Shattered & Rebuilt: Navigating Stillbirth, Medical Trauma, and the Life-Saving Power of EMDR

I was recording this episode from the basement of my house because the air conditioning in the studio decided to quit on the hottest day of the year. I was sweating, the lighting was different, and everything felt a little chaotic. But looking back, that setting was perfect.

Because we need to talk about the mess. We need to talk about the moments where the air gets sucked out of the room, where the "plan" goes out the window, and where you are left sitting in the dark trying to figure out how to breathe again.

I sat down with Kassie, and we went there. We didn't just skim the surface of pregnancy loss; we walked right into the fire of stillbirth, the trauma that follows, and the incredible, hard work of putting yourself back together.

If you have ever felt like your anxiety was swallowing you whole, or if you’ve ever walked out of a doctor’s office with a broken heart, this one is for you.

The Silence on the Screen

Kassie’s story didn’t start with the loss; it started with a feeling.

She was pregnant with her second child, a little girl named Sutton Ray. Her first son had been born right at the start of the COVID shutdowns—a time of isolation and fear—so her baseline for motherhood was already steeped in anxiety. But with Sutton, things felt different.

At an early private ultrasound, the tech moved her due date back by two weeks. It was a red flag that got missed, a discrepancy that should have triggered a medical recheck but didn't. Kassie spent the next few months battling severe sickness and a low-lying sense of dread. She didn't want people asking about the pregnancy. She felt protective, defensive, and deeply unsettled.

Then, exactly one week before her anatomy scan, she woke up and felt a shift.

"I felt like I was guarding my body," she told me. "It felt like a leaving. That’s the only way I can explain it. It literally felt like something left my body."

A week later, she walked into the anatomy scan. She begged her husband not to bring their toddler because she just knew. She watched the doctor put the wand on her belly, and before he even looked at the screen, she saw the hesitation.

There was no heartbeat.

The doctor confirmed what Kassie’s soul had already told her: Sutton was gone. She had developed a cyst on her brain that interfered with her circulatory system.

But the trauma was just getting started. Because Kassie wasn't technically 20 weeks on paper (due to that changed due date), the hospital told her she couldn't go to Labor and Delivery. They wanted her to deliver her stillborn daughter in the Emergency Room.

Imagine that. You just found out your baby has died, and you are sitting in a wheelchair facing a wall in a chaotic ER waiting room, listening to people scream in pain and complain about wait times, while you are waiting to be induced.

Thankfully, an EMT saw her distress—saw a pregnant woman sobbing into her hands—and wheeled her into a corner to give her a shred of dignity. Eventually, they fought to get her a room in OB triage.

Kassie went home for 24 hours to process, returned to the hospital, and labored for nearly four hours without pain medication. She wanted to feel it. She wanted to honor the birth. Sutton Ray was born fully formed, tiny and perfect, looking just like her big brother.

Kassie held her. She memorized her. And then, in a moment of heartbreaking honesty, she decided she was done. She didn't want to use the "cuddle cot" for days. She had met her daughter, she had said goodbye, and she needed to go home to her living son.

3 Things I Learned About Grief and Trauma

Kassie’s story is heavy, but the wisdom she pulled from the wreckage is invaluable. Here is what I took away from our time together.

1. The "Gut Feeling" is Spiritual

We talk a lot about "mother's intuition," but Kassie described something deeper. That sensation of a "leaving" she felt a week prior to the diagnosis wasn't just anxiety; it was a soul connection.

Her doctor validated this, telling her, "Moms usually do know."

If you have ever felt crazy for thinking something is wrong, or felt guilty for having a premonition of bad news, please release that guilt. Your body and your spirit are connected in ways medical text books can't always explain. Trusting that instinct isn't paranoia; it's a form of protection.

2. Trauma Physically Changes Your Brain

After the funeral, Kassie fell apart. It wasn't just sadness; it was terror. She developed agoraphobia. She couldn't walk into a grocery store without feeling like the walls were closing in. She would run out of shops, leaving full carts behind.

This wasn't her being "dramatic." This was Complex PTSD.

Kassie explained that when you experience deep trauma, the connection between your right brain (emotion/creativity) and your left brain (logic/reason) can literally be severed. You cannot "logic" your way out of a panic attack because the part of your brain that handles logic is offline. You are stuck living in the trauma loop.

3. EMDR is Life-Saving Technology

I have heard of EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), but Kassie broke it down in a way that finally clicked.

Since talk therapy can't always bridge that gap between the right and left brain, EMDR uses bilateral stimulation (like eye movements or vibrating buzzers in your hands) to keep both sides of the brain online while you process the traumatic memory.

Kassie did this while pregnant with her subsequent "rainbow baby." She was terrified that the stress would hurt the new baby, but she realized that living in a constant state of panic was far more dangerous.

After just one session, she could walk into a store again. It wasn't magic, but it gave her the tools to regulate her nervous system. It moved the trauma from "happening right now" to "something that happened in the past."

The Expert Take: Community is an ROI

There was a moment in the interview where Kassie said something that stopped me in my tracks:

"Friendship is a return on investment."

We live in a culture that is so isolated. We don't want to burden people. We don't want to ask for help. But when Kassie’s world fell apart, her community showed up. They paid her bills. They cleaned her house. They sat on her couch and cried with her. They redecorated her home so she wouldn't have to look at the reminders of the baby prep she had done.

She didn't get that support by accident. She got it because she had spent years pouring into those friendships before the tragedy.

We have to stop viewing community as a "nice to have." It is a survival mechanism. You invest in your friends, you show up for them, so that when the floor drops out from under you, there is a net there to catch you.

And if you are the friend on the sidelines wondering what to say? Kassie’s advice is simple: Shut up and sit down.

Don't say "At least you can have more children." Don't say "At least she's in a better place." Don't say "At least you have a living son."

Just sit in the silence. If she cries, you can cry. If she’s angry, let her be angry. If she’s numb, just be a warm body in the room. You cannot fix a dead baby. You cannot fix the grief. You can only witness it.

There is True Healing

Kassie told me that her younger self wouldn't believe what she has survived. She has walked through the fire of stillbirth, miscarriage, postpartum rage, and crippling anxiety, and she has come out the other side.

She isn't "over it." She will never be over it. Sutton is a part of her story forever. But she is functional. She is joyous. She is a mother who knows that she can survive the worst thing imaginable, and that makes her unbreakable.

To everyone listening who has lost a baby, or who is currently white-knuckling their way through pregnancy after loss: I see you.

You are not broken. You are brave.

If this episode resonated with you, share it with a friend who might be struggling in silence. You never know who needs to hear this.

🎧 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