision to end my pregnancy.
Even 14 years later writing that is still so difficult. I was completely connected and bonded to this little boy growing inside me. I was given the choice of being put to sleep for the procedure or having an induced labour and giving birth to him. I really felt like I needed to be present for him throughout it so I chose labour.
When the day came, I can’t even put into words everything that was going through my head. Was I doing the right thing? Was I making a terrible mistake? When they gave me the first tablets to start the process, I couldn’t take them. I couldn’t do it. I was still holding onto him as tightly as it felt like he was holding onto me.
Eventually, I thought about everything the doctors had told me and what his life could potentially involve and I took them. Labour was induced but it took hours and hours. At one point I remember turning to my mum and saying, “Tell them to stop. He’s not coming. I’m keeping him.” But the process had already started and I was told by medical staff it was too late, damage would have already been done.
Several hours later at 18 weeks gestation, I gave birth to our tiny baby boy sleeping. Joseph Leo. 🤍 I held him in the palm of my hand. I remember his tiniest little hands and his tiniest little feet.
We had a blessing for Joseph in the hospital, and afterwards a funeral and cremation, with incredible support from our family and friends and from the charity SANDS which was amazing. While I was in the delivery suite, I found a book filled with stories written by other girls and women who had been through similar experiences.
Their reasons were all different. Some had babies with conditions that weren’t compatible with life. Some had become pregnant through r**e. Some simply weren’t in a position to become a parent. But there was something I recognised in so many of their stories. They all felt judged. And I remember feeling so strongly that it really wasn’t right or fair.
People hear the word “termination” and sometimes think they know everything about the person who made that decision but they don’t. They don’t know the circumstances, the fear, the conversations behind closed doors, the tears, the love, or the heartbreak that may have come before it.
A few months after losing Joseph, I decided to tell my story to a journalist because I wanted to raise awareness of that stigma. Unfortunately, the article that came out wasn’t really the story I thought I was telling. Parts were twisted, the focus became something completely different and the title didn’t represent what I had been trying to say. It was published in the Daily Mail and advertised on the front page.
And then came the online comments. I was called a murderer several times. Someone even commented that they hoped I would go on to have children who struggled 🥺 . I was 24 years old. I had just given birth to my baby not breathing. I was vulnerable, grieving and incredibly naive about how cruel complete strangers could be. Their comments did something to me. I believed them. I told myself they were right. I told myself I was a murderer and that I had taken away my baby’s chance at life. The guilt was immense and somewhere along the way I convinced myself that because I had ultimately made the decision that I didn’t have the right to grieve.
I didn’t feel like I deserved to talk about him. I didn’t feel like I deserved to remember him publicly. I didn’t even feel like I deserved to say his name. So I didn’t allow myself to grieve him properly. Instead, I told myself I would live. I wouldn’t shut myself down or close myself off from life. I would stay open, fully open…to loving, feeling, and experiencing whatever came afterwards in my life . I have lived by that for sure.
Life has been particularly testing for me over the last couple of years with multiple things occurring in my personal life at once, enough to have really pushed me to my absolute limits and along with having my youngest daughter struggle and out of school for some time, I hope it explains my absence from my spiritual work and on here. I have been very disconnected, physically unwell with health challenges and completely drained, yet somehow I know I’ve continued to be supported through this latest challenging period of life. Everything that has happened has ultimately led me to reflect so much and continue to heal. Whilst healing isn’t linear and there are days I still struggle. My health is improving and I’m feeling stronger and more determined than ever to be the best version of myself.
There really hasn’t been a time in the last 14 years I haven’t thought about Joseph. I’ve wondered what he would have looked like, what his personality would have been like, what he would have loved and what would have made him laugh. Now I sit here finding myself wondering what kind of 14 year old he would be today.
It’s taken 14 years, a lot of life experience and a long and sometimes turbulent journey of true soul searching to realise I was allowed to grieve my son.
I loved him when I chose to continue my pregnancy. I loved him when I desperately wanted to give him a chance. I loved him when I listened to the doctors explain what he could potentially face. I loved him when I made the most heartbreaking decision of my life. I loved him when I couldn’t take those tablets. I loved him when I asked them to stop. I loved him when I gave birth to him. I loved him when I held his tiny body in the palm of my hand.
And I have loved him for every single one of the 14 years since. I share a picture every year but I don’t ever say a word. Today thats changed ( clearly with the big essay 🤣)
When I look back at 24 year old me now, I see her very differently. She was faced with an impossible situation and trying desperately to make what she believed was the most loving decision she could for her little boy. She deserved to grieve. She deserved to remember him and she always had the right to say her baby’s name. I truly hope anyone who has been through something similar never feels like they have no right to grieve their loss, no matter their stories or circumstances 🙏
Today would have been his 14th birthday, I’m saying his name from the more healed version of myself. Who has always had a huge amount of love for him and now love for herself too.
Joseph Leo 🤍
My son. You existed. You mattered. You were loved then and you are loved now.
Happy Heavenly 14th Birthday to Joseph Leo🕊️remembered always 🕯️
