And we’ve learnt that, like grief, people often don't know what to do with you. To ask or not, to risk you crying, risk causing you pain. Now I call out the elephant in the room myself and would strongly advise others to also. I filmed a short film for the BBC between the third and the fourth, in which I realised something only when it came out of my mouth: “There’s no strength in going through things alone.”

It felt right to speak at this point in our experience too. Reading other articles, viral Facebook statuses, watching another video I took part in with several other women, it hit me like a brick every time I got to “… and then we had our baby”. We wanted to speak for those of us still waist-deep, feeling more and more like we're just at the beginning of finding out something desperately difficult. We wanted to speak for the people in limbo, facing maybe never.

I can only tell those going through similar that however long they think it will take them to feel better, it’s longer than that. And if five have taught us anything, it's that you need that time. Don’t deal. Don’t rush. Acknowledge. And get others to acknowledge too.

The reaction to my article was largely positive, even, unexpectedly, the below-the-line comments. Only one or two stung a little. One simply said, “Just give up. Give up.” One day we will. That day in the waiting room, when my husband asked what was wrong, I managed to sob, “I just can’t see it. I can’t see it ever being us.” I still can’t really. But we’re not done yet.

For information and support, visit miscarriageassociation.org.uk

Amy's husband's article for stylist.co.uk can be found here

A version of this article first appeared in the Journal of Fertility Counselling

Images: iStock

“What going public with my five miscarriages has taught me about grief”