Grieving the Loss: Honoring Stillbirths, Miscarriages, & Chemical Pregnancies

As a therapist who works closely with individuals and couples navigating infertility, I often support clients through the grief that accompanies early pregnancy loss—including chemical pregnancies, miscarriages, and stillbirths.

A chemical pregnancy is a very early loss, typically occurring before 5–6 weeks of gestation—often before an ultrasound can even detect a gestational sac. A miscarriage generally refers to the loss of a pregnancy after clinical confirmation (typically via ultrasound or exam) and before 20 weeks. A stillbirth is the loss of a baby at 20 weeks or later, either before or during delivery.

What I’ve come to witness again and again is this: loss is loss.
Whether an embryo is just five days old, the client saw a faint second line on a test, heard a heartbeat, or carried into the second or third trimester—grief can run equally deep.

Many of my clients compare their losses to those of others, often minimizing their own pain. In therapy, I sometimes hear:

“It was so early, why am I this upset?”
“I never even got to meet them.”
“Other people have had it worse.”

But the truth remains: your grief is valid.
For many going through IVF, fertilized and frozen embryos are more than just cells—they represent hope, potential, and the deep desire to create a family. Even if those embryos are only five days old, they carry immense emotional weight. They are part of you.

When a client sees a positive pregnancy test or hears a heartbeat, that moment ignites something powerful: a vision of possibility. A future. The imagined child, the growing family, the long-awaited joy. And when that possibility is lost—even in a chemical pregnancy—it can be devastating.

Unfortunately, many clients are met with dismissive comments:

“At least you can get pregnant.”
“It was so early—it’s not the same.”

These well-meaning but minimizing responses often push people into isolation, making them question their feelings and doubt their pain. In therapy, we work through these emotions. We explore grief, anger, sadness, and sometimes even shame or guilt. Infertility doesn't just affect the body—it impacts relationships, self-worth, mental health, and one’s sense of identity.

Grief in the context of infertility is complex. It can be layered, ongoing, and cyclical. But your loss matters. Your story matters. And you are not alone.

A few things I try to work through with my clients are:

It’s not your fault.

One of the first and most painful emotions many clients experience after a loss is guilt. They wonder what they could have done differently—what they ate, what they felt, what they didn’t do. Please know: you didn’t cause this. Pregnancy loss—whether early or later—is almost never due to anything you did or didn’t do. It’s a heartbreaking reality, but biology can be unpredictable, and so much is beyond our control. Self-blame adds another layer of pain to an already devastating experience. Be gentle with yourself.

Whether it was a chemical pregnancy, miscarriage, or stillbirth—it’s a loss.

Loss doesn’t need permission to be real. Some people might minimize a chemical pregnancy or act like your grief doesn’t count unless a baby was held in your arms. But every step of the fertility journey is wrapped in hope, love, and expectation. If you felt connected to the pregnancy, the dream of a child, the life you were building—that loss is valid. The timeline doesn’t determine the depth of your grief.

Take the time to grieve. Don’t feel ashamed that you’re sad. Feel and process.

Grief is not a race or something to “get over.” It’s a process. You may feel numb one day and overwhelmed the next. There is no right way to grieve—only your way. Allow yourself to cry, journal, talk to someone, or sit in silence. If you feel angry, confused, or heartbroken, all of those emotions are welcome. You are allowed to mourn a future that felt within reach. And you do not have to justify your sadness to anyone.

You’re not alone.

It can feel like no one understands, especially if people around you don’t know what to say—or say the wrong things. But there is a community of others who’ve walked through this pain. Support groups, therapists, books, and even quiet connections with friends who’ve been there can make a difference. If you’re reading this and hurting, please know: your grief is seen, your story matters, and you don’t have to carry it alone.

If you’re grieving a pregnancy loss of any kind, please know that your pain is real and your emotions are valid. You don’t have to minimize your experience or compare it to anyone else’s. Loss is loss, and it deserves space to be felt, processed, and honored. Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself permission to grieve in your own time and your own way. And most importantly, remember—you are not alone.