Grieving Woman Considers Divorcing Husband For How He Treated Her After Miscarriage
I never imagined that the hardest experience of my life would also make me question whether my marriage was worth saving. A few months ago, I suffered a miscarriage, and since then, almost everything about my life has felt different. My husband and I had been excited about becoming parents, even though the pregnancy was still in its early stages. We had talked about names, imagined what our child might look like, and started thinking about how our lives would change. We knew there was still a long road ahead, but we were happy and hopeful. When I lost the pregnancy, that future disappeared in a matter of hours. I was devastated physically and emotionally, and I honestly didn’t know how I was supposed to return to normal life afterward. I knew my husband was grieving too, but I believed the one person I could depend on during that terrible period was the man I had married. Unfortunately, his reaction to my grief ended up becoming almost as painful as the loss itself.
During the first few days after the miscarriage, I was barely functioning. My body was recovering, but emotionally I felt completely broken. I would wake up thinking about the baby and then remember what had happened all over again. Sometimes I would cry without warning, and other times I would simply sit quietly because I didn’t have the energy to explain what I was feeling. My husband seemed uncomfortable whenever I became emotional. Instead of holding me or asking what I needed, he would tell me that I couldn’t keep thinking about what had happened. He said we needed to look toward the future and that there was nothing either of us could do to change the past. I understood that he might have been trying to help me, and I also knew that he was dealing with his own grief, but his words made me feel as though my sadness was becoming an inconvenience. I wasn’t asking him to fix the situation. I just wanted him to acknowledge that I was hurting and let me grieve without making me feel guilty for it.
As the weeks passed, I started noticing how much distance had grown between us. I stopped talking about the miscarriage because I knew he didn’t want to hear about it. If something reminded me of the pregnancy and I became emotional, I would often go into another room so he wouldn’t see me crying. There were nights when I desperately wanted comfort but was afraid to ask because I didn’t want another argument about moving on. Eventually, I told him directly that I felt completely alone in our marriage. I explained that losing the pregnancy had changed me and that I needed time to process what had happened. His response shocked me because he said that he was tired of everything revolving around the miscarriage. He told me that he had lost the baby too and that he was trying to move forward, so he didn’t understand why I couldn’t do the same. I tried to explain that I wasn’t choosing to stay sad and that grief doesn’t work according to a schedule. The more we talked, the more I realized that we weren’t simply grieving differently. We had completely different ideas about what supporting each other was supposed to look like.
Eventually, I started wondering whether I could actually depend on him if something difficult happened to us again. The miscarriage forced me to think about our marriage in a way I never had before. Before this happened, I always assumed that being married meant knowing your partner would stand beside you during the worst moments of your life. But when I needed emotional support the most, I felt like I had to hide my pain to keep the peace. My family and close friends were the people who listened to me, checked on me, and allowed me to cry without telling me that I needed to get over it. That comparison made me realize how serious the problem had become. I still loved my husband, and I didn’t believe he was intentionally trying to hurt me, but love wasn’t enough to erase the loneliness I had experienced. I eventually told him that I was considering divorce, and he was completely shocked. He said that one painful period shouldn’t destroy our entire marriage, while I told him that the issue wasn’t simply the miscarriage. It was the way he treated me when I was at my most vulnerable.
Now I am struggling with whether our marriage can be repaired or whether this experience revealed something I can no longer ignore. My husband has apologized and admitted that he didn’t know how to handle his own grief, and he says that pushing me to move on was his way of trying to cope. Part of me wants to believe that he genuinely understands why his behavior hurt me, especially because he has agreed to try counseling with me. At the same time, I can’t simply forget the nights when I cried alone or the moments when I felt like my grief was a burden to him. I don’t expect him to grieve exactly the way I do, and I don’t expect him to have all the right words. I just wanted empathy, patience, and reassurance from the person who was supposed to be my partner through everything. I don’t know yet whether I will ultimately stay married or leave, but I know I need to make that decision based on what is healthiest for me rather than because anyone thinks I should simply forgive and forget. The miscarriage took away the future I had imagined, and now I am trying to determine whether the marriage I thought would carry me through difficult times is something I can still rebuild.
Read Story…
“AITAH for wanting to leave my husband after my miscarriage?”
The original poster (OP) explained:
“I (34, female) have been married to my husband (43, male) for 3 years, together for 5. His 3 kids (ages 18-21) live with us too.”
“We’ve been struggling with infertility pretty much since we got married. Last year was a really rough year for us because I got laid off from my tech job and a couple weeks later he had a stroke.”
“During his stroke I took on EVERYTHING because he literally couldn’t and that was fine. We took a pretty major hit financially and depleted our savings and wracked up quite a bit of debt.”
“Fast forward to June this year. We’d started going to a fertility clinic, I was working fulltime, my husband was doing much better and had made about a 90% recovery, but I was still doing literally everything for the house (cleaning, finances, letting the kids use my car for school and work, cooking, etc…).”
“Anytime I asked for help, it was either dismissed or turned into an argument where he’d shut me out/give me the silent treatment then have the audacity to expect sex later that night with no apology or accountability.”
“I finally got pregnant late May, but lost it 6 weeks later. That experience broke me. I didn’t get out of bed for a week, I was in pain, I wasn’t feeding myself, and I was miserable.”
“During the roughly 4 weeks I was out of work and just depressed, he didn’t do a single thing around the house, let the dishes and laundry pile up, and basically carried on as if life was fine.”
“One night in particular, he asked if I was ‘okay’ and I told him no and that I was in pain and hadn’t eaten and he just got on his phone. Didn’t even offer to get me food.”
“To make it worse, when I finally got up and said I’m making myself something, he asked me to make something for him too, knowing I was still bleeding and in pain.”
“It took me a few more months before I kind of woke up from the depression of losing my baby and began seeing just how emotionally neglectful he’d really been this whole year. Not to mention the financial abuse—withholding that he was $15k behind on taxes and lying about having money for our vacation, only to have nothing and make me max out my credit cards to cover it.”
“So now we’re filing bankruptcy on top of all this. I decided to have a very serious conversation with the ultimatum of marriage counseling and he completely dismissed everything I had to say, said I was overreacting, that the financial stuff wasn’t a big deal, and he refused marriage counseling.”
“That’s the soft version. But after that convo was the first time I seriously considered just packing up and leaving.”
“After nearly 2 weeks of silent treatment, lots of hurtful comments, and defensiveness, he finally caved and apologized and agreed to do counseling even though he said he won’t like it.”
“I thought his apology was genuine, and as soon as I kissed him and said I felt better, he immediately asked for sex. So now I feel like he’s only sexually motivated, but not because he actually cares about how much he’s hurt and neglected me.”
“So even though he’s agreed to counseling, I feel like I don’t even want to work on this relationship anymore. But I also feel guilty because he’s a good person, goes to work every day, doesn’t cheat, etc…”
“But he’s the definition of emotionally unavailable/neglectful. I’ve recently realized he’s a dismissive avoidant for those who know about attachment theory.”
“So, am I the a**hole for wanting to ‘give up’ without trying to work on the relationship more?”
The OP later added:
“His children are mostly self-sufficient and do their own laundry. They don’t clean their dirty dishes or help clean common areas, but they do clean their rooms, bathrooms, and handle the trash.”
“At this point, they contribute more than my husband, so how can I expect them to contribute more to the house when their own dad doesn’t do anything?”
“100% there’s no way I would’ve married him if he’d acted like this while dating. And also, I tell myself if this were happening to a friend, I’d be screaming for her to leave.”
“One piece that keeps holding me back is that I feel like he changed after his stroke, so maybe he just needs therapy and to work on himself. Or maybe he’s always been this way and he just dropped the facade when he was no longer healthy enough to keep it up.”
“He used to always say ‘one day you’re going to get tired of me and leave’ and I’d just laugh it off, but maybe he was lowkey warning me this whole time.”
“And yes, I’ve had thoughts lately that maybe my body was protecting me by having the miscarriage, but then I spiral into self-guilt around that. I’ve started therapy to try and work on that piece more.”
Some Redditors weighed in by using the AITA voting acronyms:
- NTA – Not The A**hole
- YTA – You’re The A**hole
- NAH – No A**holes Here
- ESH – Everyone Sucks Here
Redditors decided the OP was not wrong to stop trying to save her marriage (NTA).
“NTAH. This guy will never improve. People like this will go to counseling, learn new vocabulary, and get new tools to use and abuse their partner. I’ve been there, and it’s horrible and incredibly disheartening.”
“OP, my heart breaks for you. You deserve so much better than this. Being single is better than having a sh*tty partner.” ~ jadedbeats
“NTAH. Leave and be done with him.” ~ t-mckeldin
“And be done with his ADULT age ‘children’ too! Nowhere does OP mention where they’ve done anything to help out around the house or contribute to the household in any way.”
“And last, but not least!”
“Don’t have any children with this man. He’s not going to change. He’s showing you who he is in living color, and if you have to beg for common decency and love from him, you are doomed to be miserable if you stay married to him.” ~ NotTheBadOne
“NTA. He abandoned you emotionally when you needed him most. Counseling won’t fix someone who doesn’t actually want to change. You’re not giving up, you’re choosing yourself.” ~ lovelopetir
“Personality changes after a brain injury are a real thing. Sounds like you lost the guy you fell in love with. You really need to look out for your own well-being at this point and let his adult children take over his care. Let him implode all on his own. His brain will likely not get better, unfortunately.” ~ HappyDoggos
“My ex-fiancé had a stroke 10 months into our relationship. I stayed with him, but he changed. He became emotionally abusive, and although we tried couples counselling, that only made it more clear that he was treating me badly.”
“It took me several years to leave him because I kept thinking he would get past it, it was the stroke, and he was getting better. But he didn’t, and I finally walked away. Sometimes you just need to walk to save yourself.” ~ Edmee
“It is possible that he changed after his stroke, but not in a way that therapy can fix. Depending on what area of the brain the stroke affected, he may permanently have less empathy and emotional control. This behavior may have always been part of his personality, but he knew it wasn’t socially acceptable or conducive to a relationship.”
“At the very, very least, I would stop with the fertility treatments and speak to his doctors about whether personality changes are a symptom of his type of stroke, and, if so, would therapy be helpful.”
“Because if not, this is the man who your husband is going to be for the rest of his life. And it does not sound like a man who is a good partner or who you want to have children with, but that is a decision you’ll have to come to together.”
“Also, good for you for getting into therapy for yourself—miscarriage is so hard, and there is so much unwarranted guilt attached to it. You’ve got so much going on. I’m really glad that you’re seeking help.” ~ nursejacqueline
“It’s highly probable the stroke changed him. My dad had a 3 day coma and a very mild stroke 6 months later, and while doctors said there was no damage, we noticed the small differences.”
“Here’s the kicker; my dad took the initiative to get himself a neurologist, therapy, and meds because he saw the problems and didn’t want them to get worse.”
“Your husband doesn’t see a problem with his behavior and doesn’t want to change. He just wants to keep the sex machine working.”
“No amount of marriage counseling or individual therapy will help if he doesn’t want to get better. Why would he?”
“He abandoned you during your miscarriage—he might have physically been there, but he did nothing to ease your burden, just let everything build up around him because he saw that as your job to handle—and you still stayed.”
“It’s not your responsibility to fix someone who likes being broken.” ~ Straystar-626
Therapy is only effective for individuals who are willing to change.
OP can’t force her husband to treat her better. She can only control what she does in response to his mistreatment.
The Loss That Made Her Question Her Marriage
I never imagined that the hardest experience of my life would also make me question whether my marriage was worth saving. A few months ago, I suffered a miscarriage, and since then, almost everything about my life has felt different. My husband and I had been excited about becoming parents, even though the pregnancy was still in its early stages. We had talked about names, imagined what our child might look like, and started thinking about how our lives would change. We knew there was still a long road ahead, but we were happy and hopeful. When I lost the pregnancy, that future disappeared in a matter of hours. I was devastated physically and emotionally, and I honestly didn’t know how I was supposed to return to normal life afterward. I knew my husband had lost something too, but I believed that we would lean on each other and get through the pain together. Instead, the way he treated me afterward made me feel more alone than I had ever felt before.
The miscarriage was physically painful, but the emotional pain was something I wasn’t prepared for. I had already started thinking of myself as a mother, even though I knew the pregnancy was still very early. I had imagined holding our baby, watching my husband become a father, and eventually introducing our child to our families. After the miscarriage, all of those thoughts suddenly had nowhere to go. I would wake up in the morning and for a brief second forget what had happened before the sadness came rushing back. Sometimes I would see a pregnant woman at the grocery store or hear someone talking about babies and feel completely overwhelmed. I didn’t expect everyone around me to understand what I was going through, but I thought my husband would understand better than anyone.
During the first few days, my husband seemed concerned about my physical recovery, but emotionally he was much more distant. He would ask whether I had taken my medication or eaten something, but he rarely asked how I was actually feeling. When I cried, he seemed uncomfortable and didn’t know what to do. At first, I tried to make excuses for him. I thought maybe he was grieving privately and didn’t know how to express himself. I also knew that people process loss differently, so I didn’t expect him to react exactly as I did. What I did expect was some basic emotional support. I wanted him to sit beside me, hold my hand, or simply tell me that he knew how difficult this was. Instead, I often felt like he wanted the entire subject to disappear.
A week or so after the miscarriage, I was still struggling to function normally. I was tired all the time and would have sudden moments where I started crying. My husband began telling me that I needed to stay busy and focus on getting back to our normal routine. He said that sitting around thinking about the miscarriage was only making things worse. I knew he probably thought he was helping me, but his words made me feel as though I was doing something wrong by grieving. I wasn’t choosing to be sad. I wasn’t trying to make his life difficult. I had simply lost something that meant a great deal to me, and I needed time to process it.
One evening, I finally told him that I needed him to listen instead of trying to give me advice. I explained that I wasn’t asking him to fix anything because I knew there was nothing he could fix. I just wanted to talk about what happened and feel like I wasn’t carrying the entire emotional weight by myself. He listened for a few minutes before telling me that we couldn’t keep living like this. He said that the pregnancy was over and that we needed to start thinking about having another baby someday. I remember staring at him because I couldn’t believe how quickly he was already talking about replacing the future we had lost. I told him that I wasn’t ready to think about another pregnancy. I wasn’t even ready to think about tomorrow.
As the weeks continued, the difference between us became more obvious. I stopped mentioning the miscarriage because I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. If I felt emotional, I would go somewhere private and cry. I started hiding my sadness from the person who was supposed to be closest to me. That realization was incredibly painful. I remember one night sitting alone in the bathroom because I didn’t want my husband to see me crying again. I thought about how strange it was that I felt safer grieving alone than grieving beside my own husband. That was the first time I seriously wondered whether something was wrong with our marriage beyond the miscarriage itself.
My husband eventually became frustrated with me because I wasn’t acting like myself. He complained that I wasn’t as social as I used to be and that I wasn’t interested in going out or doing things together. I tried explaining that I was still emotionally exhausted. I didn’t want to pretend everything was normal just because several weeks had passed. He told me that he understood that I was sad, but he thought I was allowing the miscarriage to consume my entire life. That statement hurt deeply because I wasn’t trying to let it consume me. I was trying to survive something that had completely changed how I viewed my life and my future.
I also began wondering whether my husband was grieving at all. Whenever I asked him how he felt, he would say he was fine. He didn’t want to talk about the baby, the pregnancy, or what had happened. Part of me understood that this might have been his coping mechanism. Maybe he couldn’t face his own feelings, so he was trying to move forward as quickly as possible. But another part of me was angry because his way of coping was making me feel like my grief was unreasonable. I wished he would simply admit that he was hurting too. I would have been willing to sit with him and cry if he had allowed himself to be vulnerable with me.
Eventually, I started talking more openly with my family. My mother noticed immediately that something was wrong. She didn’t pressure me to leave my husband or tell me what decision to make. Instead, she simply listened. I could call her when I was having a difficult day, and she never told me that I needed to move on. She understood that grief doesn’t have a fixed deadline. The support I received from my family made me realize just how little emotional support I was receiving at home. I didn’t want to compare my husband to everyone else, but it became difficult not to notice the difference.
I decided to speak with a therapist because I knew I needed help processing the miscarriage. I wasn’t initially thinking about divorce. My main goal was simply to understand why I was feeling so overwhelmed. During therapy, I realized that I wasn’t only grieving the pregnancy. I was also grieving the version of my marriage I thought I had. Before the miscarriage, I believed my husband would be the person I could depend on when life became unbearable. Afterward, I realized that I had been trying to hide my pain from him because I was afraid of how he would react. That realization scared me more than I expected.
My therapist helped me understand that my husband’s grief might explain some of his behavior, but it didn’t automatically make the behavior acceptable. He may have been struggling too, but telling me to stop grieving wasn’t helping either of us. I began thinking about how couples are supposed to handle difficult situations. Nobody gets married expecting everything to go perfectly. There will be illness, financial problems, family conflicts, losses, and unexpected tragedies. I started asking myself whether I could trust my husband to stand beside me during another crisis. The answer wasn’t as clear as I wanted it to be.
Eventually, I asked my husband if he would attend counseling with me. He initially refused because he didn’t think our marriage needed professional help. He said we were simply going through a difficult period and would eventually get past it. I explained that I didn’t feel like we were getting past anything. We were avoiding it. After several conversations, he finally agreed to attend. During our first session, he admitted that he had been deeply affected by the miscarriage but didn’t know how to express his feelings. He said that seeing me constantly upset made him feel helpless, so he tried to push me toward moving on because he thought that would make things easier.
Hearing him admit that he was hurting changed something inside me, but it didn’t erase what had happened. I told him that I would have rather known he was struggling than have him act as though my grief was a problem. I told him that I never needed him to have the perfect words. I needed him to be present. I needed him to acknowledge that we had both lost something. He apologized and said he didn’t realize how alone he had made me feel. For the first time since the miscarriage, I felt like he was actually listening to me instead of trying to make the pain disappear.
Even after that conversation, however, I wasn’t suddenly okay. There was too much resentment built up inside me. I remembered every night I had cried alone, every time he told me to move on, and every moment when I felt like I had to hide my emotions. An apology couldn’t erase those memories. I also knew that if we were going to stay together, I needed to see actual changes rather than temporary promises. I didn’t want him to become supportive only because he was afraid I might leave. I wanted him to genuinely understand what I had needed from him.
The question of having another child also became a major source of tension. My husband mentioned that maybe we should try again once enough time had passed. I immediately felt anxious. The idea of another pregnancy frightened me because I was terrified of going through the same experience again. I told him that I wasn’t ready and didn’t know when I would be. He seemed disappointed, but eventually agreed that I shouldn’t be pressured. I appreciated that response, but I still wondered whether he truly understood why I was afraid or was simply waiting for me to change my mind.
I also struggled with the idea that another baby could somehow replace the one we lost. I know logically that every pregnancy and every child is different, but emotionally, the thought was complicated. The baby we lost will always be part of our story, even though we never got to meet them. I didn’t want to pretend that the pregnancy had never happened just because we might eventually have another child. I needed my husband to understand that moving forward didn’t mean forgetting. It meant learning how to carry the loss while continuing to live.
Some friends have told me that I should give my husband another chance because he was grieving too. Others have told me that his behavior during my most vulnerable moment showed me exactly what kind of partner he would be during future hardships. I honestly don’t know which perspective is right. I don’t think he is a terrible person, and I don’t believe he intentionally wanted to hurt me. But intentions don’t always erase consequences. I can understand why he behaved the way he did and still acknowledge that his behavior deeply damaged my trust in him.
There are still good parts of our marriage that make the decision difficult. Before the miscarriage, I loved our life together. We had shared years of memories, supported each other through ordinary problems, and talked about growing old together. He has been a good husband in many situations, which makes it harder for me to decide whether this experience should define our marriage. If everything had always been bad, I wouldn’t be struggling so much. Instead, I’m trying to determine whether this was one terrible failure during an unimaginable crisis or a sign of something deeper that will continue to appear whenever life becomes difficult.
My husband has continued attending counseling with me, and I can see that he is trying. He has started asking how I’m feeling instead of immediately telling me what I should do. When I have difficult days, he sometimes sits with me and lets me cry without trying to stop me. Those small changes mean more than he probably realizes. Still, rebuilding trust is slow. There are moments when I appreciate his progress, and other moments when I remember how alone I felt and become angry all over again. I don’t think either of us expected healing our marriage to be this complicated.
I have also stopped forcing myself to make a decision simply because other people want an answer. Some people think I should divorce him immediately, while others think I should forgive him because he was grieving too. I’m trying not to let either side make the decision for me. This is my marriage, my grief, and my life. I need to know that if I stay, I’m staying because I genuinely believe we can build something healthier. And if I leave, I want it to be because I have carefully decided that the relationship can no longer give me the emotional safety and support I need.
For now, I have told my husband that I am not ready to promise that our marriage will survive. I also haven’t decided that I want to leave. We are continuing counseling, and I’m giving myself permission to grieve without putting a deadline on it. I am slowly learning that being sad doesn’t mean I’m failing to move forward. I can continue living my life while still acknowledging that something important was lost. My husband is beginning to understand that too, and I hope he continues to learn how to support me rather than trying to rush me through the pain.
The miscarriage changed my understanding of grief, but it also changed my understanding of marriage. I used to think that loving someone meant they would automatically know how to comfort you when life fell apart. Now I realize that love also requires communication, patience, empathy, and a willingness to sit with someone else’s pain even when you can’t fix it. I don’t know whether my husband and I will ultimately stay together. I still love him, but I also know that love alone cannot repair everything. For now, I’m taking things one day at a time and trying to decide whether the marriage we rebuild can become a place where both of us feel safe enough to grieve, heal, and eventually move forward together.
