Making Miscarriage Significant: A Personal and Systemic Call for Change
Why normalizing pregnancy loss silences grief and stalls the medical progress women desperately need; and how making it significant leads to baby babbles.
Trigger Warning: Miscarriage and Grief
This post discusses the emotional and physical experience of miscarriage, including themes of loss, grief and the challenges of navigating pregnancy after a miscarriage. Please proceed with caution if these topics may be triggering or difficult for you. Your emotional wellbeing is important to me. This story also ends with my rainbow baby. And if you’re still waiting for yours to arrive, know that I am lifting you up and hoping for yours to come soon.
The Kitchen Sink Moment
I buckle over the kitchen sink as a wave of heat and tension kicks me in the back. "Oh, god, is this what a contraction feels like?" I think.
My husband, Reagan and I are supposed to leave in the morning for Asheville. I'm accompanying him to a retreat he's facilitating in the mountains.
I just sent Reagan to CVS to buy supplies for me for the trip. I'm miscarrying.
Just this morning, we went for our first prenatal appointment. There was no heartbeat.
The ultrasound tech and physician attempt to assure our frantic hearts that sometimes we can't hear the heartbeat this early or perhaps, "You're not as far along as you think." I know this isn't true but I also know I need to remain hopeful, especially for my husband who knows much less about all of this than me. And, for his heart, I’d like to keep it that way.
They schedule a follow up ultrasound in one week to see if things have changed.
The thing about this first pregnancy was nothing made sense— Several days after my missed period I took a test and the test was negative.
About three days after this, I had what I thought was a light period and in hindsight, it was likely implantation bleeding.
Two weeks later, Reagan tried to give me a hug and I exclaimed, "OUCH."
"WTF," I thought. My boobs have never been this sensitive. I pause. My heart catapults out of my mouth and onto the floor. "No, it can't be. I tested negative." I panic. I push Reagan off of me and run to the bathroom.
I fumble to open a pregnancy test, shaking with confusion and worry. "Babe, I'm taking a test." We wait to check it together.
Positive.
I begin to cry. They aren't exactly happy tears. I've gone on my merry way the past two weeks proceeding as if I'm not pregnant. We’ve been wrapping up our last moments in Taos, NM for ski season with friends— I'll let you fill in the gaps.
I'm feeling guilt, confusion, shame, grief, fear, hope, wonder, joy and love. But mostly, at this point, as a result of the previous two weeks, I'm feeling the darker emotions.
First thing Monday morning, I give my OBGYN a call to schedule an appointment. We have to wait ten days to be seen. So, based on my calculations of when I think we must have conceived, we'll be about eight weeks at our first appointment.
After countless hours of reflection, I believe my body held onto this little soul until after our appointment, so that I would see it was possible for us to conceive and so my box of motherhood would finally be opened.
Back to the kitchen sink— my knees buckle and I run to the bathroom, strip off my clothes and crawl into the bath.
Just about the time the warm water covers my body and I sink into its embrace, Reagan calls. He's frantic at CVS— scrambling the aisles, with an empty basket because all he can manage to hold right now is worry for me and grief.
"What do I need to get you?" he asks.
I stutter through some ideas until I stop. "Babe, I don't think I can go to Asheville." No shit, Sherlock, a voice inside whispers.
At this point, I don't have the gall to ask him to stay back with me. My masculine, capitalistic voice is still too strong, too loud– making me believe this is "not so serious" and he could "never cancel a work engagement for this."
He returns home to find me still in the tub and helps me to bed.
Wave after wave, mini contraction after mini contraction, the grief begins to set in. And as the grief begins to seep into every cell of my body, my feminine voice rises. I cannot do this alone.
"Well, technically you can do this alone," retorts my inner masculine voice.
I don't want to do this alone.
Fearfully and timidly, I ask "Honey, I don't think I can do this alone. I want you here. Is there any way you can cancel your trip and stay with me?" I weep.
In this moment, I'm weeping with grief and sadly, with shame as the world tells me:
This is normal.
This happens all the time.
This is a good thing. You can get pregnant.
This isn't a good enough excuse for your world to stop– most just keep going.
Reagan hesitates, "Oh babe, I'm not sure I can cancel."
My heart sinks. I weep harder. My fears of neediness and frustrations of this world we live in are affirmed.
But this is not normal, she comforts. This is the closest experience to grief one can get. It is the embodiment of loss. To be physically filled with love, with a life and to be stripped from the inside, to endure suffering and death.
Reagan takes a deep breath and says, "Okay, let me make a couple of calls."
He steps out to call his Dad who gives him quite certainly the best advice a father could give his son.
My wise father-in-law says, "I'm not going to tell you what to do here, son. But, five years from now, when you look back on this moment, no one will remember if you showed up to the conference, but Elle will remember if you stayed. And no one can fill the shoes in the role you play for Elle but anyone can take your place to speak at this conference."
At this moment, my father-in-law gave us both permission to make miscarrying significant.
The Problem with Normalizing Miscarriage
According to the American Pregnancy Association, approximately 10-20% of pregnancies end in miscarriages (American Pregnancy Association, "Miscarriage: Causes," American Pregnancy Association, https://americanpregnancy.org).1
But you know what doesn't take the pain away from a woman who has miscarried?
Hearing a statistic.
Just a rule of thumb here:
Never give someone who is grieving
a statistic to make them feel better. Ever. It never helps.
We throw this statistic around as a way to make people feel better because we don't know how to sit with people in their suffering.
We also say things like:
At least you can get pregnant.
Sounds like a chemical pregnancy.
How far along were you? (As if being less far along makes the loss easier??)
It's supposed to be easier to get pregnant after your miscarry.
Your time will come.
All of these things have been said to me. What else can you add to this list?
C'mon, people. Do better.
If you pause and consider the pain of this loss, if you were to make a miscarriage significant and anything but normal, you would not say these heartless things to someone.
By trying to normalize miscarriage, we minimize the grief and therefore, do not even make room for the grieving process. An essential part of the healing journey.
Just as importantly, by attempting to normalize miscarriage—which I do recognize is an upgrade from the typical cultural norm of not sharing it at all— we suffocate the necessary, scientific conversation of WHY THE HELL are 20% of pregnancies ending in miscarriage!?
The Medical System's Failures
Our western healthcare system was built by men, for men. And as a result, women and their bodies are misunderstood, misrepresented, under researched, dismissed and misdiagnosed.
According to a 2024 report by the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, between 2013 and 2023, only 8.8% of NIH grant spending focused on women's health research (National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, 2024).2
What's worse? Some analyses indicate that women's health research, particularly in areas like reproductive health, receives less than 4% of the total NIH research budget.
And you know what’s incredibly troubling? In 2025, the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) mandated the closure of the Women's Health Initiative's regional centers, effectively defunding a long-standing national study that has been pivotal in understanding women's health issues (AJMC).3
Consider this: a comprehensive pre-conception care program that includes hormonal testing, nutritional assessment, and lifestyle modifications can cost $2,000-5,000. Meanwhile, one cycle of IVF averages $15,000-20,000, and many couples require multiple cycles. The emotional and financial cost of recurrent pregnancy loss compounds exponentially when we fail to invest in prevention.
The last thing we need to do as women is normalize miscarriage.
This will never help a woman grieve after this unbearable loss, nor will it move the needle on decreasing the incidence of miscarriage by educating women on all of the many things they can do to prepare their bodies for pregnancy.
Instead, we need to make having a miscarriage significant.
By speaking up and speaking out, by advocating for more research on understanding the root causes of miscarriage and by changing the standard guidance for women who may one day want to conceive— we make way for women to heal their hearts and their bodies.
We must stop accepting “chromosomal abnormality” as the sole explanation for miscarrying; it is likely a symptom of an underlying root cause that needs to be identified and addressed.
The Case for Significance: A Second Loss
"Is there anything you suggest I do to prevent this from happening again?" I test her.
"Umm, well we'll run some labs but… Umm, let me think," She mumbles. "You could try acupuncture like you said. But uh, no if the labs look fine. I suggest you try again and if you have another miscarriage, go the fertility route."
“Try again?! Have ANOTHER miscarriage? Have a THIRD miscarriage? THIS IS YOUR ADVICE?!” I'm screaming in my head. Can you hear me? Are you screaming with me?
This is what my OBGYN said to me in my follow up appointment after I suffered from a second miscarriage about six months after my first.
Prior to going to this appointment, I began my own research, having a hunch that there must be something I can be doing to find the cause of these miscarriages.
I just knew there was something wrong with my body. Hello, intuition.
So, I googled "functional fertility." When in doubt, as a nurse, I always find it wise to see how a functional medicine physician approaches diseases, disorders and diagnoses.
Sure enough, after enduring ten months of blindly trusting the conventional medical system—which tells women under 35 to "keep trying" for a full year and women over 35 to wait six months before investigating their bodies—I finally sought functional medicine.
The contrast was stark: where conventional care offered no guidance on preparing my body for conception or diagnosing potential causes, functional medicine provided a comprehensive list of labs and targeted lifestyle modifications to actually improve my chances.
Comment below or send me a message if it would be helpful for me to create this comprehensive list for you.
So, needless to say, I fired that OBGYN when she told me there wasn't really anything we could do.
I go on to make sense of this— not only are women's bodies under researched and misunderstood in our medical system but also, the way our physicians are trained to focus on one specialized area of the body has massive ramifications for how we receive fragmented rather than whole body care.
Even worse, most OBGYNs receive insufficient training in reproductive endocrinology and the complex hormonal systems that govern fertility— they're primarily educated about pregnancy management and delivery. So, even a woman carrying a healthy baby is grossly neglected throughout her prenatal care and labor process.
Here's where I make my case for seeking midwifery care. But, that's not what I'm here for today. Another day.
Anyway, onward.
If we were to see a miscarriage as a sign that there is likely something that needs attention in the woman's body, to see it as a significant signal rather than bad luck, we would guide a woman to comprehensive hormonal panels, nutrient deficiency testing, thyroid function assessment, inflammatory markers and lifestyle modifications they can make.
We would introduce practices like acupuncture, nutritional therapy and stress reduction techniques to improve their fertility.
To take it a step further, I advocate for making it standard practice for ALL WOMEN, during their menstrual years, to be educated on the many steps they can and should take at least one year before trying to conceive—not after they've already begun trying.
I know what the push back will be— "That's too expensive."
But I call bullshit.
You know what's expensive?!
IVF. IUI. Any fertility clinic appointments. Miscarriages. Multiple Miscarriages. Waiting. Longing. Hoping. Grieving. Healing. Waiting. Longing. Hoping. Grieving.
From the beginning of my time in healthcare, I have been an advocate for preventative care. Unfortunately, there is no money in preventative care, which is why we have a sick-care system and not a health-care system.
But we must change the narrative.
And we have to do this by building a whole new system.
How We Build Change Together
Build a whole new system. Cool. So, how do we do that?
As women, we must come together— we must rise up.
We must make miscarriage significant.
Normalizing miscarriage silences progress and nullifies our grieving.
We must stop doing this. Together, and only together, can we build a new system with new standards, that defies the old guard ways of accepting what is, and instead, proactively fights for change.
Here's what building a new system looks like practically:
Support organizations already doing this work: Groups like the Miscarriage Association, Resolve and local fertility awareness educators are pushing for better research and care standards.
Demand comprehensive pre-conception care: Ask your healthcare providers about hormonal testing, nutritional assessments, and fertility preparation at least a year before trying to conceive.
Advocate for policy change: Contact representatives about increasing NIH funding for women's health research and requiring insurance coverage for preventative fertility care.
Choose providers who see you as whole: Seek out integrative practitioners, reproductive endocrinologists, and midwives who understand the interconnectedness of hormonal health.
Share your story: When you're ready, speaking about pregnancy loss breaks the silence and creates space for others to grieve and heal. I’d love to hear yours below.
Fund research: Support organizations funding studies on miscarriage prevention, root cause analysis, and comprehensive women's health research.
The system my sweet father-in-law helped my husband and I name—one where a woman's loss matters enough to stop the world for a moment—is the same system we need in healthcare. One where prevention matters more than profit, where women's intuition about their bodies is trusted and where comprehensive care is the standard, not the exception.
Full Circle: The Joy of Significance
This morning I went to the Mysha mom's coffee meet up. The facilitator asked the group, "What's bringing you joy right now?"
I take a deep breath and smile.
This morning, as I was standing over the stove stirring my oatmeal, I could hear my four month old daughter babbling away in the other room.
As I stood over the stove, tears dripped down my face and into my oatmeal.
I remembered standing over the kitchen sink. The silence deafening.
I longed for so long for the silence to be filled with these sweet sounds. And here we are.
These babbles fill our rooms these days because people along the way— my father-in-law, my husband, my acupuncturist, my friends, my thyroid provider, my midwives and my doula made my miscarriages significant.
Miscarriage is anything but normal. Let me be the one to make yours significant, too.
My journey hasn’t just led healing—but also to a new calling.
I’m now building Naxos Health, a new kind of space for women’s healing—one that honors both data and intuition, root causes and soul work, evidence and the feminine.
And I want you to build it with me. Subscribe to follow along and to partner with me in building this space for all women.
American Pregnancy Association, "Miscarriage: Causes," American Pregnancy Association, https://americanpregnancy.org.
National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, "To Advance Women's Health Research, NIH Should Form New Institute and Congress Should Appropriate New Funding," 2024, https://www.nationalacademies.org/news/2024/12/to-advance-womens-health-research-nih-should-form-new-institute-and-congress-should-appropriate-new-funding-says-report?utm_source=chatgpt.com.
AJMC, "HHS Cuts Funding for NIH-Based Women’s Health Initiative, Threatening Decades-Long Study," AJMC, 2025, https://www.ajmc.com/view/hhs-cuts-funding-for-nih-based-women-s-health-initiative-threatening-decades-long-study?utm_source=chatgpt.com.
Thanks so much for sharing this and for the insightful post…I had a miscarriage in February of 2023. Found out at my 8 week appt, had the physical miscarriage around 1 week later…the roller coaster of emotions (primarily guilt for something outside of your control?) was awful, not to mention the waiting and the. potentially having to get a DNC, etc.