The Silent Grief of Miscarriage: A Mother's Journey Through Loss and Strength
Motherhood is often painted as this incredible journey filled with joy, excitement, and endless love. But for so many of us, it begins with loss—a quiet, heartbreaking pain that’s rarely spoken about. Miscarriages are one of the most isolating experiences a woman can go through, and the grief that comes with them often feels like it’s happening in silence, behind closed doors. My own path to motherhood didn’t start with the joy I expected. It began in a place of deep sorrow, and today I want to share my story—not because it’s easy, but because I hope it might offer some comfort to anyone who’s been through something similar.
A few months after I graduated from college and moved back home, my fiancé (now husband) and I were planning our wedding for the summer of 2015. We’d been engaged the year before, and the excitement was building as we finalized our plans. Then, we got the biggest surprise: I was pregnant. It wasn’t something we had planned, but it filled us with so much joy. We decided to push the wedding back—I wasn’t too keen on walking down the aisle with a growing belly.
But that happiness didn’t last. Just eight weeks in, we went for a routine doctor’s appointment, all smiles and excitement, thinking we’d hear our baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Instead, we were met with those devastating words: “There’s no heartbeat.” I had what’s called a missed miscarriage. I remember leaving the office numb, like the world had just stopped turning. My face was wet with tears, and I didn’t know how to process the kind of pain that suddenly consumed me.
The days that followed were some of the darkest of my life. It felt like a piece of me had been ripped away—a light that had so briefly and beautifully flickered within me had suddenly been snuffed out. I think what made it so hard to understand was the immense love I already felt for this baby. It’s a love that’s almost unexplainable, and when you find out that it’s no longer there, the grief is crushing. In those moments, I couldn’t imagine how mothers who lose a child cope with such immense pain because if this is what a miscarriage feels like, their grief must be unimaginable.
My fiancé, mother, and sister were my saving grace during this time. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to move, but they made sure I wasn’t alone. Their support became my lifeline, even when I resisted it. Still, the loss was overwhelming, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that my body had somehow failed me.
A few months later, I was pregnant again, cautiously optimistic. But once again, fate dealt me a cruel blow—a second miscarriage. This time, the sadness was even deeper. The feeling of failure more intense. I sought answers from my gynecologist, desperate for a reason why this was happening. His answer? A simple “It just happens.” He said it was likely due to my body rejecting a malformation. That answer didn’t sit well with me. I needed more. I wanted answers, or at least someone who would try to find them with me.
So, I switched doctors. It was one of the best decisions I could have made. My new doctor was attentive, supportive, and proactive. He monitored me closely, suggesting that I come in for checkups every two weeks during my third pregnancy. He also recommended I take progesterone, which turned out to be a game-changer. My third pregnancy was an entirely different experience, filled with care, reassurance, and a doctor who made me feel seen. That pregnancy gave me my first daughter, a blessing I will never take for granted.
The experience taught me so much, not just about my body, but about my strength. If I could share anything with women facing similar heartache, it’s this: Don’t be afraid to seek a second opinion. Trust your instincts, and know that you have the right to advocate for your own care. It’s okay to ask for more, to want more, and to find a doctor who listens.
Beyond the medical aspect, I leaned heavily on my support system. My husband, mother, and sister held me up when I felt like I couldn’t stand on my own. Even when I pushed them away, their love was unwavering. I also found comfort in reading the stories of other women who had endured miscarriages. Their words were like lifelines, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in my grief, and that there was hope on the other side of this pain.
And perhaps most importantly, I learned to believe in my body again. I had to trust that my body knew what it was doing, that it was capable, and that I wasn’t broken. Healing wasn’t a straight path, but with time, I found my way.
To any woman going through this: surround yourself with love, seek the care you deserve, and believe in yourself. Miscarriages take pieces of us, but they don’t take away our strength. And even in the darkest moments, there is light waiting to be found.
By: Krisna Adrien
