What to Say When Someone Has a Miscarriage—And What to Avoid

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Just two weeks after her miscarriage, Jami Crist began therapy. Her therapist asked questions no one had thought to ask before: “Was it a boy or a girl? Did you have a name picked out?”

I was really struck by something Crist, the author of The Losses We Keep, shared. She explained that it suddenly hit her – people often don’t acknowledge the profound loss that happens with fertility struggles or pregnancy loss. It’s a real death, and it’s okay to grieve. It really resonated with me because it’s so true – the grief is absolutely valid.

Around 14 weeks into her pregnancy, Crist and her husband discovered their daughter had a life-threatening condition, and they made the difficult decision to terminate for medical reasons. This was the first of four heartbreaking pregnancy losses they experienced over the next two years. After the loss, people brought food and well-meaning gifts, and automated pregnancy trackers continued to send updates as if the pregnancy was still progressing – things like, “You’re 18 weeks along, here’s what to expect!” While friends and family tried to offer comfort, statements like “everything happens for a reason” or “at least you know you can get pregnant” didn’t feel helpful. No one acknowledged their daughter by name, and for a long time, what happened wasn’t treated as a genuine loss, but simply as a medical issue—until Crist finally spoke with a therapist who understood the emotional weight of it all.

Losing a pregnancy – whether through miscarriage, stillbirth, or a medical termination – is surprisingly common. Chances are, someone you know has gone through it. If you ever find yourself wanting to offer support, here’s advice from experts and women who’ve experienced pregnancy loss themselves.

Why these conversations are so hard

One of the reasons pregnancy loss is so difficult to discuss is that it doesn’t fit easily into our existing understanding of grief. Amelia Kelley, a therapist specializing in trauma who has experienced three miscarriages herself, describes it as a subtle form of trauma. Typically, when someone dies, we have established ways of responding – we offer condolences, send flowers, and attend funerals. Miscarriage is different. It often happens when a future is still just a possibility. Because the possibility of future pregnancies exists, people often try to offer hope by saying things like, “Try again. You’ll have another,” instinctively reaching for a solution rather than acknowledging the current loss.

Even professionals who help others cope with loss can be deeply affected when they experience it themselves. Jessica Zucker, a psychologist specializing in pregnancy and postpartum mental health, launched the #IHadAMiscarriage campaign in 2014 after experiencing a miscarriage at 16 weeks – an event she says transformed her academic knowledge into a personal, physical reality. She believes the insensitive things people often say after a miscarriage are due to a lack of societal understanding, not a lack of caring.

Often, people say things they think will make a difficult situation feel less awkward, but these comments often focus more on their discomfort than on truly supporting the person who is grieving. According to author Karen Zucker, people who care about you also don’t want to feel the pain of loss. As a result, they may try to find something positive or offer overly optimistic statements – what she calls ‘toxic positivity’ – attempting to quickly cheer up the grieving person instead of allowing them to fully experience and process their emotions. They try to pull the person out of their sadness, rather than letting them sit with it and understand the impact of what has happened.

Many people don’t understand that someone who’s grieving a miscarriage is often already blaming themselves. While research shows most miscarriages happen due to chromosomal issues – things outside of a person’s control – many women still feel guilty and ashamed, wondering what they could have done differently. They might think, “If only I hadn’t done this or that…” Saying things like “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be” or “Maybe your body wasn’t ready” can actually make those feelings worse.

People often underestimate the full extent of the loss experienced with a miscarriage or failed pregnancy. It’s not just about the pregnancy itself, but also the loss of all the associated hopes and plans – like a daycare spot secured after a long wait, or the dream of a decorated nursery. One of Crist’s friends, after years of struggling to have another child and experiencing multiple losses, even had to let go of the nanny she’d been paying in anticipation. As Crist explains, it’s the loss of all the planning, the mental preparation, and the vision of how your life would change with a child. When those plans fall apart, it impacts everything.

What not to say 

One of the first—and most hurtful—things people often say after a miscarriage or pregnancy loss is to simply suggest trying again. This response assumes the person is immediately ready—emotionally, physically, and financially—which isn’t usually the case. As Kelley points out, they may be finished trying altogether, undergoing IVF with limited egg reserves, or simply need time to heal. Sometimes, there are also medical reasons for a waiting period; for example, after a molar pregnancy, doctors often advise waiting at least six months before attempting to conceive again.

Zucker advises thinking carefully before using phrases that begin with “at least”—like “at least you weren’t far along,” “at least you can get pregnant,” or “at least you already have a healthy kid.” These attempts to find a positive side often downplay the pain someone is experiencing. Crist, who prioritizes her health, was particularly bothered by being told “at least you can get pregnant.” She points out that being able to get pregnant doesn’t guarantee a healthy pregnancy, and that’s a crucial distinction to understand.

Kelley points out that saying “at least you already have another child” is incredibly dismissive and hurtful. She explains it minimizes the value of the lost life, comparing it to telling someone who’s lost a mother that they still have another parent. This same hurtful logic applies to those struggling with secondary infertility – the grief over a hoped-for second or third child. Crist witnessed a friend endure five rounds of IVF and three miscarriages while trying for another baby, and the friend’s father responded by saying, “You have a perfect son. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

As a film lover, I’ve always been struck by how movies portray grief – and how often they get it wrong. What I’ve learned from experts like Kelley and Zucker is that trying to fix someone’s pain, to give them a neat explanation, just doesn’t work. Meaning comes from within, and it takes time. You can’t offer someone comfort by handing them a reason, especially not quickly after a loss. And honestly, offering religious explanations can be really damaging if you don’t know what someone believes. Imagine experiencing a terrible loss like a stillbirth, and someone telling you ‘God has a plan’ when you don’t share that faith – it’s incredibly isolating and unhelpful. It’s about being present, not prescribing answers.

Meredith Eades, a Christian woman who was working at a church in 2007, still remembers the painful words someone said to her after her first miscarriage: “God needed your baby more than you.” She found the comment unhelpful and untrue, and it has stayed with her ever since.

It’s common to rush into offering solutions, but try to avoid suggesting options for someone’s family planning unless they specifically ask for your input. Questions like, “Have you considered adoption, surrogacy, or IVF?” can be unhelpful. These paths all come with significant emotional, financial, and physical challenges, and the person you’re talking to has likely already considered them – or is intentionally avoiding thinking about them, especially if they’ve recently experienced a loss.

Even when trying to comfort someone, it’s easy to underestimate how deeply personal and complex grief from pregnancy loss can be. A common mistake is sharing stories of others who eventually had successful pregnancies. As Zucker points out, focusing on other people’s happy outcomes isn’t helpful when someone is still experiencing their own loss. It’s important to acknowledge their current pain without comparing it to someone else’s journey.

What to actually say—and do

According to Zucker, the best way to handle a difficult conversation – and relieve your own stress – is to openly address the awkwardness. Saying something like, “I’m not sure what to say, as I haven’t experienced this myself, but I care about you and I’m here for you,” is a good approach. She emphasizes that even if you’re worried about saying the wrong thing, silence is far worse. Being acknowledged for what someone is going through is much more helpful than being ignored.

Crist says the most helpful thing people did after her losses was simply offering a straightforward, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She explains that we naturally want to fix things for others, but those who avoided offering complicated solutions and instead just offered sympathy and continued support were the most comforting.

Remembering the bereaved person’s role as a parent can be incredibly meaningful. After experiencing a loss, Crist received a text from a friend that simply said, “I want you to know that you are a mother.” She described that message as exactly what she needed to hear.

Instead of saying “Let me know if you need anything,” it’s more helpful to take initiative. Simply offering help puts the burden on the person struggling to come up with a task. What really made a difference for me, says Eades, was when people independently decided to help – like bringing a meal, sending a gift card, tidying up the house, or organizing baby gifts – without being asked.

One of the most valuable things you can do is consistently check in with people, even after the initial shock of a difficult situation has passed. It’s easy for others to move on with their lives, but you might still be processing things. Schedule reminders for yourself – a month, three months, six months out – or send a quick message on a significant date. Even a small gesture, like a friend sending a coffee with a note saying they were thinking of you, can make a lasting impact.

Even a simple message like “I know today is hard, but I’m thinking of you and your family” can be really meaningful, especially on what would have been a first Mother’s or Father’s Day. “It’s the small gestures that make a difference,” Crist explains.

Don’t forget the partner, either

When someone experiences a pregnancy loss, partners are frequently overlooked and treated as secondary to the person who carried the pregnancy. According to Kelley, this is a problem because the partner is grieving a loss as well. However, many feel they’re expected to be strong and prioritize supporting their partner instead of processing their own grief.

Kelley suggests contacting grieving people directly. After she experienced a loss, a friend offered to check on her husband as well, which she appreciated. “It was comforting to know someone was looking out for him,” Kelley explains, “because it relieved some of the burden of having to support him through it all on my own.”

Crist noticed a pattern with her husband after they experienced losses – he would throw himself into his work. She observed that most of his friends, especially the men, didn’t know how to offer support. The few female friends who did check in on him made a real difference.

True support stays with you long after everything else fades. It’s been nearly 20 years since Eades experienced her first miscarriage, and after ten years of trying, she now has a 12-year-old son. But she still cherishes the people who were there for her during her losses and recognized her pain. “Those were the people who really mattered to me,” she explains.

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2026-05-28 20:07