By the time I miscarried, everyone, from friends and family to our friendly waitress, knew of our pregnancy — and slowly they came to know of our loss.

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I actually avoided our favorite breakfast place for a few weeks after, feigning disinterest whenever my husband suggested it. I knew that the bubbly waitress would be there waiting and wondering. My husband finally caught on and insisted I face my fear. Surprisingly, it was quite painless.

We took a seat at our normal table and she came waddling over, weeks away from her due date.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "I am about ready to burst myself!"

I looked at her with my head held high and simply said, "I am feeling better than I was a few weeks ago when I lost the baby."

She replied with an "I'm so sorry" and an encouraging smile, and with that I settled in to enjoy my pancakes. It turns out the anticipation was the very worst part. I felt no embarrassment, only support. Surprisingly, there wasn't a single awkward encounter as people asked about my pregnancy, only to learn of my miscarriage. They offered an endless supply of kind words and thoughtful actions. Shoulders were lent to cry on, gifts of food and flowers were offered, and stories of personal losses were shared. I felt no embarrassment, only support. I started wondering why we had been warned not to tell. Has our society become so superficial that a personal loss creates hopelessly awkward situations that should be avoided at all costs?

I often indulge in the guilty pleasure of YouTube surfing and I am always shocked to see what people are willing to share: awkward ballads belted out with no shame, dance moves that should never have seen the light of day, dirty secrets spilled for no obvious reason, other than the lure of five minutes of fame. Celebrity private lives are broadcast on a minute-to-minute basis; divorce, adultery, addiction. Nothing is off-limits, and the public is always hungry for more. In the age of Facebook and Twitter, you could get the impression that there is no such thing as a secret. Why then, is it taboo to share news of a pregnancy in its early stages? What are we so afraid of?

For us, it turned out that telling the world was the very best thing that we could have done. We had support pouring in from every direction. Best of all, I did not have to hide my sadness and pretend that nothing had happened. I was open about my joy, and found I could also be open about my grief. When we try again, you can bet the phones will start ringing the minute we conceive. As hard as it is to suffer a public loss, we all need the joy that the news of a new life brings.