What I Wish I Knew About Grieving a Pregnancy Loss

When Loss Becomes Part of Your Story

My journey into motherhood didn’t begin with a heartbeat — it began with loss. My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage. A few months later, it happened again. At the time, I assumed pregnancy would come with joyful announcements, nursery planning, and steady progress toward a due date. Instead, I found myself grieving something that was both deeply real and painfully invisible.

By the time I became pregnant with my first daughter, I carried not only new life, but also the fear of losing it again. When she was born healthy, I felt an overwhelming mix of gratitude and disbelief. Later, before my second daughter, I experienced a third miscarriage — and this time, I was able to seek answers. Bloodwork revealed a rare clotting disorder. My maternal fetal medicine specialist told me she was surprised my first daughter made it to term at all. I had made it through something I didn’t even know I was surviving.

Even with answers, pregnancy never felt carefree again. I gave myself daily blood thinner shots and waited for a marker in time — 12 weeks, 20 weeks — when I might feel safe. That sense of relief never fully came.

The Silence I Didn’t Expect

What surprised me the most was not just the grief, but the silence around it. Miscarriage is common, yet it’s rarely talked about in real-time. I didn’t know many people who had gone through it, or at least no one who said it out loud. I felt like I was waiting for permission to grieve something the world didn’t fully acknowledge. That loneliness made everything heavier.

Anxiety That Doesn’t End at 12 Weeks

Before I ever saw a positive outcome, I thought the anxiety of pregnancy would fade after the “safe zone.” I told myself that if I could just make it past 12 weeks, I’d finally be able to breathe. But even after crossing that line — and later, even after knowing the cause of my losses — there was still a quiet, persistent fear beneath everything. Every appointment felt like a test of fate. Every silence between heartbeats on the monitor felt too long.

For many people, pregnancy is presented as a joyful, glowing countdown filled with nursery themes and name lists. But for those who have experienced loss, pregnancy can also feel like walking a tightrope, holding hope in one hand and fear in the other. The world assumes excitement; your body remembers caution.

Honoring What Was Real (Even If Others Didn’t See It)

I never named my babies — each loss happened early — but I remember their due dates. I still pause on those days, quietly honoring what might have been. There is a certain kind of love that stays even when life doesn’t begin the way you hoped. Grief after miscarriage is often private, but that doesn’t make it any less real. You can honor what was lost without needing to prove its importance to anyone else.

Not every loss needs to be public to be meaningful. Sometimes, remembrance is as small and sacred as a date that only you know.

The Things People Say (and Why Pressure Can Hurt)

One of the hardest parts of this kind of grief is that it often exists alongside outside pressure — pressure to get pregnant, pressure to “try again,” pressure from people who don’t know what you’re carrying or what you’ve lost. Comments like “So when are you having a baby?” or “It’ll happen soon!” can unintentionally add weight to an already tender place. Just as people can stumble over what to say after a visible loss, they often don’t know what to do with one they never saw.

Sometimes the kindest thing someone can do is simply avoid assuming.

What Helped Me Cope

There was no instant comfort, but there were small things that helped me find steadiness again. I gave myself permission to rest and release the idea that life had to follow a specific timeline. I let go, slowly, of the belief that I caused what happened. One friend became a quiet lifeline — when anxiety hit like a wave, I would text her, and she would reply simply, “It will be OK.” Those four words didn’t try to fix anything. They allowed both fear and hope. That was enough.

Accepting that not everything is within our control can feel like loss at first — but eventually, it can become a kind of relief.

What I Wish Someone Had Told Me

I wish I had known how common miscarriage is — not to minimize my grief, but to remind me I wasn’t alone.
I wish I had known it was not my fault.
I wish I had known that fear after loss is normal, even during a healthy pregnancy.
I wish I had known that joy and anxiety can exist side by side.
I wish someone had told me that not all pregnancies look like the ones we see on social media — effortless, glowing, perfectly staged.
I wish I had known that grief might not show up as tears every day — sometimes it shows up in silence, in hesitation, in wondering “what if.”

If You’re Grieving Right Now: This Is For You

If you’ve experienced pregnancy loss — whether once or multiple times — you are not alone, even if it feels that way right now. Your experience is valid, whether your loss was early or late, publicly known or quietly carried. There is no right way to grieve. There is no timeline you must follow. It’s okay if you’re not ready to try again. It’s okay if you are. It’s okay if your heart feels hopeful, and just as okay if it doesn’t yet.

Your grief does not have to be loud to be real.

A Quiet Reminder

There will always be people who move quickly through their pregnancy journey — or at least make it look that way. But behind many stories are chapters no one saw. If you’re in one of those unseen chapters right now, know that there is nothing weak or broken about carrying grief alongside love.

If This Spoke to You

We’re working on creating more gentle resources for pregnancy loss and private grief. If that’s something that would help you, you’re welcome to stay connected so you’ll know when it’s ready.