This Is Not Your Warm and Fuzzy Blog Post: A Truthful Look at Miscarriage, Grief, and the Silence Around It

Mar 23

Miscarriage—a word so heavy with pain, yet still whispered in hushed tones, if at all. This is not your warm and fuzzy blog post. This is truth. Raw, necessary truth. And I’m sharing it not because it’s easy, but because it matters.

For many women, miscarriage is more than the loss of a pregnancy; it is the quiet unraveling of dreams, a collision of physical pain and emotional devastation. And tragically, it’s a loss many are expected to endure silently.

I was one of those people who felt awkward when miscarriage came up. Not out of judgment—but discomfort. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand the weight of that kind of grief.

Until it happened to me.

A Common Loss, An Isolated Grief

It’s estimated that 12% to 15% of recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage, and if we include very early losses, the number rises even higher (Quenby et al., 2021). Some research suggests that up to 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage—making it incredibly common, and yet, still incredibly lonely.

Despite this, there is often little emotional support for women going through it. Medical environments can feel sterile and dismissive, and well-meaning friends may try to comfort without understanding, offering statements like:

“At least you know you can get pregnant.”
“You’ll have another one.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”

These phrases, though perhaps spoken with love, minimize the gravity of what has been lost: a child, a hope, a future imagined.

The Psychology of Grief After Miscarriage

Studies show that 30–50% of women experience anxiety and 10–15% face depression after miscarriage (Farren et al., 2016). For many, the emotional impact is comparable to that of losing a close family member.

And yet, there is no societal roadmap for grieving a pregnancy loss. There are no cards, no casseroles, no rituals of remembrance. Too often, women are expected to return to life as if nothing happened—when in fact, everything has changed.

The “Inconvenience” of Grief

One of the most painful realizations I had after my loss was how easily society—and even healthcare—moves on. Miscarriage is often treated as a clinical event, not a personal trauma.

Many women are discharged from hospitals without so much as a pamphlet or follow-up support. There are rarely grief resources provided, even though studies have shown that compassionate aftercare dramatically improves emotional recovery (Mulvihill & Walsh, 2014).

And worst of all? When women do speak up, they’re often seen as “making others uncomfortable.”

But grief is not convenient. Nor should it be silenced.

How We Can Support Women After Miscarriage

We must shift from silence to compassionate presence. We must stop prioritizing comfort over connection and discomfort over dignity. Supporting someone through miscarriage is not about having the right words—it’s about being willing to sit in the dark with them, so they know they aren’t alone.

Here’s how to truly support a woman after miscarriage:

Don’t try to fix it. You can’t. But you can listen.
Acknowledge the loss. “I’m so sorry. That must hurt deeply.” goes a long way.
Avoid platitudes. Phrases like “You can try again” or “Everything happens for a reason” invalidate grief.
Offer help. Bring a meal. Send a card. Check in weeks later—not just once.
Hold space. Let her cry. Let her be angry. Let her say nothing at all.

A Call for Change in Healthcare

Medical environments must do better. Women deserve more than a cold room and a discharge paper. They deserve:

Follow-up calls
Grief resources
A warm explanation of what’s happening
Mental health referrals
Acknowledgement of their pain

Grief is not pathology. It’s human. And miscarriage is not just a medical event—it’s a heartbreak.

The Ending No One Prepares You For

Miscarriage is not a failure. It’s not weakness. And it’s not something that should be buried under shame or silence.

It is a love story interrupted.
A beginning without a middle.
A soul that left quietly, but left its mark forever.

Not every woman will feel this way. Some may move through the loss with quiet acceptance, some with a resilience that even surprises them. But for many—especially those who have longed for a child or have walked the road of infertility—the pain is compounded. The grief isn’t just about this loss—it’s about all the years of waiting, trying, hoping, and not knowing if or when that hope will become a reality.

If you are someone who has experienced miscarriage, your grief matters. Your story matters. And it’s okay to speak it—shaky voice and all.

I want to be part of the conversation that breaks this silence. I want to be part of a world that holds space for the pain and doesn’t look away.

To the woman who cries in silence, who carries pain in private, who wonders if she’s allowed to feel broken by this—
you are not alone.
We see you. We honor your grief.
And we will not let your story stay hidden any longer.

In health,

Silvanna, MS, CFNC

📚 References

Farren, J., Jalmbrant, M., Ameye, L., Joash, K., Mitchell-Jones, N., Tapp, S., ... & Bourne, T. (2016). Post-traumatic stress, anxiety and depression following miscarriage or ectopic pregnancy: a prospective cohort study. BMJ Open, 6(11), e011864. https://bmjopen.bmj.com/content/6/11/e011864
Mulvihill, A., & Walsh, T. (2014). Pregnancy loss in rural Ireland: An exploratory study. British Journal of Social Work, 44(8), 2290–2306. https://doi.org/10.1093/bjsw/bct085
Quenby, S., Gallos, I. D., Dhillon-Smith, R. K., Podesek, M., Stephenson, M. D., Fisher, J., ... & Brosens, J. J. (2021). Miscarriage matters: the epidemiological, physical, psychological, and economic costs of early pregnancy loss. The Lancet, 397(10285), 1658–1667. https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736(21)00682-6/fulltext