Grief Needs a Place: Honouring Miscarriage with Ritual, Space and Healing

Why Grieving Matters—and How We Begin to Process the Unspoken

Honouring miscarriage with ritual - lit candle and flowers.

There’s a strange kind of silence that follows a miscarriage. A quiet that seeps into every corner of your day, where once there had been dreams, hopes and imagined futures.

The world tends to move on quickly. You may be expected to “bounce back,” return to work, be strong, or “look on the bright side.” But loss—especially the kind that is invisible to others—doesn’t follow a tidy timeline.

After my first miscarriage, I felt suspended. I had no words for what I was going through. Once I had physically recovered from the Dilation and Curettage (D&C), the hospital chaplain offered us a funeral service for our baby. It was an unexpected act of compassion. I will never forget the image of my husband slowly walking down the aisle of the Chapel of Rest, holding the smallest coffin I had ever seen. A gold plaque on its lid bore the name “Baby Willoughby.” There were poems, prayers and space for our grief to be witnessed. It was a quiet, sacred moment to say goodbye. I still carry deep gratitude for that healing service, and a profound awareness of how rare it is to be offered such a ritual.

The following year, when I lost my twins at home on the toilet, it was a very different experience. No one acknowledged my loss. There was no funeral, no official mourning, no traditions to follow. It was as though the world didn’t quite know how to acknowledge what had happened, for a second time, so it didn’t.

My grief still needed a place to go. I grieved alone behind closed doors.

Why We Need to Grieve Miscarriage

Miscarriage is often minimised by others, by systems and even by ourselves. But the truth is: a life was lost. A baby was hoped for. A future was forming.

Whether the pregnancy lasted six weeks or six months, the emotional bond began long before. Grieving that loss is not only normal—it’s necessary.

Grief is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of love.

When we try to suppress grief, it doesn’t go away. It finds other ways to surface through anxiety, sadness, disconnection, or numbness. Healing begins by giving grief space, allowing it to move, breathe and speak.

Creating Your Rituals for Loss

One of the most heartbreaking things about miscarriage is that there are so few shared rituals for it. We have ceremonies for weddings, birthdays and even divorce, but not for the quiet, unmarked loss of a baby who never got to be held.

That doesn’t mean you can’t create your own.

Here are some gentle ideas:

• Light a candle on the day of your loss, or what would’ve been the due date. Let it burn as a symbol of your baby’s presence and your love. Join the global “Wave of Light” on 15th October by lighting a candle at 7 pm local time to remember all babies that have died too soon.

• Name your baby (even privately) if that feels right.

• Write a letter to your baby. Say everything you didn’t get the chance to say.

• Plant a tree or flower in their honour—something that grows, blossoms and reminds you of the life that briefly bloomed.

• Create a memory box with ultrasound photos, letters, or anything meaningful.

• Release something—balloons, petals, or a lantern, to say goodbye or mark their presence.

You don’t need permission to do any of this. Ritual is about intention, not rules. It’s about finding meaning in the mess, softness in the sorrow.

Letting the Emotions Come

There is no “right way” to grieve. Some days you may feel numb. Others, you may cry for hours. You might feel deep sadness, then guilt for laughing at something silly. A song, a smell or a baby on Instagram may trigger you.

This is all part of it.

Grief is not linear. It comes in waves. And the best thing you can do is let those waves come. Ride them. Rest when you can. Let yourself feel what you need to feel, without judgement.

You are allowed to feel:

• Angry

• Devastated

• Relieved

• Confused

• Hopeful

• Broken

• Grateful

• All the above

Whatever is coming up for you—it’s valid. Let it come. Let it move through you.

Support Through the Process

You don’t have to do this alone.

Processing miscarriage often benefits from:

• Talking to someone—a therapist, support group or friend who gets it.

• Journalling—writing helps untangle the emotions inside.

• Body-based healing—like yoga, breathwork, massage or walking in nature.

• Gentle creative expression—drawing, painting, music or even baking with love.

You’re not “overreacting.” You’re reacting to a real, deep loss. Support is not a luxury—it’s a lifeline.

In a World That Moves On, You Can Pause

You have every right to take your time.

You don’t have to “move on.” You can move with your grief, at your own pace. You can carry your baby in your heart, in your rituals, in the way you love others more fiercely now.

Your grief is sacred. And your healing doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.

Final Words

Miscarriage is not just a medical event. It’s a life event. A heart event. And it deserves the same gentleness, space and honour we give any significant loss.

You are not alone. You are not forgotten. And your baby’s life mattered.

Be soft with yourself. You are doing beautifully.

If you would like to read the rest of my story, you can order a signed copy of "Infertility Saved My Life: Healing PCOS from the Inside Out" from my website or obtain a copy from any global online retailer or bookstore.

In article four, I’ll be sharing how to support someone through miscarriage—what helps, what doesn’t, what hurts and what we often get wrong—because this journey deserves to be spoken, one truth at a time.

In article two, I wrote about the physical realities of miscarriage and shared my personal story of Dilation and Curettage (D&C) and pregnancy loss at home.

In article one, I wrote a personal reflection of pregnancy loss, the silence in the ultrasound room and the moment you hear, “There’s no heartbeat.”