Why I Was Inspired to Write Poetry: Healing Through Words in the Storm of High-Risk Pregnancy

By Laura Johnstone

Writing has always been a lifeline for me. As someone who didn’t learn to read until I was 13 and who now finds deep meaning in storytelling, I’ve discovered that words can offer what sometimes people cannot—space to breathe, to process, to heal. And during one of the most emotionally complex times of my life—my pregnancy—I turned to poetry, not because I felt like a poet, but because I needed somewhere to place all the fear, hope, love, and pain I was carrying.

My daughter’s pregnancy was high risk. From the moment we were told things weren’t going to be straightforward, I found myself thrust into a world of medical language, uncertain scans, and ticking clocks. I felt alone, even when surrounded by love. I was terrified, even when told to “stay positive.” I needed something that would help me hold space for all those emotions—something I could shape with my own hands when everything else felt out of control. That’s where Holding Hope came from.

Poetry as Therapy

The act of writing a poem is deeply therapeutic. It’s not just about rhyme or structure—it’s about putting feelings into a container that doesn’t break when you drop it. It becomes a place to pour your tears, your fears, your whispered prayers. For me, writing Holding Hope was a way to honour the raw strength it takes to carry on when you don’t know what’s coming next. It became a tribute not just to my own experience, but to every parent walking a difficult path in pregnancy.

“Holding Hope” – A Poem for Parents Facing High-Risk Pregnancy

By Laura Johnstone

This road you walk is steep and slow,

With questions asked no parent should know.

Each scan, each test, each whispered fear,

Feels like the weight of the world is near.

You count the days, the kicks, the signs,

And pray for peace between the lines.

You clutch your heart with every call,

And find new strength when you feel small.

Your love began before the start,

It beats within your guarded heart.

Though shadows try to cloud the way,

You carry light from day to day.

Not every journey is straight or clear,

But courage lives alongside fear.

The waiting hurts, the unknowns bite,

Yet still you rise and still you fight.

You are not weak for tears you shed,

Nor for the countless thoughts you’ve said.

Each moment passed, each breath you take,

Is proof of all the love you make.

And though the path is tough and long,

Know this: you’re doing nothing wrong.

You’re building hope with every mile,

And dreaming dreams behind each smile.

So take it one soft step, one breath,

And trust yourself through life and death.

No matter where this story goes,

Your love is real—it always shows.

Sharing the Words

At first, this poem was just for me. But when I read it back, I realised how many other parents might need to hear those words too. The ones counting down days, sitting in hospital waiting rooms, holding their breath with every phone call. If you’re reading this and you’re in that space, I hope you know—you’re not alone. You’re doing an incredible job.

Whether your story ends in heartbreak or healing or both, your love is real. Your hope matters. And writing it down—whether in a journal, a poem, or even a message to a friend—can be a powerful part of your journey.

Call to Action

If Holding Hope speaks to you, please consider sharing it with someone who may need it. Poetry can be a bridge between silent hearts. And if you’d like to read more or support my journey, please like, share, and subscribe to the blog so we can continue reaching parents who need a voice to walk beside them.

References

Tommy’s: www.tommys.org – Supporting high-risk pregnancies Sands: www.sands.org.uk – Support for baby loss and bereavement Birth Trauma Association: www.birthtraumaassociation.org.uk – Emotional support after traumatic birth

To the Nurses Who Changed My Life: A Heartfelt Thank You on Nurses Day

Today’s daily writing prompt asked me, “What has made a positive impact in your life?” And without a shadow of a doubt, my answer is nurses.

From the very beginning of my life, nurses were there. I was born prematurely at 28 weeks and 5 days, during a time when neonatal medicine was still finding its feet. It was the dedication and vigilance of neonatal nurses that helped me survive those earliest, most fragile moments. Their hands were the first to hold me safely in a world I was not yet ready for.

Years later, when my own daughter was born prematurely, life came full circle. It was once again the nurses — those incredible neonatal and special care nurses — who stepped in, becoming the guardians of her tiny, vulnerable body. They weren’t just there to provide medical support. They were there with warm words, gentle smiles, and the kind of care that goes far beyond a job description.

The gratitude I feel cannot be put into words. These nurses carried me at the start of my life, and then carried my daughter at the start of hers. How do you say thank you for something so profound? The truth is — you never really stop saying it. You carry it with you, in every heartbeat of your child, in every milestone they reach.

What stands out to me is not just their clinical expertise, but the emotional intelligence they bring. Nurses are often the first to spot something wrong, the first to offer reassurance, and the last to leave your side during the hardest moments. For so many of us parents — especially those whose babies came too soon — nurses are the reason we made it through.

So today, on Nurses Day, I want to say this: thank you.

Thank you for your calm under pressure.

Thank you for your knowledge and your instincts.

Thank you for treating our babies like your own.

Thank you for being the light in some of our darkest moments.

To all the neonatal nurses, postnatal nurses, health visitors, and every single nurse who has ever touched a family’s life — your impact ripples through generations.

We see you. We honour you. And we are so, so grateful.

Happy Nurses Day.

Call to Action:

If this touched your heart, please like, comment, and share to help us say thank you to the nurses who continue to make miracles happen. And don’t forget to subscribe for more stories of hope, resilience, and parenting through the unexpected.

References:

Royal College of Nursing. (n.d.). https://www.rcn.org.uk Bliss, for babies born premature or sick. https://www.bliss.org.uk International Nurses Day – Celebrated annually on 12th May, in honour of Florence Nightingale’s birthday

Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.

What Does Freedom Mean to Me?

Earlier this week, on the 8th of May, the world marked the 80th anniversary of VE Day—Victory in Europe Day. It’s a day that holds deep meaning for so many, including myself. It’s a moment to pause and reflect on the sacrifices made by generations before us. For me, freedom begins with gratitude—gratitude for all those who fought in the Second World War and the First before it. They stood up against tyranny and fascism, and because of their bravery, we can live in a world that, while not perfect, is far more just and free than it could have been.

I often think about what life might have been like if I had been born during that time. The truth is, I wouldn’t be here. I was born hard of hearing. Back then, under fascist regimes with ideals of a so-called “perfect race”, people like me wouldn’t have had the chance to live freely—perhaps not even live at all. That knowledge makes me hold my freedom today even more tightly.

But freedom isn’t just about politics or war. It’s also deeply personal. It’s about the ability to live authentically, to be yourself, and to accept who you are without fear or shame.

In my past, I’ve been in relationships where, looking back now, I know I wasn’t free to be fully myself. I bent and shrank to fit into someone else’s idea of who I should be. That’s not freedom. That’s survival. And it took me time—and courage—to realise I deserved better.

That’s why I’m so grateful for my husband, Ryan. With him, I don’t have to hide parts of myself. With him, I am truly free to be the person I was born to be—neurodiverse, passionate, creative, and a little chaotic at times, but wholly, unapologetically me.

Freedom is living in truth.

Freedom is knowing you belong.

Freedom is loving—and being loved—for who you are.

As we remember the past and honour those who gave us the freedoms we enjoy today, let’s also protect and nurture the freedoms that matter deeply in our homes, relationships, and inner worlds.

If this resonated with you, please like, comment, and subscribe to stay connected. I’d love to hear—what does freedom mean to you?

What does freedom mean to you?

Facing the Fear: My Experience with Hydrops Monitoring During Pregnancy

Watching a recent episode of Grey’s Anatomy, I was unexpectedly overwhelmed when a storyline featured a pregnant woman whose baby was diagnosed with hydrops fetalis. This brought back intense memories of my own pregnancy journey, where hydrops was a looming concern due to complications with my baby’s umbilical cord.

Understanding Hydrops Fetalis

Hydrops fetalis is a serious condition characterized by an abnormal accumulation of fluid in at least two fetal compartments, such as the abdomen, lungs, or skin. It can be classified into two types: immune and non-immune. Non-immune hydrops, the more common form today, can result from various causes including heart or lung defects, severe anemia, infections, or chromosomal abnormalities .

My Pregnancy Journey

After my 20-week scan, doctors identified issues with my baby’s umbilical cord, prompting frequent monitoring for signs of hydrops. Each scan was a mix of hope and fear, as we awaited confirmation that our baby was developing without this complication. The emotional toll was immense, and the uncertainty weighed heavily on us.

The episode of Grey’s Anatomy depicted a similar scenario, where a mother faced the devastating news of her baby developing hydrops due to a sacrococcygeal teratoma, leading to an emergency situation . This portrayal resonated deeply with me, highlighting the real-life fears and decisions many parents face.

The Importance of Support and Awareness

Experiencing such a high-risk pregnancy underscored the need for comprehensive support systems for expectant parents. Understanding conditions like hydrops fetalis and having access to timely information and emotional support can make a significant difference in coping with the challenges.

For those interested in a more in-depth discussion of my experiences, I invite you to listen to my podcast episode where I delve into the emotional and medical aspects of my pregnancy journey:

🎧 Listen to the podcast episode

If you’re a parent navigating similar challenges or seeking support, know that you’re not alone. Sharing our stories can foster a community of understanding and resilience.

References:

Stanford Medicine Children’s Health. “Hydrops Fetalis.” Link Grey’s Anatomy Universe Wiki. “Staring at the End.” Link

If you found this blog post helpful, please like and subscribe to stay updated on future posts. Sharing our experiences can provide comfort and guidance to others facing similar journeys.

Building a Business with Heart: My Career Plan for Supporting Parents Like Us

When I first became a parent, I knew my life was going to change—but I didn’t quite realise how much it would give me clarity and purpose. Having a premature baby, navigating NICU life, facing birth trauma, and walking the road of neurodiversity both personally and within my family—all of these experiences have shaped not only who I am, but also what I do.

And so, I want to share with you where I’m heading with my business, The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey—because it’s more than just a brand. It’s a mission. A movement. A safe space for families who often feel unseen.

My Vision

My goal is simple but powerful:

To create a network of support, education, and connection for parents—especially those navigating premature birth, neurodiversity, or parenting with additional needs themselves.

Whether you’re trying to figure out how to manage sleepless nights, learning to advocate for your neurodivergent child in a school setting, or just needing someone to say “I see you”—that’s where my work comes in.

What I’m Building

Here’s what’s in the pipeline:

1. Books and Blogs

From personal reflections to helpful guides, I’m continuing to publish content that reassures parents they are not alone. I write about NICU life, mental health, disability, loss, and everything in between.

2. Podcast Expansion

My podcast, The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey, is growing. I’m inviting professionals, parents, and people with lived experience to open up real conversations. We talk about things that don’t always get airtime—from PND to SEN diagnoses to grief and everything in-between.

3. Retreats and Support Spaces

I’m currently working on creating retreat days and workshops for parents, giving them a chance to reset, connect, and be heard. These won’t be “woo-woo”—they’ll be practical, honest, and full of empathy.

4. Campaigns for Change

Projects like Pumping for Preemies and advocating for better bereavement care are central to my business mission. I want to challenge policies and shine a light on real struggles so that future parents don’t face the same barriers I did.

5. Resources for NICUs, Baby Banks & Schools

I’m developing info sheets, mini books, and guides that hospitals, schools, and baby banks can share with families. I want every parent to be handed something that says “we see you” at just the right moment.

Why It Matters

This business isn’t about profit—it’s about purpose.

Every blog, book, voice note, or podcast episode is built with love and deep understanding. I’ve lived through the fear, the exhaustion, the grief, and the beauty of parenting when the journey takes an unexpected turn. And now I want to help others feel less alone.

Where You Come In

I can’t build this alone. I want to grow with you.

If you’re reading this and think “yes, this is what I need”—please follow, subscribe, and share. Whether it’s a friend navigating NICU, a mum struggling with PND, or a dad trying to advocate for his autistic child—this space is for you.

Let’s build something that makes a real difference. Together.

Call to Action:

Like, subscribe, and share this blog to support a mission that’s all about making parents feel seen, valued, and supported. Follow along for new podcast episodes, honest parenting posts, and upcoming events that truly understand the messy, beautiful reality of raising a child.

References:

Bliss Charity UK (www.bliss.org.uk) Tommy’s (www.tommys.org) National Autistic Society (www.autism.org.uk) Sands Charity (www.sands.org.uk)

What is your career plan?

Parenting While Sleep-Deprived and on Your Period: The Pain, the Power, and the Push to Keep Going

Let’s not sugar-coat it. Parenting when you’re exhausted is one thing. Parenting when you’re sleep-deprived and on your period is next-level hard. Add in cramps, emotional ups and downs, and zero personal space—and it can feel like a form of torture that nobody warned us about.

But here’s the thing: we still show up. We keep going. Because even on the hardest days, this job—this chaotic, beautiful, relentless job—is something I wouldn’t trade for the world.

When You’re Running on Empty

You know the kind of tired I mean. The kind where you wake up more tired than when you went to bed. Where you’ve had less than four hours of broken sleep, the toddler has decided 4:30am is a reasonable start to the day, and your partner is either at work or equally as frazzled.

Now throw in the joy of your period. Your uterus is doing somersaults, your back aches, and you’re bleeding heavily, wondering if you’ll even get a second to go to the loo in peace. You’re craving chocolate, a hot water bottle, and about twelve hours of uninterrupted silence. Instead, you’re wiping noses, answering “why” a hundred times before 9am, and stepping on Lego barefoot.

When Hormones Make Disability Worse

For me, it’s not just the fatigue or the bleeding—it’s what the hormonal shift does to my disability. I live with chronic pain and mobility challenges. And during my period, everything flares. My joints hurt more, my body feels like it’s working against me, and I often need crutches to get around.

But here’s the thing: crutches and a nearly-toddler don’t go well together. My child still wants to be picked up. She still wants me to chase her, to lift her into the high chair, to stop her scaling the sofa. And on those days, the pain feels unbearable—not just physically, but emotionally too. Because I want to do it all. And I can’t. Not without hurting.

And still, we keep going.

It Feels Like Survival Mode Because It Is

There’s this societal pressure to cherish every moment. And yes, there’s joy—we’ll get to that. But let’s just validate the honest truth: some days feel like survival. Some hours drag. Sometimes you cry in the bathroom, not because anything dramatic happened, but because everything is just too much.

Hormones, exhaustion, the mental load, chronic illness—it all piles up. And then you have to read a bedtime story with a smile, while your womb feels like it’s imploding and your joints are screaming.

Still, I Wouldn’t Change It

Here’s where it gets weird. Even on days when I’m running on fumes, when the pain is gnawing at me and my patience is stretched thin, there’s still this deep, unshakeable love. A giggle from the other room, a small hand reaching for mine, or a whispered “I love you, Mummy” in the dark—it grounds me.

Motherhood is paradoxical like that. It’s painful and powerful. Exhausting and exhilarating. Some days I want to scream. Some days I do. But I also look at this little person I’m raising and know I’m doing something extraordinary. Even when I feel like I’m doing it badly, I’m still doing it.

What I Wish More People Knew

I wish more people talked about this side of motherhood—not just the sweet moments and the milestone photos, but the nitty gritty: the days when your period pain is intense and your toddler is intense and you forgot to defrost dinner.

I wish people understood how hormones can intensify pain for disabled parents. How we still show up, even when our legs feel like lead and our heads are foggy from the fatigue.

Because showing up for your children when your tank is empty? That’s brave. That’s powerful. That’s love.

My Message to You (and Myself)

If today has been one of those days—where you’re bleeding, broken, aching and still making snacks and wiping bums—know that I see you.

You are not failing.

You are not alone.

You are a warrior, even if you feel like a wreck.

And yes, sleep would be nice. A full night’s sleep would be amazing. But in the meantime, let’s remind ourselves that even the most tired, tear-streaked versions of us are doing something truly heroic.

If this post made you feel seen, please like, share, or subscribe to The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey. Your support helps other parents feel less alone.

References:

NHS UK. (2023). Period Pain. Retrieved from: https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/period-pain/ Sleep Foundation. (2022). How Sleep Deprivation Affects Parents. Retrieved from: https://www.sleepfoundation.org/ Ehlers-Danlos Support UK. (2024). Hormonal Fluctuations and Pain. Retrieved from: https://www.ehlers-danlos.org/ Parentkind. (2023). Parental Mental Health and Fatigue. Retrieved from: https://www.parentkind.org.uk

Grieving the Matriarch: Remembering My Nain 21 Years On

It’s been 21 years since my Nain passed away. She left us in February 2004, and today—on what would have been her 106th birthday—I find myself missing her more than ever.

Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. It doesn’t quietly fade into the background. Some days, it feels like it happened yesterday, especially when milestones come around or when I wish she could be here to see how life has unfolded. My Nain was more than a grandmother—she was the heart of our family, the matriarch who brought everyone together with warmth, laughter, and an unconditional love that made everyone feel seen.

I often find myself thinking about what it would be like if she were here now. I wish so deeply that she could have met Amelia, my daughter. I wish she could have held her in her arms, sung her lullabies, and told her the stories I grew up with. I wish she had known all of my nieces and nephews—though I’m comforted by the fact that my oldest niece did get to experience her love firsthand. What a precious gift that is.

And I wish she could see the person I am today. I’ve grown so much, especially since becoming a mother myself. I carry her values with me every day, and I hope she’d be proud of how I’m raising Amelia—with kindness, strength, and a whole lot of love. I also wish she could have met Ryan. I know, without a doubt, she would have loved him. I can picture them chatting away, sharing laughs, and swapping stories. I think they would have had a beautiful bond.

There’s a special kind of grief that comes from knowing someone would have adored your child, your partner—your whole life. That they would have added something beautiful to it, and vice versa. It’s a quiet ache, one that settles into your bones and stays there.

Today, I imagine her with a glass of wine in hand, smiling down at us, proud of the family she helped shape. I’m raising my metaphorical glass to her right now—thank you, Nain, for every moment, every hug, every piece of wisdom you passed on. I hope you’re enjoying the biggest party up there, surrounded by love, laughter, and endless glasses of red.

Grief and joy can coexist. I carry both with me today.

To anyone else missing someone who helped raise them, guide them, or simply loved them deeply—you’re not alone. Share your memories. Speak their name. Celebrate their life.

If this post resonated with you, please like, subscribe, and share it with someone who might need it today. Let’s keep the memories of our loved ones alive—together.

References and Inspiration:

Personal experience, February 2004 – present The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey blog archive “On Grief and Grieving” by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler

When Sleep Regression Breaks You: Parenting Through the Hardest Nights

If you’re anything like me, you’ve Googled “Why is my toddler suddenly not sleeping?” at 3am while rocking a wriggling body who’s wide awake, chatty, and completely unaware that it’s the middle of the night.

Right now, Amelia is going through the final major sleep regression—the one that tends to hit around 2 years old—and it’s honestly flooring us. Ryan and I are completely drained. It’s not just the broken nights, it’s the emotional rollercoaster. One minute she’s cuddly and sweet, the next she’s screaming because I looked at the wrong toy. The sleep battles feel constant. And to be honest, it’s one of the hardest phases we’ve been through since the NICU.

What Even Is Sleep Regression?

Sleep regression—or as I now call it, emotional demolition for parents—is a phase when your child’s sleep suddenly becomes disrupted, even if they were previously sleeping well. It’s linked to developmental leaps and changes in the brain.

You’ll often see regressions around:

4 months – Baby sleep starts maturing. 6–8 months – Teething, crawling, big awareness shifts. 12 months – Walking and talking explode. 18 months – Separation anxiety peaks. 24 months (now for us!) – Big emotions, fierce independence, and imagination can all interfere with sleep.

It’s technically a progression, because it means their brain is developing. But at 2am, it doesn’t feel progressive—it feels like we’re going backwards.

What This Regression Feels Like

There’s something about the two-year regression that hits differently. These aren’t just sleepy whimpers anymore. These are full-blown protests: “No!” “Don’t want it!” “More stories!” and “Mummy cuddle me!” on repeat.

Amelia’s been:

Waking up multiple times in the night. Refusing to go to bed unless we lie next to her. Having meltdowns over things that didn’t even register yesterday. Fighting naps even when she’s obviously exhausted.

And because she’s so active, it’s like her body can’t wind down. Her brain is on overdrive—and ours are fried.

Parenting Through It When You’re Already Exhausted

As parents who are both neurodivergent (I’m autistic and ADHD, Ryan’s dyspraxic), routine is everything. So when Amelia’s sleep spirals, it can feel like our whole world is upside down. The mess, the noise, the lack of time to regroup—it becomes more than just being tired. It’s sensory overload. It’s burnout.

We’ve had nights where we’ve taken turns crying in the bathroom just to get a break. There are mornings where caffeine feels like a lifeline, and we stare at each other, wondering how we’re meant to function like this.

And yet… we do. Somehow, we do.

What’s Helped Us (Even a Little Bit)

Here’s what we’ve tried to hold onto:

1. Stick to the Routine (Even Loosely)

We try to keep bath, books, and bedtime at roughly the same time—even when she protests. That sense of predictability helps us all, even if it doesn’t always work in the moment.

2. Lean Into Comfort

Sometimes Amelia just wants more cuddles, more reassurance, more mummy and daddy. We’ve stopped worrying about creating “bad habits.” Survival first, routines later.

3. Divide and Conquer

Ryan and I try to take turns—even just with 30-minute breaks. One night, he’ll settle her. The next, I will. Some nights, we tag team. It helps us both feel less alone in the chaos.

4. Drop the Guilt

We’ve had days where screen time goes up and our patience goes down. That’s okay. This isn’t forever. Being a “good parent” isn’t about perfection—it’s about showing up. And we are.

5. Talk About It

Whether it’s friends, Instagram, or just someone who gets it, sharing the struggle has been a lifeline. Because so often, we suffer silently through this phase thinking everyone else’s toddler sleeps like an angel. They don’t. Promise.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

I know this won’t last forever. Everyone says that, and I know from past regressions that it’s true. But in the thick of it, you need more than a cliché. You need support. You need to know that you’re not alone. That what you’re feeling—overwhelmed, frustrated, bone-tired—it’s valid.

And if your child is neurodiverse, or you are, this regression might look different or last longer. That doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means your journey is just uniquely yours.

To Every Parent In This Phase: You’re Not Alone

If your toddler is waking hourly, climbing out of their cot, or just melting down from 6pm till midnight, I see you. I am you. And you’re doing better than you think.

This phase is brutal—but we’re in it together.

If this blog resonated with you, please like, share, and subscribe.

Follow for more honest stories, gentle support, and practical tips from one tired but determined mum to another.

We’re all just trying to make it through the night.

References

NHS. Sleep problems in young children The Sleep Charity. Understanding Sleep Regressions Unicef UK. Responsive parenting and infant sleep

The Importance of Food Banks and Baby Banks: Support When You Need It Most

In the middle of parenting—especially when raising children with additional needs or after a difficult start like a NICU journey—it can be incredibly hard to ask for help. But the truth is, we’re not meant to do this alone. One of the most important forms of support in the community right now comes through food banks and baby banks, and they’re here for you.

What Are Food Banks and Baby Banks?

Food banks provide essential food items to individuals and families experiencing hardship. It’s not just about food—it’s about survival, dignity, and knowing that your family won’t go hungry tonight.

Baby banks offer clothing, nappies, toiletries, formula, toys, and other essentials for babies and young children. Many also help with cots, prams, and car seats (depending on availability and safety standards). If you’ve had a premature baby or are struggling with postnatal trauma, knowing your child is warm, clean, and fed can lift a huge weight off your shoulders.

Why These Services Matter – Especially After NICU

Parenting is expensive—and exhausting. Add to that the cost-of-living crisis, rising rent, fuel costs, and time away from work, and it’s no wonder many families are finding themselves stretched to breaking point.

Studies have shown that time spent in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) places a significant financial strain on families. Travel costs, parking fees, reduced income from unpaid leave, and the emotional toll of hospital stays often lead to increased debt, financial insecurity, and difficult decisions about returning to work or prolonging maternity leave.

Access to food banks and baby banks can make the difference between staying afloat and sinking. No one should have to choose between heating and eating, or between nappies and rent.

How to Access Food Banks and Baby Banks

In most cases, these services are means-tested, meaning you’ll need to show that you’re currently experiencing financial hardship. But don’t let that put you off—these systems are here to make sure the support gets to those who truly need it, not to shame or judge.

Food Banks – Getting a Referral

You usually need a referral to access a food bank. Here’s how you can get one:

Speak to your GP, midwife, or health visitor. Ask your social worker or a family support worker if you have one. Visit your local Citizens Advice Bureau – they can assess your situation and provide a voucher. Contact your child’s school, nursery, or crèche – many have safeguarding leads or pastoral teams who can help with referrals discreetly. Local councils sometimes have hardship teams who can refer you too.

Once referred, you’ll usually get a voucher to exchange at your local Trussell Trust food bank or an independent one. You’ll receive a parcel containing 3–7 days’ worth of food and essential toiletries.

Baby Banks – Who to Speak To

Baby banks tend to work through referral systems too. Here’s how you can access one:

Talk to your midwife, health visitor, or perinatal mental health team. Social workers and keyworkers can often refer directly. Some baby banks accept referrals from schools or early years professionals. Children’s centres (where they still exist) often have connections and can put in a request.

Some baby banks may allow self-referral—check their websites or call ahead if you’re unsure.

There Is No Shame in Asking for Help

You are not failing. You are surviving. And these services are here for families like yours. So if you’re thinking “I shouldn’t need this,” please remember—it’s not about what you should or shouldn’t need. It’s about getting through this time with the support you deserve.

Your child needs you to be safe, nourished, and supported—and so do you.

Call to Action

If this blog has helped you or someone you love, please share it. You never know who’s silently struggling. And don’t forget to like and subscribe to stay connected with stories and resources from The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey. Together, we grow.

References

The Trussell Trust: https://www.trusselltrust.org Baby Bank Network UK: https://www.babybanknetwork.com Bliss Charity (Financial Impact of NICU): https://www.bliss.org.uk Citizens Advice: https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk

International Bereaved Mother’s Day: Honouring the Mothers Who Carry Love and Loss

Today is International Bereaved Mother’s Day – a day that quietly acknowledges what many hearts carry every day. It falls on the Sunday before traditional Mother’s Day in the United States, offering a space for those who may find that day too painful to face. This day is for the mothers who hold both love and loss – who parent their children, even when those children are no longer here in the physical world.

Whether you experienced miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal loss, or the death of a child at any age – this day is for you.

For the Mothers Who Lost a Baby Through Miscarriage

Your pregnancy may have ended before others knew about it, or you may have already begun sharing your dreams for your baby. Either way, the grief is real. There is often so much silence surrounding miscarriage, but today we make space for you. You are a mother. Your loss matters.

For the Mothers of Stillborn Babies

You prepared for a life you never got to take home. You may have held your baby and said goodbye in the same breath. The weight of that moment – of being both a new mother and a grieving one – is something no one should ever have to carry. But if you are, today we honour that strength. Your baby’s existence will never be forgotten.

For the Mothers Whose Babies Died in NICU

This is something that is especially close to my heart.

When my daughter was in neonatal care, I noticed the purple butterflies on the walls and doors. At first, I didn’t understand what they meant. Then I learned that they symbolised that a baby had died – and sometimes, that one twin had passed away while the other had survived.

Seeing those butterflies brought everything home. I knew that behind each one was a family shattered by grief. A mother who had come into hospital hoping for hope and left with a hole in her heart. It affected me deeply – as a mother, as a twin who lost her own brother, and as someone who understands that the NICU is not just a place of survival, but sometimes a place of goodbye.

To those mothers who left the NICU without their babies: you are mothers, forever. The fight you fought alongside your baby matters. The time you had – however short – was filled with love. Your baby’s story is not forgotten.

For the Mothers Who Lost a Child Later in Life

Whether your child was a few months, a few years, or fully grown, their absence is felt in every corner of your life. People may assume that grief fades with time, but bereaved motherhood is a lifelong journey. You are still your child’s mother. That bond doesn’t break – it transforms.

Motherhood and Grief Can Coexist

Being a bereaved mother means holding both love and pain, sometimes in the same breath. It means learning to live with a part of your heart missing. But even in grief, your motherhood remains. It’s present in your tears, in your memories, in your strength to carry on.

You Are Not Alone

If today feels heavy, please know this: you are not alone. Your grief is valid. Your story is worthy of being heard. And your child’s life – however brief – made a mark on this world, because they made you a mother.

Call to Action

If you are a bereaved mother, or love someone who is, please take a moment today to honour their child. Light a candle. Say their name. Reach out and let them know they are remembered.

And if this blog has resonated with you, please like, comment and subscribe. Together, let’s build a community that holds space for every kind of parent – especially those whose children are no longer here to hold.

You are not alone.

References:

Sands UK – Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Charity Tommy’s – Pregnancy and Baby Loss Support The Compassionate Friends UK – Bereaved Parent Support International Bereaved Mother’s Day

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