Me and my wife experienced the stillbirth of our first son, Leo Phoenix, in 2016. He was conceived on our fifth round of fertility treatment - 3 IUI cycles, and 2 IVF cycles. We were so, so close to finally having him home; he died at 37 weeks and 1 day. Needless to say, we were and are still, simply heartbroken by the loss of our little dark haired boy.  

Soon after he died, I ventured online. I had started writing down the running thoughts in my head and it led me to start a blog, and an Instagram account. I soon discovered a world of others talking about their experiences; the love, the loss, the heartbreak, the anxiety, the confusion, the hope, the drive to change, and everything else that fuels the beating heart of a bereaved parent. It was a small community; but so healing.  

I quickly realised though that when I looked online or accessed help from charities and organisations - I rarely saw another couple from the LGBTQIA+ community. By speaking out though, people eventually starting sending people my way. Which is wonderful and I’m always so touched when people do that; but I’ve always had the sense and desire that there should be more for people. A safe space. A dedicated space. Not everyone needs it, of course. But for those who do, how important would that be? 

Over the years I’ve shared my story and tried to find ways to help others feel connected, seen or heard. I’m passionate about LGBTQIA+ parent voices influencing research, service design and the wider conversation about pregnancy and baby loss. The more we understand about the needs and experiences of different people; the better they are supported. 

The LGBTQIA+ community is diverse, and there are many ways to make a baby, and sadly, many ways to lose them too. Recognising elements of our experiences in the experiences of others can help people feel less alone. And I think, mostly, that’s what grieving people want and need.  

I’m really grateful to Sands for exploring this deeper and wanting to learn from the community, with the hope that they can create a safe space for people to connect and be safely supported. 

More and more people reach out to me, often in the early days after losing their children. I would absolutely love to be able to offer them the opportunity to access a space that is more than stories, and more than peer-to-peer support. A space or support that is tailored to the unique needs of the community that benefits for the experience and insights that Sands can offer.  

There is a subtlety in connecting with people who have similar experiences to you. It’s a silent relief of acceptance, a shorthand in storytelling, a nuance in language, and a safer space. I have rarely found that but when I have connected with and met others who are also LGBTQIA+, there is a quiet sense of calm in feeling understood.  

I think this is especially important for non-birth parents. I’m not sure my wife has ever, truly had that moment of feeling able to relate to another person. It’s not vital for healing of course, but for many people it is so, so helpful for it. 

We must also recognise that the LGBTQIA+ parenting community is diverse. There are so many dynamics present. From same-sex female couples, to trans parents or gay dads, and many more. The more acceptance we have in society, the more access to parenting there is - sadly, the more loss people will experience. So it’s critical people, services and organisations are able to best meet the needs of these people and understand the challenges and experiences that they may have had prior to pregnancy, during it and afterwards.  

As gay parents, we’ve navigated through fertility, gynae, maternity and neonatal services. For the vast majority of this, our care wasn’t impacted by our sexuality. Yet my wife was offered ‘the dad chair’, we were quizzed by overly curious staff mid-miscarriage, people simply didn’t understand the concept of IVF and no one knew how to manage a lack of paternity records. Our pregnancy was high-risk on papter because it was IVF, but it was seemingly downgraded in spirit because we weren’t infertile. I’m never sure or not if it influenced the assessment of potential red flags in Leo’s care. It all adds up and shifts how people navigate these vital periods of their lives. 

I really encourage anyone of any community that struggles to see themselves in the conversation, to get involved. Whether it’s surveys, research, fundraising, advocacy, volunteering, supporting, sharing - just get involved. The more voices we have, the more voices we can help.  

-Jess Clasby-Monk, mum to Leo Phoenix. 

We’re in the early stages of exploring how to best support the LGBTQIA+ community, and we’d love to have your help.

If you identify as LGBTQIA+ and would like to help shape what this support looks like, or just tell us what you think, register your interest with our short form.