By Albert Simiyu Wanjala (Journalist / Author / Digital Marketer )
The Unspoken Pain
In a world where we often shout both joys and sorrows from the rooftops, miscarriage and infant loss remain cloaked in silence. For countless parents, the grief that follows is deep, raw, and enduring—yet society offers little space for public mourning or emotional acknowledgment. The stigma around miscarriage and infant loss not only silences the bereaved but also compounds their suffering.
This silence must end. We need to ask: Why is it so hard to talk about something so human—and so common?
The Statistics We Don’t Like to See
Globally, the World Health Organization estimates that approximately 10-15% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, with over 2.6 million stillbirths occurring annually. In Kenya, figures are underreported, but anecdotal evidence suggests the numbers are significant, especially in rural and resource-strapped hospitals.
Despite these numbers, public discourse around miscarriage and infant loss remains nearly invisible. This invisibility is not only cruel—it’s dangerous. When grief is buried, it festers.
Why We Struggle to Talk About It
1. Cultural Silence and Shame
In many African societies, including Kenya, miscarriage is often surrounded by cultural taboos. Some people believe it is a result of curses, carelessness, or even punishment from God. Women who lose babies may face quiet judgment or overt blame, particularly if the loss happens more than once. Men, on the other hand, are expected to “move on” quickly, often without acknowledging the emotional weight of the loss.
In Western societies, the problem is different but equally harmful: grief after miscarriage is minimized as “not a real loss” because the baby had not been born or lived long. Social media feeds filled with gender reveals, baby showers, and picture-perfect milestones make grieving parents feel alien and left behind.
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2. Medical vs Emotional Approach
Healthcare systems, especially in developing countries, are not equipped to handle the psychological aftermath of a pregnancy loss. Once the physical process ends, the emotional part is often ignored.
Dr. Esther Nyambura, a grief counselor in Nairobi, says:
“The woman is discharged, the chart is closed, and everyone moves on—except the mother. She carries the echoes of that heartbeat forever.”
Personal Stories: Speaking the Unspeakable
Grace, a 32-year-old mother from Kitengela, lost her daughter during childbirth in 2023. “People told me, ‘At least you can try again,’” she recalls. “As if my baby was just an idea, not someone I had already loved. I couldn’t even bring myself to talk about her because no one wanted to listen.”
Another couple, Lydia and Ben, experienced three miscarriages in five years. Their extended family encouraged them to “stop trying and adopt,” assuming something was inherently wrong with Lydia. “We wanted empathy, not advice,” Lydia says. “We wanted our pain to matter.”
These stories are not rare. They are only rarely told.
The Psychological Cost of Suppressed Grief
Unprocessed grief can manifest as chronic depression, anxiety, or even physical illness. Some couples begin to blame each other. Others silently drift apart.
In men, particularly, the silence can be deafening. They are rarely asked how they feel after a miscarriage or neonatal death. Social constructs of masculinity don’t allow space for tears or trauma in the face of reproductive loss. One father who lost twins told me, “Everyone asked my wife how she was doing. No one asked me.”
This emotional neglect—of both partners—turns tragedy into trauma.
What Needs to Change
1. Normalize the Grief
We must start treating miscarriage and infant loss as a legitimate bereavement, not a private misfortune. That means recognizing these losses in church prayers, workplace policies, family conversations, and even in healthcare protocols.
Naming the baby—even if stillborn—can help validate the life and the loss. Commemorative rituals like planting a tree, lighting a candle, or keeping a memory box should be encouraged, not discouraged.
2. Introduce Compassionate Leave
Most Kenyan workplaces have no official policy for pregnancy loss. Women are expected to return to work as if nothing happened. This is inhumane.
Countries like New Zealand have introduced paid miscarriage leave. Kenya can follow suit by offering at least 3–5 days of leave after a loss—both for the mother and the partner. The grief is real. The time to mourn should be too.
3. Support Systems Matter
Churches, mosques, temples, and traditional elder circles should be trained to counsel grieving couples—not judge them. Support groups and online forums can also offer refuge for those who don’t feel safe speaking to family.
Medical facilities should include post-loss counseling as part of maternal care. A simple follow-up call or mental health referral could make a huge difference.
4. Let’s Say Their Names
Just as we celebrate the birth of a child, we must also honor their death. Saying their names, acknowledging the due date, or checking in on the parents a year later are small acts of solidarity that go a long way in healing the heart.
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A Call to Empathy
Miscarriage and infant loss are not just medical events. They are emotional earthquakes. And like all grief, they deserve time, space, and compassion.
If you know someone who has experienced this kind of loss, don’t offer platitudes like “everything happens for a reason” or “you can try again.” Instead, say: “I’m sorry. I’m here. Tell me about your baby.”
It’s time we stopped pretending these losses don’t matter.
They do.
They always will.
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