After experiencing my first pregnancy loss (an ectopic pregnancy that necessitated emergency surgery), I took two weeks off from work to physically recover and mourn in my own space. During this time, I contacted my company’s HR department to ask about bereavement leave, as I desperately wanted to avoid exhausting my sick days and vacation time. To my shock, the HR representative responded, “Well, bereavement leave is only for, like, real people.”
I was left speechless and, quite frankly, outraged. Here I was, grappling with the immense sorrow of losing a child I never got to meet, and this woman—whom I had never interacted with—managed to completely dismiss the grief I was beginning to acknowledge.
Sadly, this experience is far from unique. Take the case of Sarah Thompson, who lost her daughter, Lily, stillborn on December 1. Sarah, a dedicated teacher with seven years of service at her school, was told she did not qualify for paid family leave since she was merely “caring for [herself].” After enduring 48 hours of labor and a surgical procedure that left her with significant blood loss, her employer denied her the paid leave she would have received if Lily had lived. “Being ineligible for paid family leave after going through the experience of birthing a child made it feel as if my baby never existed and that my pain didn’t matter,” Sarah shared with me.
If “family leave” is only meant for parents bringing home healthy babies, and “bereavement leave” is reserved for those mourning individuals who have lived outside the womb, it’s clear we need a specific policy for stillbirth, miscarriage, and other forms of pregnancy loss. Such events are monumental—physically, emotionally, and often financially—and denying individuals the right to time off is simply unjust.
Statistics reveal that one in four pregnancies ends in loss, which means in a workplace of substantial size, at least one person is likely dealing with pregnancy loss at any given moment. For some, these losses are accompanied by significant medical complications, as Sarah experienced. Two of my own losses were ectopic pregnancies that posed risks to my health—one requiring surgery and the other needing a drug typically used in cancer treatment. I had a “missed miscarriage” that involved weeks of bleeding, and I also endured the loss of my son, Leo, in the second trimester, leading to another surgery and profound heartache.
Even when there are no severe medical implications, the emotional toll is considerable. Research indicates that 29% of women who experience early pregnancy loss face post-traumatic stress just one month after their loss. Anxiety and depression are also common—around one in four women report moderate to severe anxiety, with about one in ten experiencing similar levels of depression.
In our book, “All the Love: Healing Your Heart After Pregnancy Loss,” my co-authors and I aimed to shed light on the devastation of such experiences. For me, this was an exploration of my own grief and an attempt to understand why this type of loss feels so debilitating. It’s not just the loss of a baby; it’s the loss of dreams, the loss of faith, and the loss of control, compounded by society’s struggle to address grief in general and pregnancy loss in particular.
David Kessler, a well-known author and founder of grief.com, has described our society as “grief-illiterate.” We often want to rush past sadness and fix things, leading to well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful comments like, “Everything happens for a reason!” or “Just try again!” Such platitudes fail to recognize the depth of the griever’s pain. It’s no surprise that many women describe pregnancy loss as an isolating experience, even though millions have undergone similar hardships. When our feelings are dismissed—by insensitive HR representatives or unfeeling employers—it complicates our grief, making us feel as if our experiences (and our babies) are not valid.
After each of my losses, no one informed me of my right to any form of leave. As a result, I often returned to work, still physically suffering, and engaged in the exhausting act of pretending everything was fine. Most days, I found myself napping in my car during lunch breaks or sneaking under my desk for a moment of respite. While these are privileges, many women lack such options. What about those who have to take unpaid leave? What about those in physically demanding jobs?
It’s important to recognize that while some may find solace in the routine of work post-loss, many are not ready to return. As Elle Wright wrote in her book about losing her son, “The thought of going back, facing everyone…quite frankly made me physically sick.” Yet, most of us have to return, doing our best while grappling with the reality that U.S. workplaces have yet to recognize miscarriage as a valid loss that requires mourning time.
Real change will not occur unless enough people demand it. Our society prioritizes productivity and the bottom line; a woman sitting at her desk despite her emotional and physical turmoil may appear productive, but her health must take precedence. She will be a better employee once she’s had the necessary time to heal.
Countries like South Korea provide maternity leave for women who experience miscarriage or stillbirth, with paid leave that protects their employment during this time. Such policies should be implemented here, as the absence of them raises questions about our claim to being the greatest country in the world.
We don’t necessarily need to label this as “family leave” or “bereavement leave” if those terms are too narrowly defined. It could have its own designation—perhaps “Pregnancy Loss Leave” (PLL) or “Paid Pregnancy Loss Leave” (PPLL). Whatever the name, it should be accessible and readily available, ideally for both the woman and her partner, as pregnancy loss impacts both individuals. Current policies suggest otherwise, implying that such experiences should be endured in silence, which is not the case.
We must strive for improvement—because women’s health matters, because each baby matters, and because grief matters. A society’s values are reflected in its policies. If we wish to cultivate empathy, we must start with how we treat our people and the policies that shape our daily lives. Imagine a world where we collectively embrace those who are grieving, saying, “Take all the time you need. Your pain deserves space.”
For further insights into related topics, check out this blog post here and explore this excellent resource for more information on pregnancy and home insemination. If you’re interested in fertility products, visit Make a Mom for quality options.
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Summary:
Pregnancy loss is a profound experience that often goes unrecognized in workplace policies. Many individuals face emotional and physical challenges after such losses, yet they are frequently denied necessary time off. This article highlights the need for dedicated leave for pregnancy loss, advocating for policies that validate the grief associated with stillbirth, miscarriage, and ectopic pregnancies. It calls for societal change in how we address and support those affected by such tragedies.
Keyphrase: Pregnancy Loss Leave
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