• Nikki Cagle

14 Things You Should NEVER Say to Someone Who's Had a Miscarriage



I've started writing this blog so many times over the past, gosh, five years. But every time I would stop and think — would anyone even get it? Maybe I'm the only one who thinks like this. Then Chrissy Teigen and John Legend suffered a crushing loss and just by sharing it on my Instagram stories it started a frenzy of DMs. I got into all-nighters with complete strangers; people I know "socially"; and even people who I would consider friends... but I never knew they miscarried.


Those women shared their stories — each and every one heartbreaking in their own right — and told me the best and WORST things someone said to them after their miscarriage. Some things people said right away... some things people still say today. And we get it — you all don't know because you haven't been there. I was that very person once. But let me — and several of my closest Instagram friends — teach you what you should never say to someone who has had a miscarriage.


{While writing this, "She Used to Be Mine" by Sara Bareilles came on Spotify and it perfectly sums up that girl who went through a miscarriage 5 years ago. It changes you — no matter who you are, how many weeks you were, or how long it's been. So, excuse any typos, as I'll now be writing this through sobs.}

"Only" 7 weeks? Okay, well then you're on a devastation level of like a 2, right? Wrong. If you know you're pregnant you're far enough along to be any level of devastation.


Hey, if your baby, who's actually living and breathing, died, how would you feel if someone cited some stats about drownings, or SIDS, or car accidents, or cancer? Statistics are not comforting, trust me.


Yea, sure, let's celebrate that tiny silver lining. But also, I have no interest in ever going through a miscarriage again, so every future pregnancy is now tainted with constant fear. I'll never get my "first" back.


Yea, uterus, what is it about this baby that made it so you couldn't hang on, exactly? Let's not do that again. Still pissed at you, btw. {Fact: 75% of repeat miscarriages have an unknown cause — so do not come at someone with your 'why's'.}


The equally-as-annoying cousin to the above: "Everything happens for a reason." There may be a logical explanation, but that will never be reason enough for me to understand why this had to happen. Please please spare me your religious bullshit.


Having something wrong with my baby wouldn't make me want or love it any less, for starters. And, without proper testing, who's to say there was something wrong with baby? Some people may not have the chance or resources to find out the biological reason, so let's not speculate that there was something "wrong" with my baby. Mmmkay?


Anywhere else is just not good enough.


Look, I get the excitement, but this is not the time. There is nothing exciting or enticing about trying right now, so don't even ask about when we'll start trying again.


But thank you for putting that thought into my head...


Also see: "Maybe this is your sign from god that you should be done." I'll be sure to tell all of my miracle babies that if you were their mother, they wouldn't exist, because you would have thrown in the towel by now.


The latest golden nugget! Let's just sit on our who-ha's and wait for the world to be utter perfection before we bring a baby into it. Newsflash: it's never going to happen!! But do you know what does bring light into a shit world? Beautiful babies.


Think about it, feel it, relive it in my head at least once a year on the anniversary. Yea, it was a death — I'm forever a little broken from it. But hey, if you're able to get over the loss of someone that close to you and never think about it, good for you, Satan.


I thankfully have never been through this, but any time I hear that someone has said this, I cringe. Their pain is no less because they have other kids already. And by the way, caring for other kids while mourning a miscarriage is probably one of the hardest, most gut-wrenching reminders and exhaustions of life. So cut her some damn slack, and stfu.


And then there's the tricky one. The one that doesn't get a quote card because... it's true. "I know that miscarriage sucked, but now you have these perfect babies, and you probably wouldn't have them if you hadn't miscarried." Knife to my gut. It's like saying I "chose" the twins over our miscarried baby. Of course, I know I didn't choose — my body chose for me. But thinking of our miscarried baby as collateral damage or a "sacrifice" for the life we have now just doesn't sit well with me. I'll never thank him for "taking one for the team."


If you've made it this far, congrats — you're a really good friend, fam member, or supporter who wants to learn. So I figured I would share with you something that is good to say...

To every mom who has ever miscarried, this is our letter to you:


I'm here for whatever you need — venting, silence, drinking, distractions — anything. I'm not always going to know what to do, and I'm going to follow your lead, but know that you're loved, you're insanely strong, and you will get through this. You won't forget, and you may never stop aching, but you will be happy and excited one day. We truly believe that — even if you don't, yet —we'll hold on to it until you do believe it. Take your time getting there, though — no one is rushing you. Be where you need to be, and we'll be there with you.


Know that no matter how long you carried your baby, you are still a mom. You still dreamt about what the baby would look like and who's personality they'd have and what they'd be when they grew up — and you cared for them just as much as you would if they were on the outside. They will always be your baby — just as much as any of your other babies.


There's this beautiful quote that says, "Grief is just love that has nowhere to go." If it's constantly in the air around you — consuming you, streaming down your face in tears, living in all the shattered pieces of your heart, or in a picture frame thrown across the room in a fit of rage — that's okay. Or, if years later, that grief gives you a moment of peace when you think about that baby and oddly miss the person you never truly knew — but you also feel thankful for having "known" them at all — that's okay, too. The grief will probably always be with you, and that's kind of a good thing, because that means you'll always be surrounded by their love, and your love for them.


I'll leave you with something that my husband used to say to me when we were going through our miscarriage and infertility journey. Something that used to drive me insane at the time, but is now pretty much my pregnancy tagline...


Keep your eye on the prize, babe.


Love,

Your Fellow Rainbow Mamas


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