My girls.

I have a group of friends that I didn’t meet the old fashioned way. We’re not classmates, or neighbors, or coworkers, or sorority sisters, and if you had told me four years ago that some of my dearest friends would be people who are scattered all across the United States, I would have said you were crazy. Nevertheless, I truly can't imagine my life without them in it. Our bond to each other is unique, and the way we came to know one another is somewhat unconventional.

Back in 2008, I was in my mid-twenties and had been married to my husband for two years. We both worked full time, had a comfortable home, and had lots of fun as a dual-income, no kids couple traveling and entertaining. We loved our life and decided it was time to start trying for a baby that summer…which meant I’d be pregnant within a few months (at least in my mind).

Well, I did get pregnant that fall. And then again a few months later. Both pregnancies ended in miscarriages, the second one on Christmas. I was heartbroken. My husband and friends tried to support me the best they could—and they were wonderful—but I felt a deep need to connect with people who understood exactly what I was going through. That’s what led me to a popular online pregnancy and parenting forum. I spent lots of time on the website’s message board that is specifically tailored to women who’ve experienced pregnancy loss. I was especially grateful to have these women to lean on when, after my miscarriages, we were faced with over a year of infertility which lead to many invasive tests and procedures. There's nothing like feeling all alone in the path you are walking, and then to suddenly find someone who can say, "You had a loss? Me too."


We met during the darkest time of our lives—while in the process of, or shortly after, having miscarriages. We use the word “met” loosely because many of us have never actually met in person. We are a diverse group of women from all across the country, each with our own story of grief. Our experiences are varied and include multiple miscarriages, infertility, second trimester miscarriage, postpartum depression/anxiety, premature labor and births, costly infertility testing and procedures, and years of trying to conceive. Through it all, we’ve been there for one another, filling the roles of cheerleader, mentor, savior, therapist, and best friend in ways that people in our everyday lives could not.

The support system we built carried us through on days when we just wanted to give up and let the darkness take over, and because of that very real and constant love, we don’t consider ourselves to be “Internet friends” or an “online support group.” After thousands of text messages, phone calls, Facebook posts, e-mails, and chat conversations, we no longer know each other merely by screen names or avatar pictures. We are friends, plain and simple. The fact that some of us have never had the opportunity to actually meet in person doesn’t change that fact. The women I have been blessed to meet are just as amazing in person, and our connection transitioned seamlessly from online to “real life.”

Along with all of the heartbreak and tears has come an immeasurable amount of joy, because there is a silver lining to our collective story. We now hold in our arms or wombs beautiful, healthy babies—true miracles in more than one sense of the word. Among our children are babies who were born 15 weeks early but are now thriving. There are babies who were conceived naturally, in spite of a devastating infertility diagnosis. There are twin girls born after three years of waiting and wishing through the miracle of IVF. These are children who are the result of countless hopes, prayers and tears, and the fact that we have been through all the joy and pain together has made our victories that much more sweet.

Although much of the pain we experienced has been healed, our hearts are not without scars. Every October 15 is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day (please visit this website for more information: http://www.october15th.com/). Raising awareness about miscarriage and infant loss and helping women cope with the many fears that come along with having experienced this kind of physical and emotional trauma has become very important to me. It is still such a taboo topic and women should know that they are not alone. There are places to talk about their loss, whether it is online or in person.

Some people in my everyday life have difficulty understanding why I still  have contact with this group of friends now, years after my miscarriages--perhaps because meeting people online is still largely stigmatized. I tend to think that it’s not much different than joining a local mother’s playgroup or signing up for a dating service like match.com. It’s just a high-tech way of connecting with like-minded people. I used to be embarrassed about these friendships because other people perceived them as weird, silly or not real. I now know none of that is true, and I have nothing to be ashamed of. I speak to a few whom I am especially close to every day and we plan family vacations together multiple times a year. There’s nothing sweeter than watching our babies (children we weren’t sure we’d ever be able to have) grow up together.  

I consider myself blessed to have a nationwide network of friends—from Alaska, to California, to Arizona, to Texas, to Florida, to New Jersey and beyond—to catch me when I fall or share in my joy, no matter what kind of goodness or sorrow comes into my life. They're "my girls."  My struggles on the the road to starting a family changed my heart and mind, and not in a way I'd ever take back. Knowing these women--crying for them, laughing with them, and cheering them on--forever changed my life's path in a way I'm nothing but grateful for. Because of knowing them (and their husbands and babies) I have become infinitely more open-minded, compassionate, informed, and—in a word?

Happy.