I had a miscarriage in 2021. Here’s what not to say about pregnancy loss.
And how to support a loss mom without invalidating her feelings.
This is my pregnancy announcement for the baby that should have arrived a few days ago. Her name is Cecilia.
Cecilia changed our lives when we found out we were pregnant with our first baby in July 2021. My husband and I had been having a rough go of living in the Deep South as people of color. The news of a baby brought joy to our lives.
We found out Baby Cecilia was showing some abnormalities when I was about 15 weeks pregnant. We were told her condition could improve or worsen. If it worsened, she would most likely pass within a month or two.
Unfortunately, Cecilia’s tiny heart stopped beating around 18 weeks. My pregnancy was the 1 out of 5 that end in a second trimester miscarriage.
Losing your first child is like someone dangling the gift of motherhood just within your reach, and then taking it away and saying, nope, you can’t have it yet.
I want to share my whole story publicly someday, but I’m not ready for that just yet. I’m here to share some of the unhelpful things that were said to me while I was experiencing my loss so that you can steer clear of saying those things to anyone in your life dealing with a similar experience.
The loss of a child is an incredibly painful experience. It’s taught me that most people don’t know how to just sit with someone else’s pain.
The automatic reaction when a loved one shares their pain with you is to want to fix it or look for the silver linings. I’m here to say that these are not the solutions. As a matter of fact, there really is no solution to this specific problem.
It sucks.
It’s shitty.
And it’s something we have to live with for the rest of our lives.
So here are two things to be aware of when you know someone who is going through a pregnancy loss.
Don’t push your faith on the person experiencing the loss.
I was raised in a Christian home, so I have a lot of family members and friends who conform to traditional Christianity. While I still believe in God, I’ve recently been coming to terms with how my beliefs are straying away from fundamental Christianity.
A lot of what I heard in the month when I was painstakingly waiting to find out if Cecilia was going to make it was along the lines of:
“Just trust in God. God has a plan.” (Does that plan involve my baby dying?)
“Trust God more than medicine.” (Why can’t I trust both?)
“God will have your rainbow baby ready for you if this doesn’t work out.” (How do you know that? Do you know how many repeat miscarriages happen?)
Your relationship with God doesn’t give you the right to predict the end of anyone’s story.
God isn’t a magic genie. He doesn’t work on the premise of If you believe hard enough, I’ll give you whatever you want.
That implies that if I believe hard enough, I’ll win a million dollars.
If I believe hard enough, no one I love will ever get sick or die in a horrible accident or be killed.
It also implies that because my baby is gone, I didn’t believe hard enough. And I refuse to accept that.
Incredibly horrible and tragic things happen to believers and nonbelievers alike. Having enough belief in something isn’t the problem here.
I believe that God works on the premise of Things may not go your way, but I promise to give you my peace through the good times and the bad.
If you’re a believer, accepting God’s peace, no matter what happens in your life, is the true challenge.
Stay away from toxic positivity.
“The next one will be perfect!”
Ugh, this one outraged me.
The problem here is that I’m not worried about the next one right now (not to mention the fact that there’s no guarantee that there will be a next one). I wanted this baby. I wanted Cecilia.
This is the type of sentiment told by someone that wants to keep things on a positive note.
What is positive about me losing Cecilia?
Please, ask yourself this, if a loved one experiences pregnancy loss: What is positive about [insert name here] losing their child?
The answer is nothing.
Again, I know it’s hard to sit with someone else’s pain. But the reason you’re trying to keep things positive is not for the other person. It’s for you.
You might want to read that again.
You’re uncomfortable because someone else is dealing with pain, and you don’t know what to say. Not knowing what to say is understandable. Nothing you say will change anything about their horrific new reality.
Instead, try listening to what they’re saying and validating their feelings.
If they’re telling you something like I don’t know what to do. This really sucks.
Instead of going straight to the “at leasts” — At least you can try again. At least it wasn’t too late in your pregnancy. At least you’re still young.
Try saying something like You’re absolutely right. This does suck.
If you’re willing to offer help (and only if you really mean it), try offering concrete suggestions for help. Oftentimes, people who struggle through loss want help but feel like we might be a burden to others. It’s hard for us to ask for help — even if you’re saying I’m here to help — because we don’t know what help you’re willing to give.
You can try making suggestions like Do you want to talk about it on the phone? Do you need me to bring you some food? Do you want me to check in every once in a while, or do you need some space? Do you need me to pick up your kids from school?
It hurts to be with a loved one when they’re in pain. But losing a child is an incredibly isolating experience, and there is just nothing good about it.
This doesn’t mean that you or your loved one can’t hold on to hope. I recently listened to an episode of Brené Brown’s podcast Unlocking Us where she said, “…hope is not a gauzy feeling of positivity, which people think it is. Hope is actually a function of struggle.”
But when someone is in the midst of pain, I believe in the power of a healthy dose of hope and peace for whatever the result may be.
So ask your loved ones what they need, and be there for them in whatever capacity you have.
I don’t write this with the intention of calling out the people who said these things to me. Most of those people have been supportive in other ways, and I am grateful for that. And I do appreciate the thoughts and prayers they sent my way.
I feel strongly about transforming this “taboo” subject into something that’s talked about with more empathy, and with more consideration for the person experiencing the loss.
It’s time that we start getting comfortable with other people’s pain, because that is truly the way to help them and validate their experiences.
If you’ve experienced pregnancy loss, is there anything else that you’d like to add to the list of unhelpful phrases people should stay away from? I’d like to hear from you in the comments section.
Disclaimer: I realize that everyone experiences grief differently. What might be helpful for one person might be unhelpful for another, and vice versa. However, after connecting with others who have gone through loss, I feel confident in saying that the things I’ve added here are things that are unhelpful for many of us.
