When Grief Meets Partnership: Navigating Child Loss as a Couple

When I first became a therapist, I didn’t imagine I’d work with couples. And I certainly didn’t expect to sit with parents grieving the death of a child. In the beginning, anxiety was the most common thread I followed. But then life, as it tends to do, cracked me open. I became a grieving parent. And something in me shifted. I began to feel called to walk alongside others navigating that same, impossible terrain.

Couples work emerged naturally, not just as an extension of grief support, but as its own inquiry: How do people stay together when the unthinkable happens? How does grief shape the space between partners, not just within them?

When our daughter died at birth, my husband and I were already four months into the grieving process. We’d known about her fatal diagnosis since the ultrasound, and yet, nothing prepares you for the stillness of a delivery room when the baby doesn’t cry. And to add insult to injury, we then experienced two years of infertility afterwards and three subsequent miscarriages before we had our one living child in 2020.

At the time of our first daughter's death, my grief came in bursts: tight, hot, sudden. His grief was quiet, folded inward. In those first weeks, he tucked me into bed every night because I couldn’t bear to sleep alone. It was the only part of our old rhythm that still felt steady.

And still, the distance came. I remember one fight. I was sobbing, screaming, utterly unraveled. He sat across from me on our brown couch, silent and shut down. We were both grieving, but in such different languages it felt like we’d lost each other, too.

That was the night we made a choice. Not to pretend things were okay. Not to erase the hurt. But to stay. To walk through the grief together, even if that meant limping.

This post is for couples standing in that same hallway of life, grieving a child, and wondering if your relationship will survive. My hope is to offer not answers, but orientation. You’re not doing it wrong. Grief pulls us apart, and it can also become a reason to reach for each other again.

The Double Impact: Grief with Child Loss and Relationship Stress

Grief often doesn’t arrive quietly. It floods the room. And when you're in a relationship, it doesn’t just touch your individual heart. It often gets into the dirty, dark underworld of the partnership.

After our daughter died, I felt like we, feeling desperate and disoriented, were both gasping for air in the dark, murky waters of grief. Sometimes we bumped into each other; sometimes we drifted in opposite directions.

It’s common to face communication breakdowns, where words either miss their mark or dry up entirely. Intimacy can slip away, not just physically but emotionally,like reaching for someone in the dark and finding they’ve turned to face the wall. Financial strain adds pressure, especially with the unexpected costs that come with medical care and memorials. And guilt, spoken or not, often seeps into the spaces between you, adding weight to already heavy days.

Statistically, 30% of parents report feeling more negatively toward their spouse after losing a child. Nearly 1 in 5 husbands and 1 in 7 wives say their marriage deteriorated. And yet, around 72% of couples remain married in the years after child loss.

Attachment theory tells us that loss activates our core fears about abandonment, rejection, and being too much or not enough. You need your partner more than ever, and at the same time, you may feel unable to reach them.

How Grief Shows Up Differently in Each Partner

I cried in corners. He kept the fridge stocked. I wrote long journal entries. He checked on my breathing at night.

Different isn’t wrong. But when you’re hurting, it’s easy to interpret difference as distance,or worse, disinterest.

Therapists describe two broad styles: intuitive grievers, who tend to feel through their loss with tears, stories, and quiet aching; and instrumental grievers, who process by doing,organizing, fixing, showing up in action.

If you’re one and your partner is the other, misunderstandings can multiply. You might think, “You never talk about her,don’t you care?” while they silently think, “I can’t fall apart,someone has to keep the lights on.”

You might both feel alone, even in the same bed.

Understanding these patterns won’t erase the pain, but it can loosen the grip of blame. It can make space for compassion.

Common Myths That Hurt Couples in Grief

There are stories grief tells us, quietly, cruelly, that make things harder.

One of the most painful is the belief that we should grieve the same way. But that sameness doesn’t exist. Even in the same household, love and loss take different shapes.

Another myth: that if my partner looks strong, they must not be hurting. Often, strength is just armor.

And perhaps the most persistent myth of all is that time will fix this. But time doesn’t heal, attention does. Care does. Presence does.

And despite the common claim that most marriages don’t survive the death of a child, the truth is more hopeful. Research shows that 72% of bereaved couples remain together. Grief doesn’t make the decision for you,how you respond to each other does.

What the Research Shows

• 72% of couples stay together after losing a child.

• 30% report increased conflict or negative feelings toward their partner.

• Couples who talk openly or create rituals together often grow closer.

Building Bridges Instead of Walls

There’s no map for this journey. However, there are handrails: small practices that can steady you.

1. Set aside time for grief conversations. Not problem-solving, just space to say out loud what hurts and what helps. These moments don’t need to be long. What matters is consistency and safety. You might find that naming your pain aloud invites your partner’s presence, even if they don’t have the right words.

2. Consider creating rituals of remembrance together. In our home, we get a birthday cake and candles on her birthday. We say her name. Some nights we just sit with a photo, not speaking. These moments tether us, to her, and to each other.

3. Allow joy and life to co-exist with sorrow. Watch something funny. Go for a walk. Make dinner together. These aren’t betrayals of your child’s memory. They’re small signs that life is still here, and you’re still in it, together.

4. Check in on your relationship, not just the grief. Ask, “How are we doing, the two of us?” Let yourselves be partners again,not just co-survivors.

5. And when words are too hard, use physical presence. A hand on the back. A shared blanket. A long, quiet exhale together. These small gestures remind your respective nervous systems: I’m here. You’re not alone.

Reclaiming Intimacy

After loss, even touch can feel like a risk. For many of my clients, their desires for sex and affection can wax and wane during the grieving process. This is common, and it's okay.

Rebuilding physical closeness isn’t linear. Start small. A hand resting on a shoulder. Sitting close without expectation. Saying, “I miss you,” even if you’re not ready to do anything about it yet.

Talk about what’s hard. Let your partner know what feels safe, and what doesn’t, without shame.

Intimacy after grief isn’t about returning to “normal.” It’s about discovering what closeness looks like now, in the world that exists after.

Let it be slow. Let it be tender. Let it be enough.

When Professional Support Is Needed

Some pain is too heavy to carry without help. Therapy doesn’t mean you’re irrevocably broken. It means you’re tending to what matters.

Reach out when the conflict feels stuck on repeat, or when silence becomes the only language you share. If one of you feels shut out, or shut down. If you’re drifting farther than you want to be.

Therapies like EMDR, relational life couples therapy, or grief-informed work can make space for healing. Sometimes, having someone else hold the story with you makes it easier to speak, and to hear each other again.

Conclusion

As a therapist, I work with grieving parents both individually and as couples. Sometimes that grief is about child loss. But often, it’s other kinds of loss: infidelity, identity shifts, the grief of growing apart, or the ache of wanting to grow together through something hard. Grief doesn’t always wear black. And it doesn’t always come with a funeral. But it shows up in our relationships all the same. You don’t have to navigate it alone.

You can love each other and still feel lost. You can grieve differently and still stay together.

Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means weaving the loss into your shared life,thread by thread, with tenderness.

If you're ready to talk, I'm here. I work with clients in person in Edmond, OK, and offer telehealth sessions to individuals and couples across Vermont. Not to fix what can’t be fixed, but to help you carry it, together.

Take exquisite care of yourselves,

Megan

Sources

• Najman, J. M., Vance, J. C., Griffiths, R. F., & Yuen, E. Y. (1993). The impact of the death of a child on marital adjustment. Social Science & Medicine, 37(8), 1005–1010.

• Murphy, S. A., Johnson, L. C., & Lohan, J. (2003). Finding meaning in a child's violent death: A five-year prospective analysis of parents' personal narratives and empirical data. Death Studies, 27(5), 381–404.

• The Compassionate Friends. (2022). Myths and facts about grief. Retrieved from https://www.compassionatefriends.org

• TAPS Institute. (2021). Marriage after the death of a child. Retrieved from https://www.taps.org/articles/21-1/divorce

• Vance, J. C., et al. (2008). Psychological changes in parents eight years after the death of their infant. Pediatrics, 122(5), e1295–e1301.

• Reproductive Health Finland Study. (2017). The long-term impact of child loss on parental divorce and family planning. Retrieved from https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/28789590

'Landslide' Moments in Love

If the song "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac doesn't make you tear up, then maybe I'm not the therapist for you. And here's why.

Cue the grainy video from the concert (LOL)

How I've Grown in My Marriage (Yes, Even Therapists Have Struggles)

Last week my husband and I went to see Stevie Nicks in concert in Oklahoma City. It was profound, on many levels.

As I stood beside him, swaying, clapping, crying, I realized how much we’ve grown. We weren’t perfect when we got married, and we’re not perfect now. But we are better. Stronger. More “us” than we used to be.

Wedding photos are lovely, aren’t they?

Then Stevie came back on stage for the encore and began singing “Landslide.” My husband and I mouthed the words together in the darkened stadium:

"Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

I don’t know…

I’ve been afraid of changing, ’cause I built my life around you."

Several years ago, those lyrics would have sliced me open. The truth is: I wasn’t happy in my marriage, and I'm not entirely sure how fulfilled my husband felt at the time, either. I was ashamed even admitting that, to myself, let alone anyone else.

My relational coping style back then? Resentful martyrdom, passive-aggressive communication, and endless complaints. My husband’s? Wounds from deep childhood trauma, emotional immaturity, and a lack of generosity. In other words: our unique mixture of our relational skills, or lack thereof, were not exactly a recipe for joy.

Layer onto that the landslides of life, grieving the death of our first child, infertility, financial struggles, and it’s a miracle we didn’t bury each other in the rubble.

Here's what happened instead: Time made us bolder. We chose each other. We chose to do the work. We got serious about our needs in the relationship, and our wants. Slowly, awkwardly, sometimes painfully, we built a relationship that, on most days, we now cherish. A partnership where intimacy, vulnerability, and joy have room to grow.

The Spiritual Gift of Long-Term Love

Here’s what I’ve learned: long-term relationships are both mirror and teacher. They offer us the chance to grow, to grieve what we will never get from our parents in childhood, and to be tenderly seen and truly known by one person better than anyone else.

Imagine the profound peace in letting go of the dream that your partner will be an endless god or goddess who is always turned on, always receptive, always happy, always loving, etc., while recognizing the hard, gritty truth:

I'm with a flawed, wonderful, messy, imperfect human being. And darn it, that must mean my partner is, subsequently, with a flawed, wonderful, messy, imperfect human being as well.

It's humbling. It's sacred. And it's often where our spirit matures. Relationships are a spiritual portal to who we can truly become, if we take accountability for the wounds reflected back at us.

What Stevie Nicks Taught Me About Relationships

In an interview, Stevie shared how “Landslide” was born during a season of fear and uncertainty. She was broke, waitressing by day, recording by night, and questioning her future with Lindsey Buckingham. She said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“Fear never helps relationships.”

She went on: “What we have to offer together is way better than what I have to offer by myself.”

That sounds a lot like what therapist Terry Real teaches in his book, Us: Getting Past You & Me to Build a More Loving Relationship:

“You are connected, you and your partner; there is no escape. The people we know and love trigger our deepest wounds, and at the same time they provide the greatest comfort and solace. For good and ill, we do not stand alone.” (pg. 52)

Relationships are not one big decision (despite what they made it sound like in your wedding vows); they’re a million little ones. Moment by moment, you decide whether to lean in or pull away. Sometimes those decisions lead you back to each other. Sometimes they don’t.

And good therapy doesn't tell you what to do with your life or your love. It helps you see that no matter what choices you make, you can and will find your way.

Either way, healing takes time. And clarity takes even longer.

Landslide Moments in Love

Every relationship faces landslide moments in love, times when the ground beneath you feels like it’s giving way. But sometimes, paradoxically, relationships can be shelter from the rumbling earth, the flying debris, the mess and chaos of being human in a hard world.

When we allow ourselves to be seen, when we stay present through fear and change, we find resilience. We discover that love isn’t about avoiding landslides. It’s about dusting ourselves off, and choosing relationality over individuality. Choosing Us over You and Me.

This is the work of self-actualization. Of spiritual transcendance. Of becoming whole. Of growing up.

Because in the end, life and love are not about perfection. They're choosing, over and over, to surrender to the landslides, and to see who you become on the other side.

Take Exquisite Care of Yourself,

Megan

So You’ve Been Dragged Into Couples Therapy: An Open Letter

Maybe they pleaded with you for months. Maybe they cried. Maybe they just booked the session and told you when to show up. And now here you are: scrolling through this blog, wondering how the heck you ended up reading something written by a therapist you’ve never met.

I can probably guess what you're thinking: This is bullshit. I don’t need therapy. They’re the one with all the problems. Or, fine, perhaps we have problems, but therapy isn’t going to fix them. And I already know what’s coming: everyone is going to gang up on me, and I’ll sit there for an hour while they tell me I’m the bad guy.

Sound familiar?

Yeah, I thought so.

Let’s be clear from the start: this isn’t going to be a soft, feel-good pep talk where I tell you “don’t worry, you’re not the problem.” Because here’s the hard truth: sometimes you are the problem. Sometimes your silence, your defensiveness, your “I don’t need this” attitude is the very thing standing in the way of change.

I told you I'm no-nonsense.

Why You’re Actually Here in the Couples Therapy Room (And No, It’s Not Just Because of Them)

It’s easy to tell yourself your partner is the one who needs help. They’re anxious, they’re emotional, they’re always on your case. Maybe they nag. Maybe they cry too much. Maybe they want to “talk” right when you’re finally sitting down after a long day.

But relationships don’t fall apart because of just one person. They fall apart because both people are stuck in a cycle, a dance, if you will. One pushes, one pulls. One nags, one withdraws. One explodes, one shuts down.

If your partner dragged you into therapy, it’s because the cycle you two are in isn’t working. And deep down, you know it.

This isn’t about proving who’s “right.” As Terry Real says, "You can be right or you can be married. What's more important to you?" It’s about noticing the dance you’ve both been stuck in and figuring out how to step differently.

The Shame Factor

Now, let’s discuss the thing that keeps many people from seeking help: shame.

Shame is the quiet voice that whispers:

• If I admit we need help, we're a weak couple.

• If the therapist sees the real me, they’ll think I’m broken or a bad person.

• If my partner’s crying, it must mean I'm a failure.

So you shut down. You cross your arms. You say things like, “I don’t want to talk about it.” You disappear into work for a week after a fight. You sleep on the couch and pretend it’s no big deal.

Shame thrives in silence. It grows in the dark. And it keeps you from actually dealing with what’s underneath.

Therapy is not here to humiliate you. However, it might challenge you. It might ask you to step out of the story you’ve been telling yourself and look at the bigger picture. While that may feel like a threat, it’s actually a chance to get some more of what you want and need in your closest personal relationship.

Grandiosity: Shame’s Fancy Costume

On the flip side of shame is grandiosity.

Grandiosity shrugs and says:

• I don’t need therapy. Everyone else is the problem.

• If my partner would just get it together, we’d be fine.

• Therapists are a waste of time and money. I already know what’s wrong here.

Does any of that ring a bell?

Grandiosity is just shame with a loudspeaker. Instead of feeling small, you make yourself big, at the expense of other people. Instead of admitting you’re scared or hurt, you throw up armor. You roll your eyes. You crack jokes in session. You dismiss your partner’s tears with, “You’re just too sensitive.”

If you really believe everyone else is the problem, chances are… you’ve become the problem.

And if your partner has been begging for therapy, there’s a good chance they’re exhausted from carrying the weight of a relationship where you refuse to look at your part.

“At Least I’m Better Than My Parents” (Are You, Though?)

Here’s another hard truth: a lot of people come into therapy swearing they’re “better than their parents.”

Maybe you told yourself you’d never scream the way your dad did. Maybe you promised you’d never stay silent like your mom did. Maybe you swore your kids would never feel scared the way you once did. Perhaps, you've even done some personal work in therapy and find yourself having a better life than they did.

And yet… here you are.

Because just because you’re different from your parents doesn’t mean you’ve actually broken the cycle.

You might not be shouting. However, your silence is just as loud. You might not be storming out of the house to buy milk and never return, but your cold shoulder lasts for days.You might not be drinking like your dad, but perhaps your kids still feel the same knot in their stomach when Mom and Dad stop talking.

You think you’re doing better. And in some ways, maybe you are. But if your kids are still anxious, still walking on eggshells, still wondering what version of you is going to walk in the door today, then the cycle hasn’t actually changed.

Family Legacy: What Your Kids Are Learning From You

Your romantic relationship doesn’t just affect the two of you. The raw sewage of your marital discontent overflows into your home, and your kids are immersed in it daily.

• When you withdraw for days after a fight, they notice.

• When you slam doors or stomp around, they hear it.

• When you and your partner go weeks barely speaking except about bills or schedules, they feel it.

And anxious kids don’t just “grow out of it.” They grow up into anxious adults who either repeat your patterns, or spend years trying to unlearn them in therapy of their own.

So when you roll your eyes and say, “It’s not that bad,” remember — it’s not just about you. Your kids are watching. And whether you like it or not, you’re teaching them what love looks like. You’re teaching them what marriage looks like. You’re teaching them what they should expect — or tolerate — when they grow up.

Do you really want them to carry this version of love forward?

Why I Won’t Promise Not to Take Sides

Some therapists like to play Switzerland. They promise not to take sides.

That’s not me.

Because sometimes the problem is lopsided. Sometimes one person’s behavior has been more destructive. Sometimes one partner is carrying more of the load while the other coasts. Sometimes one person has been avoiding, stonewalling, or dismissing while the other has been screaming to be heard.

If I sit there and act like it’s all equal, I’m lying to both of you.

So, yes. Sometimes I will take sides. I’ll name what I see. I’ll call you out if you’re hiding behind silence or arrogance. I’ll call your partner out if they’re steamrolling or avoiding responsibility too.

Therapy isn’t about fairness; it’s about honesty. And honesty sometimes stings, much like applying antiseptic ointment to a wound. Joining through the truth is the only way through. (Or divorce/separation. And I can almost guarantee you'll repeat your dysfunctional patterns/dance with someone else, unless you do the work now, to learn new moves.)

What You Actually Get Out of Therapy

Here’s the part that might surprise you: therapy isn’t just for your partner. It’s for you, too.

If you’re willing to show up, here’s what you might actually get:

• Relief. Because carrying all that defensiveness is exhausting.

• A chance to be heard. Really heard. Not just blamed or nagged.

• Tools to stop the same fight from happening over and over. You know the one. The “You never listen / You’re always nagging” fight that’s basically on repeat.

• Clarity. Finally seeing the patterns you didn’t even realize you were stuck in.

• A stronger relationship. Which, if we’re being real, is what you actually want deep down. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be here.

The “Dragged Partner” Survival Guide

Since you’re here, you might as well make the most of it. Here’s how not to waste your own time in couples therapy:

1. Drop the act. You don’t need to look tough or “together.” Therapy works better when you’re honest. Also, you can go into this thinking about how you've fooled me and gotten one up on your partner by not really participating in good faith. Let me tell you how that works out in the long term: your partner eventually leaves. Or you're stuck in a partnership that no one wants to be in. Your choice. Change your behavior, or keep choosing the life you're living.

2. Think about your own peace. This isn’t just about your partner’s happiness . It’s also about yours. If you keep brushing things off, you’ll just keep living in an emotional warzone. Why not use the hour to actually work toward a little calm in your own house?

3. Don’t weaponize silence. Sitting in stony silence for three days isn’t maturity. It’s avoidance, and I get it, it's worked for you for many years. But it ain't working anymore. Time for new skills, and new ways to get your needs met.

4. Own your part. Even if your partner is 80% of the problem, you’ve still got 20%. Take responsibility for that piece.

5. Say the thing before it festers. You don’t have to be a poet or have a PhD in psychology to have good relationships. Just say what you actually think instead of holding it in until it explodes out of you sideways. If you hate therapy, say that. If you’re angry, say that. Silence helps nobody.

6. Do it because you’re selfish. Let’s be real: if your partner’s miserable, your life is miserable. Grumpy mornings, cold shoulders, slammed cabinet doors… that’s your life too. Making therapy work for them could actually make everything better for you, too.

What Happens If You Don’t Try

If you refuse to show up, if you keep stonewalling, if you won't tell the truth about who you are and what you're not willing to change or give up, if you keep sitting in therapy waiting for it to be over, here’s what happens:

Your partner eventually gives up.

And when they give up, it won’t be with a dramatic fight. It’ll be with quiet resignation. They’ll stop trying to get you to hear them. They’ll stop dragging you to therapy. They’ll stop fighting for the relationship.

And you’ll think, Finally. Peace.

But it won’t be peace. It’ll be the sound of your relationship dying. Passion will be the first thing that goes.

And if you think your kids don’t notice? Think again. Kids are remarkably perceptive. Like sponges, they're absorbing your silences, your sarcasm, your tension. Their little nervous systems are learning that “love feels like walking on eggshells.” And that sticks.

The Real Risk: A Lifetime of Disconnect

Here’s the biggest risk you’re facing: not therapy, not conflict, not even divorce. The real risk is a lifetime of disconnect, and trauma handed down to your children.

Living in the same house but miles apart emotionally. Going years without feeling truly known by your partner. Letting resentment calcify and harden until it’s too heavy to lift.

Sometimes, yes, divorce is necessary. Some relationships cannot be repaired. But here’s what you need to know: if you don’t heal your stuff, it doesn’t end with divorce.

Because you’ll carry the same unfinished business into the next relationship. And the next. And the next.

Different faces, same fights. Different houses, same distance.

You can keep marrying your unfinished business until you finally decide to face it.

Your Choice

You can enter therapy with your arms folded, just waiting for the session to end. Alternatively, you can enter with a willingness to engage — even if it's chaotic, uncomfortable, or makes you uneasy.

Your partner brought you here because they still have hope. That's actually a positive sign.

The real question is: how will you respond to this opportunity?

Therapy is not a form of punishment; it's a chance for growth. You can treat it like a seige against your careful defenses, or you can treat it like practice.

And the choice, whether you stay walled off or get curious, is yours.

Take Exquisite Care of Yourself,

Megan