Pregnancy Loss, Grief, and the Lives We Didn’t Choose
A Candid Conversation on Resilience, and Rediscovery
In this deeply personal conversation, Hollie steps away from conflict zones to speak candidly about a private grief—her recent miscarriage. In a conversation with longtime friend and interviewer Dennis Santiago, Hollie reflects on the physical and emotional toll of early pregnancy loss, the unique form of grief it brings, and the silent weight many women carry.
This wasn’t a typical dispatch from McKay. Known for her harrowing frontline reports and fearless commitment to uncovering stories in war-torn regions, McKay's focus shifted inward. “This isn’t so much a dispatch,” she begins, “as it is a discussion of the heart.”
Breaking the Silence on Early Pregnancy Loss
The heart of the conversation is McKay’s recent miscarriage—an early-stage pregnancy loss that came after long hopes and planning for a second child. She reflects on the silent grief that follows such losses, which remain shrouded in social taboo despite being heartbreakingly common. “At least half of my girlfriends have experienced a pregnancy loss,” she notes, “yet there’s still so much stigma around it.”
McKay describes the unique nature of this grief—mourning not only what was lost but what could have been. “You're mourning a life that you had already begun to dream about. A life you'd already started to plan,” she says. Her voice cracks as she recalls the moment she learned her pregnancy was no longer viable, a situation medically termed a “missed miscarriage,” in which the body continues to experience pregnancy symptoms even after the fetus has stopped developing.
The Loneliness of Loss—and the Power of Writing
For McKay, writing became both refuge and catharsis. “It’s something that’s always healed me,” she says. “Capturing the moment through words helps me process it.” Her Substack essay, shared with a broader audience than ever before, was born of this impulse—not just to document, but to connect.
Publishing her piece, “The Baby I Never Held, and the Grief That Grips Your Heart”, helped her feel less alone. “I didn’t want to keep dodging questions like, ‘When are you having another baby?’” she explains. “It became easier to just tell the truth.” The response was immediate and compassionate. “Yes, it helped,” she says simply. “I felt seen.”
A Mother’s Intuition and the Guilt of Grief
One of the most striking moments in the conversation is when McKay confesses that she felt something was wrong early on, despite normal symptoms and medical reassurances. “There’s so much to a mother’s intuition,” she says. Her instincts proved correct—but the loss still came as a cruel shock.
Alongside her sadness came a wave of guilt, something she’s still working through. “You feel like your body betrayed you,” she says. “Even though people tell you it’s not your fault, it’s hard not to internalize blame.”
She acknowledges her emotional swings, physical exhaustion, and feelings of detachment. “I feel like I’m outside myself, watching this version of me struggle to function,” she says. Her candid admissions reveal the biological toll of miscarriage—a reality often dismissed or misunderstood.
Grief Without Resolution
What makes McKay’s account particularly moving is her refusal to wrap her grief in tidy conclusions. “I didn’t want this just to become a footnote to a happier story,” she says. “Because right now, when you're in it, it’s very raw.”
She details how the medical system added to the trauma. “I sat alone in the exam room for 40 minutes after they found no heartbeat,” she recalls. “It wasn’t handled well. I’ll never forget that.” Her vulnerability is matched by an underlying resilience—McKay is not seeking pity, only understanding.
The Journalist at a Crossroads
This personal loss prompted McKay to reflect on the broader trajectory of her life. As a war reporter, she has spent years in dangerous zones, documenting the stories of others at the expense of her own safety and personal stability. “There’s a sliding doors moment,” she muses. “I always wanted a big family. But I chose this path instead.”
She is not bitter, but honest about the cost. “Was it worth it?” she wonders aloud. “I don’t have a completely convinced answer to that.” Santiago, her interviewer and confidant, assures her: “The number of people you helped, the people who would’ve been lost to the wind without your reporting—that’s a real, tangible contribution to humanity.”
Still, McKay voices a yearning for a fuller domestic life. “Mothering gets a bad rap,” she says. “As if your life is over. But there's so much fulfillment in being a mom.”
Gratitude and the Next Chapter
Despite the pain of loss, McKay remains rooted in gratitude—especially for her daughter, Raven. A near-tragic car accident earlier this year reminded her just how fragile life is. “We were hit on the side where she was sitting,” she recounts. “When I realized she was okay, I felt this overwhelming sense of gratitude. That stayed with me.”
In her most spiritual moments, she believes the universe is teaching her something. “Maybe it’s about being more present. About appreciating what I have, rather than always reaching for what’s next.”
She hints at a new book, a long-gestating project on mothers in conflict zones—a work that now carries even deeper resonance. “Some of it was written before I became a mom. Some of it, after,” she says. The project, like its author, straddles the line between the personal and the global.
A New Kind of Dispatch
As the conversation wraps, Santiago notes that this moment—captured on tape and shared with the world—is one of McKay’s most human and vulnerable public appearances. “This shows a very beautiful side of you,” he says.
McKay responds with characteristic grace, framing this chapter of her life not as an ending, but as part of a broader, evolving narrative. “We don’t need to check every box to live a full life,” she concludes. “Sometimes the greatest fulfillment comes from the things closest to home.”