My Miscarriage Almost Got Me Uninvited From A Baby Shower — Why I'm Glad I Went Anyway

When my friend Rachel’s phone rang, she hesitated before answering. I could sense that she was uncomfortable talking on the phone because of the way she glanced at me. It didn’t make sense because I had seen the caller ID flash the name of a mutual friend. After a brief hello, she said quickly, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up.

“What’s going on? You’re acting weird,” I asked. She sighed, then admitted they were planning a baby shower for another friend of ours, who was eight months pregnant. “We weren’t sure it would be a good idea to include you in the planning or invite you, considering, you know, what happened.”

Three months earlier, I had miscarried at 11 weeks. My husband and I had been so excited to welcome our first child, and losing the pregnancy was one of the most painful experiences of my life.

It took a moment for Rachel’s words to sink in. I felt a rush of conflicting emotions rise within me. At first, I thought, “Oh, they’re just being considerate,” and I responded with a simple, “Oh, OK, I get it.” But as the conversation lingered in my mind, another thought surfaced: “Why would they leave me out?” I felt hurt, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to Rachel in that moment. I needed time to process the emotions swirling inside me. I cut our pizza date short, making an excuse about running errands.

As soon as I settled into the driver’s seat of my car, the tears came. I sobbed uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. My miscarriage had already been an isolating experience. The grief was deep, raw, and lonely because no one around me seemed to fully understand what I was going through. Friends who had experienced miscarriages in the past had long since healed and moved on, so they weren’t in the same emotional space as I was. And now, because of my miscarriage, I was being excluded again?! This time from sharing in someone else’s joy. It felt like I was moving from one season of loneliness straight into another.

I took some time to think about the situation. Instead of letting myself feel offended, I tried to understand their thought process. Slowly, I realized they weren’t rejecting me. It wasn’t about not wanting me there. They thought they were protecting me. They assumed attending the baby shower would hurt me even more, and they didn’t know how to navigate such a sensitive situation.

Two days later, I picked up the phone and called Rachel. “I’d love to come to the baby shower this weekend,” I told her.

“Are you sure?” she asked. I could hear the concern in her voice.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“OK,” she said gently. “I’ll see you then.”

On Saturday, as I got ready to leave for the venue, my nerves kicked in. What if they were right? What if I couldn’t handle being there? My mind spiraled with possibilities. Would it be seeing the mom-to-be, radiant and nearly eight and a half months pregnant, that would undo me? Or the baby-themed decorations? Maybe the gift-opening would be the moment I’d have to excuse myself.

When I arrived, everyone greeted me with warm smiles, truly happy to see me. I’d made a quiet resolution: If it got too overwhelming, I would make a graceful exit. But as the day unfolded, something surprising happened. I didn’t feel sad or out of place. I felt happy to be there. We played games, shared food, and watched as our friend opened her gifts. I chatted, joked, and laughed with the others like we always did. A strange sense of peace washed over me as I realized I was honestly overjoyed for my friend.

Later, the host pulled me aside. “I’m so sorry for not including you from the start,” she said softly. Her words touched me. I could see the heartfelt regret in her eyes, and I knew she had only been trying to spare me pain.

Despite everything, I was glad I decided to attend the baby shower. It made me feel less isolated and reminded me that I was still part of a caring community. Being there gave me the chance to support my friend in her moment of joy while also helping me reflect on how far I had come in my journey of grief and healing.

It turns out it’s not uncommon for family and friends to exclude moms who’ve miscarried from baby showers or children’s birthdays. A friend recently shared a similar experience with me. She wasn’t invited to her friend’s child’s birthday party, and to make matters worse, the host didn’t even acknowledge it. She simply left her out. Despite grieving her own miscarriage, my friend still wanted to feel included.

If you’re a friend or host unsure how to approach this situation, don’t make assumptions — just ask. Saying something like, “We’d love to have you, but we completely understand if it feels like too much right now,” lets them know they’re included without added pressure.

You could also offer alternatives, like sending a gift or writing a note, so they can participate in a way that feels right for them. If they cancel at the last minute or decide to leave early, respect their decision without guilt or judgment. If they do attend, treat them as you normally would. Include them in conversations and activities, creating a sense of comfort. Avoid bringing up their loss unless they choose to talk about it.

And if you’re grieving a pregnancy loss and unsure how to approach an event, give yourself grace. If you’re invited but not ready to attend, be honest with the host or your friends. A kind gesture, like dropping off a gift or sending a thoughtful message, can still show your love and support. If you do decide to go but feel the need to leave early, do so without shame. Bringing someone along for support, preferably someone who understands what you’re going through, can also make the experience easier to navigate.

Grief isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience. Some people might genuinely need space from these events to heal, depending on how long they’ve been trying to have a child, the time they’ve had to grieve, or their unique way of processing loss. For others, however, attending these gatherings, despite the pain, can be a meaningful step toward acceptance and emotional recovery.

From my own experience, after suffering two miscarriages, I’ve come to believe that grieving parents should always be included and given the choice to decide for themselves whether to attend.