Untelling our families broke something inside
Celia Silvani's Heartbreak Seven
Today’s Heartbreak Seven is truly a publication day celebration! Celia Silvani’s wonderful book, Baby Teeth is out today and I really urge you to buy it, like, now. It’s the unnerving tale of a woman drawn into online communities whilst struggling with infertility; it’s been described as ‘horribly relatable’, ‘dark and intense’ and ‘propulsive’. It’s also on Kindle Unlimited.
Celia’s Heartbreak Seven, like all my favourites, spans the emotive and profound - I was undone by her description of telling her family about her pregnancy loss - and the delightfully domestic - ‘what my heart always wants is a beige platter’. Mine too Celia, mine too. This is also the very first Heartbreak Seven to feature someone who invented AN INCREDIBLY CHIC-SOUNDING COCKTAIL. If only the Handyside Daiquiri had a better ring to it, hey?
Thanks for sharing, Celia.
I wanted to write about a kind of heartbreak I think people don’t talk about enough (outside of this brilliant Substack): the quiet, aching kind that lingers just beneath the surface - non-romantic heartbreak. For me, that heartbreak is tied to pregnancy loss. If this is something that might hurt to read, please do skip this piece. I completely understand.
My debut novel, Baby Teeth, follows Claire, a woman consumed by infertility and drawn into the darker corners of online communities. It’s about trust, control, and the lengths we go to when the world feels impossible to navigate. I wrote it during lockdown, long before my husband and I had even started to discuss having children. Back then, the idea of starting a family felt abstract, like a “someday” conversation. The story began to take shape after I read a devastating article about freebirthing - the decision to reject all medical intervention during pregnancy.
Curiosity turned into obsession. I spent months infiltrating private groups and watching unassisted birth videos. My feeds filled with placenta preservation tutorials (in Tupperware, garnished with herbs), breathing guides promising pain-free labour, and a lot of blood and babies. I interviewed midwives and obstetricians and explored the philosophies behind these choices, fascinated by the way trust and community intersected with fear and risk.
I naively had no idea that one day it would all feel painfully personal.
When we started trying for a family, we felt so happy it happened so quickly. And then, we weren’t. My first loss happened early, but it shattered me. Untelling our families broke something inside. I was reading Hamnet at the time, and Judith’s line stayed with me: “What is the word for someone who was a twin but is no longer a twin?” I felt untethered, a mother but not a mother, perhaps someone who might never be one. The grief was immediate, raw, and physical, like my body was mourning alongside me.
The second loss came later. My body, as the doctor said, “wanted to keep the pregnancy.” So did my heart. I had two surgeries and struggled to process what had happened. Instead, like Claire, life imitating a fiction of my own creation, I turned to the internet. Forums became my lifeline, spaces where strangers’ words could hold me. I found it so hard to communicate to my wonderful loved ones despite their best efforts. These anonymous people gave me solace and reminded me I wasn’t alone.
And then, somehow, the days continued and I would get to the evening and realised I hadn’t cried that day. Although grief isn’t linear - it’s spiky and stubborn, showing up at unexpected moments. The third pregnancy, which I was certain would end the same way, brought us our son. He arrived in the most medicalised environment I could arrange. Now, somewhat miraculously (although the head of HR at my employer did say, “You do know how babies are made, Celia,”) we’re expecting another child.
Through it all, I learned something extraordinary: a child’s DNA never leaves their mother. I will always carry fragments of the children I’ll never meet, siblings who could have been.
To answer Judith’s question: A twin is always a twin. A mother is always a mother.
1. Something to read
Heartbreak in all of its forms requires you to be transported, I think. A Woman in the Polar Night by Christianne Ritter is perhaps the most astonishing book I’ve ever read. It’s a memoir of a year spent in Svalbard, in the Arctic Circle. It’s about survival and hope and how powerful the human spirit is.
2. Something to listen to
I have never not been calmed by Pure Shores by All Saints. It actually works for every mood and emotion, in every context. (It’s been a long time since I’ve been at a place where I can suggest the aux cord controller puts it on) but especially when you’re feeling sad. Try it!
3. Something to watch
I’m a reality TV superfan. Something about people screaming at each other soothes me. Vanderpump Rules, Southern Charm, and Real Housewives of Salt Lake City are three absolute favourites and balms for the soul. This is a world where people are raw and rude and so outrageous that it transports you from whatever is causing you pain and into this alternate universe of acceptable behaviour.
4. Something to eat
Whatever you fancy. The heart is fully linked to the stomach, and what my heart always wants is a beige platter. Preferably all cooked on the same oven tray, with absolutely minimal washing up.
5. Something to drink
I want to say something that sounds so chic, so I’m just going to pretend this is what I’d have. My husband’s great-grandad was a bartender at the Ritz and invented a cocktail called the Coronation Silvani.
(But actually, mine’s a spicy marg. It really helps).
6. Somewhere to go
Outside. Everything is so much better when you go outside, even if it’s horrendous weather. It’s always so shocking to see how small your life is when it can feel so large, so difficult. Everything continues to turn even when your personal world is shattered. And you notice that, with absolute certainty, so many people are putting on a brave face too.
7. And a bonus seventh - balm for a broken heart
Karaoke. My go-to song is The Rasmus - In The Shadows. My favourite karaoke place is Jihwaja in Vauxhall because it also does delicious Korean food and their booths have a disco button that is irresistible.
Photos provided by Celia Silvani.
That is the beige platter of dreams!