Almost as quickly as we bask in the excitement of discovering we’re pregnant, it becomes natural to worry about having a miscarriage. That worry is often compounded by the fact that random people will inadvertently share stories about their own miscarriage—or someone else’s. Add in the reality that few medical doctors take early pregnancy seriously until after the 12-week mark, and the old wives’ tales warning against sharing the news in the first trimester, and it’s no surprise that many newly pregnant women feel anxious.
Dealing with a Miscarriage Is Never Easy, but There Are Things That Can Help
The first thing you have to do is develop thick skin early on. Try not to obsessively read everything about early pregnancy, and steer clear of statistics about miscarriage rates. Yes, the risks are real—but for healthy women, there’s often little that can be done to change the outcome. Instead, enjoy your changing body and listen to your intuition. If something feels wrong, contact your doctor and insist on being heard.
If you do experience a miscarriage, it’s important to understand that many are caused by genetic abnormalities. As someone who has gone through several miscarriages, I know this fact rarely offers comfort—at least not at first. Research suggests that around the 10-week mark, the most significant genetic development occurs. It’s no coincidence that this is when many miscarriages happen, and it’s also why physicians tend to wait until this point before taking a pregnancy more seriously.
If you’re among the women who experience a first-trimester miscarriage, take heart—you are not alone. The experience involves not just the physical loss of pregnancy but also the emotional loss of hopes, dreams, and a vision of the future. Healing takes time, and while you may eventually feel whole again, you will likely never forget your miscarriage. A part of you will always love and remember the child you lost.
The world can be an insensitive place. Often, husbands, doctors, and even close family members may not fully understand what you’re feeling. And they can’t—they haven’t lived it. Forgive them. A miscarriage is a loss, and like any death, it must be acknowledged and processed. In the aftermath, it’s normal to lose faith, question everything, feel cursed, and experience intense jealousy when seeing other pregnant women or newborns. Accept every emotion that surfaces. Allow yourself to feel—even when those feelings are dark or seem irrational. Healing comes through that emotional journey.
After a miscarriage, the goal isn’t to justify what happened but to find the strength to move forward. For many women, that means eventually having a successful pregnancy. For others, it means closing that chapter of their lives. Both paths are valid—whichever one feels right for you is the right one.
In the first trimester, a miscarriage can sometimes happen without warning. Even in a pregnancy that seems perfectly normal—with a visible heartbeat and no red flags—a loss can still occur. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It’s not about what you ate or whether you took your vitamins. Miscarriage is not about fault or failure. Some are so physically painless and quiet that your mind may start to question whether the pregnancy ever happened at all. I remember after one miscarriage coming home and wondering, Was I ever really pregnant? I found myself staring at ultrasound photos and heartbeat documentation, trying to convince myself it had been real. It was disorienting. My OBGYN didn’t offer much comfort—not because they didn’t care, but because they see this so often that they’ve grown numb to it. For them, miscarriage is a medical event. For us, it’s emotional devastation.
One thing that helped me cope was creating a small commemoration. I planted a tree. Every spring, it blooms, and I imagine my unborn child reaching out through the blossoms. As the tree grows, so does the timeline of healing. It no longer brings tears or sobs, but it reminds me of who I became because of that loss. The tree made it real. For me, the miscarriage was more about life than death. And as long as the tree lives, so do my feelings.
Other women commemorate in different ways—scrapbooking, writing letters, creating memorial spaces, or wearing jewelry to feel close to the child they lost. It doesn’t matter how you choose to remember—what matters is that the memory remains. It may not be about moving on so much as accepting, growing, and understanding what that little soul came to teach us.
People often won’t know what to say. If they knew you were pregnant, they might feel compelled to say something—and much of it will unintentionally hurt. You may want to scream or throw a book at them. That’s okay, too. Try to understand they’re doing the best they can. Their intentions are kind, even if their words miss the mark.
A sometimes forgotten victim of miscarriage is the father. He may not understand the emotional storm you’re weathering. He might not ask questions. He might just hold your hand, or go back to life as usual. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurting. This is something he must process in his own way, in his own time. My husband didn’t talk about our miscarriage or the idea of trying again until we passed the original due date. When I finally asked him why, he said he felt it was only right to give that baby time to live in his mind until her intended birthday. In that moment, I realized he had felt everything I had—just differently. He, too, was dealing with the miscarriage.
Being a woman is an incredible gift. Yes, we complain about our periods, shaving, cramps, menopause, and pregnancy discomfort. But when you reflect on what our bodies are designed to do, there’s a deep power and beauty to womanhood. A miscarriage might make us feel like our body has failed us. We may wish we weren’t women—if only to avoid this kind of pain. But it should also remind us of the miracle that we are. We create life. We nurture it. We carry it within us. There is something profoundly magical about being a woman. If part of that journey means facing loss, it’s still important not to forget how blessed we are.
No woman wants to feel like one baby is simply replacing another. No woman comes home from a miscarriage without carrying some fear or insecurity about the future. That, too, is natural. But through the pain, many of us come to a deeper appreciation of life and the miracle of birth. Sometimes, we don’t fully realize the value of something until we’re forced to face its loss.
Looking back, dealing with a miscarriage was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face. I felt trapped in a surreal, unkind world and struggled to find my way out. I questioned everything—even wondered if I was being punished. I didn’t truly understand any of it until I gave birth to my third child. The moment I looked at her, I knew. The answers came flooding in. She had a birthmark on her shoulder, and the moment I saw it, I knew I had known her all along. It made sense. She was meant to be mine, and she may never have come to me if I hadn’t experienced that loss. In that moment, I believed fully that everything happens for a reason. We don’t always understand it right away—but we must remain open to receiving that understanding when it comes.
When we got home from the hospital, my tree was in full bloom. The flowers had opened, the leaves were glowing with life—and in that moment, I knew. My unborn baby was smiling with me from Heaven.
Such is life.
