What to Say (and Not Say) After a Miscarriage

How to Support Someone Through Pregnancy Loss with Compassion

A teddy bear and crocheted hearts lying in bed on a white sheet.

By the time I had shared that I’d miscarried, I was already carrying more than just grief. I was carrying the weight of silence, the ache of a body that had let go too soon, and the invisible presence of a baby I would never get to hold.

What surprised me most wasn’t just the loss — it was how people responded to it. Some words were comforting. Others, though well-meaning, cut deeply. And many people simply didn’t know what to say at all.

I get it. Miscarriage is uncomfortable to talk about. It makes people feel helpless. We aren’t taught how to show up in grief — not in school, not in everyday conversation, not even in many families. But here’s the thing: we don’t have to be perfect with our words. We just need to be present, gentle, and willing to listen.

This post is for the people who want to support someone going through miscarriage but aren’t sure how. And it’s for those who’ve experienced loss — so you know that what hurt you wasn’t “too sensitive” or “overreacting.” Your pain matters. And how people speak to you matters too.

What Not to Say

I want to start here not to call anyone out, but to shed light. I know these words usually come from a place of love, but that doesn’t mean they land gently.

Here are some of the most common phrases that can unintentionally cause pain:

“At least it was early.”

This one stings. The implication is that early loss is somehow less painful. But from the moment you see that second line on a test — or even long before, in the dreaming — you become a parent. You plan, imagine, hope. That life is real to you, no matter how many weeks have passed.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

In the rawness of grief, we aren’t ready for meaning. Trying to make sense of something senseless can feel dismissive. Sometimes things happen without reason. Sometimes pain is just pain, and it deserves space without explanation.

“You can try again.”

This reduces the experience to a setback on a timeline. But miscarriage isn’t just a missed opportunity — it’s the loss of this baby, this pregnancy, this moment in time.

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Another phrase that can invalidate grief by making it sound preordained. Even if someone later finds meaning in their journey, they usually don’t need others to provide that for them.

Saying nothing at all.

Silence can be just as hurtful. It may come from fear of saying the wrong thing, but for the grieving person, it can feel like their loss has been erased or ignored.

What Actually Helps

When I think about the moments that did comfort me, they weren’t grand gestures or perfectly worded sentiments. They were simple, heartfelt, and honest.

Here’s what helped:

“I’m so sorry. I’m here for you.”

Sometimes that’s all you need to say. It doesn’t try to fix anything. It just acknowledges the pain and offers support.

“That must be so hard. Do you want to talk about it?”

Giving someone the option to talk, without pressure, opens a door to connection.

“Your baby mattered.”

If a name was given, use it. If not, still acknowledge that this was a baby — a loved and wanted child.

“Would it help if I just sat with you?”

You don’t need answers. Just being there — truly there — can mean the world.

“How can I support you right now?”

Not everyone needs the same kind of care. Some want company. Others need solitude. Some need help with meals, others with child care or errands. Ask, and then honour what they need.

Small Gestures That Speak Volumes

Support isn’t only about words. Actions often speak just as loudly:

• Dropping off food or tea, especially when energy is low.

• Sending a card, flowers, or a simple text: “Thinking of you today.”

• Checking in not just once, but again a few weeks or months later.

• Remembering important dates — due dates, loss anniversaries, moments that still matter.

Even something as small as saying, “I know today might be hard,” can feel like a lifeline.

If You’re Supporting Someone

It’s okay to not have the perfect words. It’s okay to feel unsure. Just try not to shift the focus to yourself or rush someone through their grief.

You don’t need to be a therapist or a healer. You just need to be a soft place for them to land.

If You’re the One Grieving

If people have said things that hurt you — whether they meant to or not — I want to say this: Your grief is valid. You don’t have to justify it or minimise it to make others more comfortable.

And if you’ve ever felt like no one knew what to say — please know, that’s not a reflection of your worth or the significance of your loss. It’s a reflection of how much we still need to learn as a society about holding space for grief.

Final Thoughts

Showing up for someone after a miscarriage doesn’t require profound wisdom or perfect timing. It simply requires heart. Compassion. The willingness to sit in the silence and say, “I’m here. I see you. I care.”

And sometimes, that’s the most powerful thing you can offer.

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 five, I’ll be exploring what it means to set boundaries on your fertility journey and how to choose joy in the aftermath — because this journey deserves to be spoken, one truth at a time.

In article three, I wrote about grief needing a place and honouring miscarriage with ritual, space and healing.

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.”