Two Taboos: Miscarriage and Grief in the Workplace

I had a miscarriage on Christmas Day. Just typing that chokes me up to the point of tears. My therapist suggested, since I often process difficult things through words, to journal about this experience. While journaling to process is solid, I also know part of my personal brand and identity is talking about the soul-crushing parts of existing as a human, particularly in 2021, and understanding the neuroscience behind the impacts of those messy parts of humaning - at work. Miscarriage hits hard on two taboos of our current society - talking about women’s reproductive systems and talking about grief. So, in addition to my private journaling around this topic, I thought I’d also share a blog with my colleagues, networks, and friends. I am not even sure what the primary goal is other than to let you know: you are not alone, and you were never alone.

People keep telling me to grieve. “Let yourself grieve, it has only been a month,” they say. For me, there are only so many buckets of chicken wings you can order from Postmates. There were only so many drives to the ocean, pints of Americone Dream, and full days of sleeping because being awake and remembering everything sounds like the worst possible thing on planet earth that you can do before you realize that nothing is coming close to filling that empty pit inside. Nothing gives you your child and the future you were planning for your family back.

For me, no one could undo all of those joyous phone calls on Christmas morning when, on the 26th, I had to call everyone back and say “nevermind.” 

I was lucky enough to not be working during this time period. I had the privilege of seeing an incredible team of doctors, and I had the privilege of family, friends, and former colleagues to wrap their loving, supportive arms around me. I had the privilege of resting, sobbing, sleeping, screaming, meditating, and eating every single one of my feelings. I know, despite all of this support, I felt isolated and alone. With my thoughts, with my body, with my guilt, with my fear.

I am actually not alone though, which is important to note. 25% of pregnant women will experience a miscarriage, and according to research done by the University of Rochester Medical Center, the mental health impacts, including depression and anxiety, can last for years. This continues even if a woman goes on to have a healthy baby. The other side of this is that many women are able to move through their grief freely and with very few mental health impacts. The point here is that women WILL go through this, and some of them will struggle. Everyone, not just the people who were able to process more quickly, deserves to be seen and validated in their lived experiences.

A huge question in my mind at the time was “What if I had to go to work?”

What about women who don’t have the option to not go back to work while actively miscarrying and the subsequent grief? It brings me back to horror stories of my fellow partners (code for Starbucks employees, some habits die hard) miscarrying on their shifts at Starbucks. In 2005 we absolutely were NOT talking about these things, and the rule at every store I worked at was you find someone to cover your shift or you come to work (in fact, my city had a giant Facebook group so people could cast wider nets for partners to cover shifts since it was such a known policy at the time). How many jobs are like this? While I am sure (or genuinely hoping) Starbucks has moved past this policy, how many companies haven’t? Or just don’t care? 

What if I had to go to work and my previous job as an Inclusion Manager at New Relic? Knowing the cognitive toll of grief, particularly the grief around pregnancy loss? How functional would I have really been?

Miscarriage can take an enormous toll on women (and their partners/spouses). Not just ambiguous “women-folk” - no. These are the women in our families, communities, and organizations. I am not sure if anyone reading needs to make this connection as clearly as I did: Miscarriage causes grief. One more time: Miscarriage causes grief. Grief is messy, has stages, is not linear, and impacts people no matter where they are or what they are doing, which includes our workplaces. While there is an entire dissertation of the neurobiology of grief, the tl;dr version is: Grief causes amygdala hijacks, grief activates the same parts of the brain that maps to separation anxiety, and grief is felt in the same parts of our brain as physical pain.

How we show up for women (and all humans) experiencing miscarriage grief is important. It’s important that organizations, teams, and managers recognize this grief is real. That there are real fears about telling people around us about losing a pregnancy (for example: I told my boss I had a miscarriage and now they know I am trying to get pregnant, which will directly impact my promotion/compensation prospects). Did you know that the average bereavement leave for the death of a spouse or child, is only 4 days? We are at three months and the ground still regularly drops out from under me. According to SHRM, grief experts recommend at least 20 days of leave for close family members. This being said - miscarriage/stillbirth isn’t even treated family death - it is considered a pregnancy-related illness. All of these absurd statistics around how we grieve and the time we take: they don’t even apply to pregnancy loss.

Women can end up in a messy, uncomfortable, unfair space between our identity as someone grieving, and an employee within an organization. For people going through this: please slow down. This is real grief, and no one can tell you how or what you should be feeling. As I mentioned above, grief has stages and those stages WILL be seen, regardless if you make the time and space for them. I interviewed for an Equity Business Partner role while actively miscarrying my child because I didn’t think I was in any position to take a break. I remember nothing about that interview - fun fact: grief also impacts our memory. In my head, other people had “real” losses, and I needed (and still do, but taking it a lot slower) a job. I didn’t think I could afford the luxury of stopping what I was doing to grieve, if I was even entitled to it in the first place. A month later everything - my entire mind and body - lurched to a halt. I couldn’t move forward until I moved through it.

For me - journaling, sharing this blog, talking to friends and family (really anyone who will listen, if I’m honest) helps me heal. For every person reading this thinking “hey, this isn’t really appropriate for the workplace,” there is someone sobbing in a hospital room. There is someone calling their mom to tell them “nevermind, you won’t be a grandmother this time.” And statistics show that these women are also the women in your team meetings, on your leadership team, or reporting into you, so it behooves us to create greater understanding around topics that feel uncomfortable - and listen to the experiences of those who have been there.