Navigating Miscarriage Grief: The Truth About Loss, Medical Gaslighting, and Healing as a Couple

We need to talk about the physical trauma of pregnancy loss. We need to talk about doctors who tell you it will be "just like a heavy period" when you are actually having contractions. And we absolutely need to talk about the medical negligence of an ultrasound tech congratulating a woman on a pregnancy that she is there to confirm she has lost.

If you have ever felt failed by your body, failed by the medical system, or isolated in your grief because your partner handled it differently than you did - this post is for you.

Kim’s story is messy, heartbreaking, and incredibly important. Let’s get into it.

The unexpected silence: Kim’s story of two losses

Kim and her husband Ian had been together for 12 years—since she was 23. They did everything in the "logical" order: house first, then marriage. When they finally started trying for a family in 2022, nothing happened for nearly a year.

Just as they were preparing to start fertility treatments at a clinic, they got their miracle: a positive test in November 2023.

The excitement was instantaneous. They told their parents. They planned the announcement. But the cracks in the medical system started showing almost immediately.

First, a clinic promised an ultrasound at 8 weeks, only to tell Kim upon arrival that they didn't have the machines. She was sent home without seeing her baby. When she finally got an appointment at an imaging center right before Christmas, the silence in the room said everything.

"I’m not supposed to tell you this," the tech said. "But your baby stopped growing at seven weeks."

It was a missed miscarriage. Kim still felt pregnant. She had no bleeding. Her body hadn't realized the baby was gone. She had to carry that knowledge through Christmas, waiting for her body to let go.

When she finally opted for medication to help the process along, her doctor failed her again. She was told it would be "like a heavy period" and was denied strong pain medication.

That was a lie.

Kim found herself on her hands and knees in her bedroom, screaming in pain, experiencing full-blown contractions. She passed her baby in the toilet—a moment she describes as the hardest of her life—while her husband stood outside the door, helpless.

To add insult to injury, when she went back to confirm the miscarriage was complete, a staff member didn't read her chart and cheerfully said, "Congratulations! You're pregnant!"

It is breathless incompetence.

Kim eventually got pregnant again a year later, on the exact anniversary of her first miscarriage. But despite monitoring her progesterone and doing everything "right," the numbers didn't double. It ended in a chemical pregnancy.

Two losses. Two completely different physical experiences. And two very different layers of grief.

3 Things I Learned About Navigating Miscarriage

1. The "Heavy Period" myth is dangerous gaslighting

I was shocked by how Kim’s doctor described the medication-induced miscarriage. Telling a woman that passing a pregnancy at 8 or 9 weeks is just "cramping" sets her up for trauma.

Kim was in excruciating labor-like pain. She was vomiting. She was terrified.

If you are opting for the medication route (misoprostol/cytotec), you have the right to advocate for real pain management.

Kim’s neighbor, who had been through five miscarriages, literally saved her by warning her: "Ask for the pain meds. It is not a period." Don't let a doctor minimize your physical pain just because it's a common procedure for them. For you, it is a birth and a death happening simultaneously.

2. Partners grieve on different timelines (and that’s okay)

This was such a massive "aha" moment for me. During the first loss, Kim wanted to talk about it constantly. She needed to vocalize her pain to process it.

Ian, on the other hand, completely shut down.

He went into "fix it" mode. When he couldn't fix it, he went silent. Kim felt like a mother who had lost a child; Ian felt like he lost a future but didn't have that same physical connection yet. It caused friction. Kim felt alone in her grief, and Ian felt helpless.

But the dynamic flipped during the second loss.

Because Kim was so guarded and anxious during the second pregnancy (checking numbers constantly), she didn't connect as deeply. But Ian was ready. He was harder hit by the second loss than the first.

They had to learn that grief isn't a team sport where you have to play the same position. You can coexist in your sadness without processing it in the exact same way.

3. Medical advocacy is exhausting but necessary

After the negligence of her first doctor, Kim switched providers. She didn't just accept "bad luck."

Because she pushed for answers, she learned:

• She needed to test her progesterone levels immediately upon positive testing.

• She needed to be checked for blood clotting disorders (Antiphospholipid Syndrome).

• She likely needs to be on baby aspirin and progesterone suppositories for future pregnancies.

If she had stayed with the doctor who told her "it's just a period," she might never have gotten these answers. You are the CEO of your body. If a provider dismisses you, fire them.

The Expert Take: The Courage to reset

What I love most about Kim’s perspective is her refusal to bypass the hard stuff.

We live in a culture that loves a "bounce back" story. We want the woman to have the miscarriage, cry for a week, and then immediately post the rainbow baby announcement. But that isn't real life.

Kim was honest about the fact that she tried to get off her anxiety medication (Lexapro) to have a "clean" pregnancy, but the withdrawal and the grief were too much. She is now back on it.

That is not a failure. That is a survival strategy.

Resilience isn't about white-knuckling through trauma without help. Resilience is looking at your life and saying, "I need therapy. I need medication. I need a new doctor. I need to not try for a baby right now until I am mentally stable."

Kim is taking a break. She is letting her body and mind heal before jumping back into the trenches of trying to conceive. That takes more courage than blindly pushing forward.

You are not alone

If you are reading this and you are currently in the thick of it—waiting for the bleeding to start, waiting for the numbers to double, or staring at a negative test—please know you aren't broken.

Your grief is valid whether you lost your baby at 5 weeks or 20 weeks. Your anger at the medical system is justified. And if you need to take a pill to get through the day, take the pill.

We are holding space for you.

If you want to connect with Kim, you can find her on Instagram at @GordonGirl21.

🎧 Listen to For The Hayters on Apple Podcasts or Spotify

📺 Watch the full video episode on YouTube

💬 Share this post with a friend who needs to feel less alone