I almost didn’t record this episode.

I sat down with my notes, read through them to get ready, and teared up before I ever pressed record. That’s usually the sign that something needs to be said.

I’ve been walking closely with a dear friend through a miscarriage. I showed up on her doorstep with lasagna the day she found out. I sat with her through the loss. And today, I went to the memorial for her baby. My heart has been heavy in a way that takes me back to my own losses — all three of them — in a very present way.

And so I’m writing this for her. And I’m writing this for you. Because if you’ve ever stood in a room with a pregnant woman and felt something dark rise up in you — jealousy, resentment, grief, anger — I want you to know: that is one of the least talked-about parts of pregnancy loss. And it is one of the hardest.

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When She Got to Keep the Gift You Both Were Given

I remember sitting in a Bible study. I was pregnant with my daughter Hannah. A friend in the group was pregnant at the same time. Then December came, and I lost Hannah. And in January, when we went back to Bible study, she was there. Showing. Beautiful round belly. Alive.

Mine was gone. My stomach was flat, squishy and empty. And I had to sit across from her.

It’s like watching someone hold and keep a precious gift that you both were given, but yours was taken away for no reason. It feels unjust, unfair, and wrong. And it’s hard — really hard — not to feel resentment toward the person who got to keep what you lost.

I want to say something that might feel uncomfortable before I say something that I hope will feel like grace: that feeling is not sin. It is grief. And grief deserves a witness, not a lecture.

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Two Different Gifts

Here’s the perspective I’ve been sitting with, and that I want to offer you today.

Your friend who is still pregnant — her gift is a long one. She’ll spend the next eighteen-plus years sanctifying herself through the daily work of raising a child into a disciple of Christ. That is holy work. And it is a gift.

Your gift looks different. It is a sanctification by fire. It burns hot and intense for a season. It brings you to your knees. It asks you to release a life back to God before you ever got to hold it. And it does something that almost nothing else in this world can do: it draws you close to the suffering Savior in a way that is utterly unique.

Think of soldiers who have gone through something hard together — the kind of shared suffering that creates a bond no ordinary friendship can replicate. That is what this kind of loss does for your relationship with Christ. You understand his sorrow. You understand his anguish. You understand what it is to surrender something precious and trust that God is good anyway.

That does not make your grief small. It makes it sacred.

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A Word About Social Media

I want to be practical with you for a moment, because I care about you too much to only speak to your spirit when your circumstances need attention too.

Social media is making this harder than it has to be. It is an unnatural bombardment of a false community. We were never designed to see hundreds of pregnancy announcements in a single scroll. We were never meant to experience life this way — algorithmically, endlessly, without context or relationship.

You will deal with triggers in real life. Your friend at church will be showing. Someone in your Bible study will announce. Those are real relationships, and I believe you can walk through them with grace — blessing her with your heart and trusting that your grief is its own kind of holy ground.

But opening an app that serves you whatever it decides you should see? That is optional. And I want to lovingly encourage you to consider deleting it. Pray about it. Talk to your husband. And then just do it — at least for a season. Protect your healing.

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How to Bless Her — and Yourself

When you see her — your pregnant friend, your glowing sister-in-law, your Bible study companion — here is my invitation to you: bless her in your heart. Pray that her gift of breathing, moving, living life will continue. Pray that her pregnancy will be sustained, her delivery healthy, her baby whole.

And then look down at your own body — your empty womb, your recovering heart — and bless God for what your suffering is doing in you. Not because it feels okay. It doesn’t feel okay. But because He is near to the brokenhearted. Because He saves those who are crushed in spirit. Because He is with you right now, and He is turning toward you, and He has not forgotten you.

You’re gonna deal with people who are literally physically pregnant around you. so you’re gonna have to deal with that and and bless them and remember that you are blessed in a very different way.

And you can do it. and maybe you should get rid of anything that’s not necessary that adds to the difficulty of this healing part of your journey after a loss.

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