When Grief and Trauma Intermingle: A Look at Child Loss and Traumatic Grief

Hello, friends. I’m writing about something our culture rarely names out loud: the intersection of child loss and traumatic grief. If you’re here, your heart is hurting—whether you’re a parent grieving the death of your child or someone who loves and supports that parent. I see you.

Thank you for getting up today. Thank you for choosing to keep going. Every moment you push through honors your child’s memory. Your love overshadows their death. My hope is to give space to both your grief and your love, and to explain how trauma sometimes folds itself into this experience.

Understanding Grief and Trauma After Child Loss

First, we need to start with general defintions of these two terms: grief and trauma. I define grief as a natural response to losing something or someone; Merriam-Webster defines it as 'deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement.'

Let's note that grief doesn't have 5 distinct stages, no matter what you've read online. This is a common misconception, due to a misattribution of Dr. Kubler-Ross's work on the 5 stages of dying, which she developed by interviewing 200 chronically ill and dying patients. So, holding yourself to this model (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance) does a disservice to your grieving process. Kubler-Ross reportedly did not think that you needed to go through all five stages in order to get to acceptance. That's just our Western world trying to make sense of the nonsensical again.

Think of grief more like ocean waves. They come and they go, and sometimes there's high tides and sometimes there's low ones, but the water is always present. Your grief doesn't disappear. It recedes and then comes back. And flowing with the waves is better than trying to withstand them.

Trauma is defined, at least by me, as a natural body and emotional response to abnormal events. It's when your body's nervous system is overwhelmed by something happening, and your nervous system then responds any time it is reminded of that occurrence, as if it's happening all over again, even years later. Traumatic grief after child loss might look like never redecorating your child's room, or refusing to visit their graveside, or finding yourself overcome by flashbacks everytime you have to drive by the hospital.

when-grief-and-trauma-intermingle-a-look-at-child-loss-and-traumatic-grief

Grief is like ocean waves.

TL;DR

Grief

• A natural response to losing someone or something precious.

• Merriam-Webster: “deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement.”

• Not a tidy set of “five stages.” Instead, imagine ocean waves—they rise, fall, recede, return.

Trauma

• A natural body-and-mind response to an abnormal, overwhelming event.

• Your nervous system is “switched on” and may react to reminders as if the loss is happening again.

Why Losing a Child Often Brings Trauma, Too

There are no words adequate to describe what the death of a child does to parents. In fact, I saw a post awhile back that said, "We describe people who lost spouses as widows or widowers, people who lose parents as orphans, but we don't have a word for parents who lose children." And it's true. Perhaps child loss is traumatic simply because it's so unlike anything else.

Such losses may be:

• Sudden (accident, illness, tragedy).

• Violent or medicalized (cancer treatments, emergency interventions, due to war or a crime).

• A complete shattering of safety, control, and identity for most parents and caregivers.

  
  

Somatic symptoms—numbness, nausea, nightmares—overlap with PTSD. Add social isolation (“I don’t know what to say to you…”), and many parents slide from raw grief into traumatic grief.. Without people to lean on, lots of folks find themselves making meaning out of their own shame and guilt regarding their child's death, which can solidify in self-blaming messages.

Here's the hard truth, though: Sometimes, children die. And it's not because of a reason, or a plan, or anyone's fault directly. Sometimes, truly sad and devastating losses occur, and we, as people, just try to make it through them, the best we can.

7 Signs of Traumatic Grief After Child Loss

Grief and trauma can walk hand-in-hand after the loss of a child, but they aren’t always easy to tell apart. Many grieving parents wonder, “Is this still grief—or is something else happening to me?” The truth is, traumatic grief can look and feel very different from “expected” grief.

Here are some signs that trauma may be layered into your grief:

1. Intrusive Thoughts or Flashbacks

   • Re-living the hospital room, the silence of a stillbirth, the accident scene.

   • Racing heart, sweating, feeling trapped in the memory and in your body, unable to move forward.

   • “It’s like I’m back there again, and I can’t escape.”

2. Avoidance of Triggers

   • Skipping hospitals, baby aisles, certain movies, pregnant friends, the cemetery, etc.

   • Avoidance feels rigid and fear-based, not just “I don’t feel up to it.”

   • “I drive miles out of my way to avoid the OB office.”

3. Hypervigilance & Anxiety

   • Constantly on edge, waiting for the next catastrophe, certain that if you can just be ready, it won't hurt so bad this time.

   • Trouble sleeping or resting; body's alarm system shrieking all. the. dang. time.

   • “Every little noise made my heart race and my breath started to get really shallow.”

4. Emotional Numbness or Dissociation

   • Feeling nothing, watching life from outside your body.

   • Losing time or feeling like 'nothing is real' anymore.

   • Others may think you’re “coping well,” but inside you feel disconnected.

   • “I was just going through the motions.”

5. Guilt, Shame & Shattered Identity

   • “I should have known… I failed my child.”

   • Questioning your worth as a parent, partner, or person.

   • “Now I just see all the ways I failed them.”

6. Difficulty Feeling Safe

   • Trust in your body, doctors, faith, God, or the world feels broken.

   • You may try to control everything… or believe nothing can be controlled, and therefore behave more recklessly than you ever have before.

   • “How can I trust my body when it couldn’t protect my baby?”

7. Stuckness in Grief

   • Grief isn’t linear, but trauma can freeze it—numbness, panic, pain on repeat.

   • Pain may feel like punishment or the only remaining connection to your child.

   • “People say time heals, but I find myself feeling worse as time goes on."

A Gentle Note:

If these signs resonate with you, you're not crazy and you're not broken. It means your grief may be more complex, and your nervous system is doing its best to protect you from unspeakable pain.

This kind of grief needs more than time. It needs compassionate, trauma-informed support—and with that support, healing is possible. We don't move past grief. We move with it. We sometimes float in the waves that come and go, and we eventually find our footing in the sand.

My hope is that every grieving parent gets to experience this kind of healing and support, even if it's not with me. Your love for your child never goes away, and you can also still craft a life worth living, even when it seems like all is lost. If you're looking for personalized support, I offer trauma-informed grief counseling to parents in Oklahoma (in-person) and Vermont (telehealth). You can schedule a consultation here, whenever you're ready.

Take exquisite care of yourself,

Megan

How to Get the Most Out of Therapy: 10 Tips for the Savvy Intellectualizer or Feelings-Avoider

Hi friends! I hope you all are doing well. It's the very end of May-vember over here, and I know many of us are tired with all the events, stress and school burnout (if you have kiddos).

Today, I want to talk to a specific group of therapy-goers — current or potential clients who are ready to make real change, but feel stuck. This one’s for the intellectualizers or my feelings-avoiders. You know who you are: the overthinkers, the ones who can tell a great story about your week but freeze when asked, “And where do you feel that in your body?”

You might find yourself explaining your emotions instead of feeling them. You say things like, “I know I should feel upset, but I don’t,” or “I’ve thought a lot about it and here's my theory…”  You show up to therapy consistently, but deep down, you're wondering: Why isn’t this working yet?

Well, well, well... if it isn’t old me in disguise. I get it. I’m an intellectualizer, too. I can walk you through the why behind my behaviors, pinpoint exactly where I went wrong, and outline the family-of-origin dynamics that influenced it — but ask me to describe how it shows up in my body? Game over.

Here’s the thing: our cognitive brain feels like home — logical, articulate, safe. It helps us stay “regulated,” but it can also keep us disconnected from the parts of us that are asking to be felt, healed, and integrated. If we want more than insight — if we want real transformation — we have to shift how we show up in the therapy room.

Below are some tips for the intellectualizers (the ones who can explain everything, feel nothing, and meaning-make the hell out of their symptoms but can't actually sit with them for longer than 10 seconds) so they can get the most out of therapy.

10 tips for the Intellectualizer to get the most out of therapy:

1. You Don’t Have to Feel It to Begin Naming It. If someone asks what you're feeling and you draw a blank, it’s okay to just take a stab: “Maybe anxious? Numb? Not sure.” Naming a maybe feeling is a win. The goal isn’t accuracy — it’s contact. My clients often roll their eyes at me in session, because I will interrupt them after asking this question and they say things like "I think I just got to a place where..." and I'll say, "That's a thought, not a feeling." Thoughts aren't why you're here. If they were, you'd have already figured this whole damn problem out already. You're here because your feelings, body sensations, beliefs and memories are all giving you dang fits and you want to feel better or different now.

2. Guess When You’re Asked, “Where Do You Feel That in Your Body?” There’s no perfect answer. Try taking an elevator ride from your head down into your body and report any sensation that stands out, even if it's only a little bit — “My shoulders feel tight,” “My stomach is heavy,” or even “I feel nothing.” That’s still info for your therapist and it can bring insight to a very analytical discussion and make it more fruitful overall.

3. Use Physical Descriptions, Not Emotional Labels. If “sad” or “anxious” doesn’t land, try describing what’s happening in your body. Your body often tells a story before your mind does:

Tension

Shallow breathing

Coldness

Emptyness

Hunger

Thirst

Throat clearing/skin picking/itchy hands or feet

Wanting to leave the room

Numbness

Tingling

Warmth

4. Try “I Notice” Instead of “I Think”. “I think I’m frustrated” keeps you in your head.“I notice I’m clenching my jaw” gets you closer to the emotion without needing to explain it. For example in EMDR therapy, you'll hear your therapist say things like "What are you noticing?" between sets of bilateral stimulation. And here's a cool trick: anything you're noticing is worth bringing up here. Seriously. You can't do this part of therapy wrong.

5. Use Metaphors if That Feels Easier. Literal emotions not coming through? Try saying, “It feels like I’m carrying a brick,” or “I’m like a coiled spring right now.” These give shape to experiences that are otherwise hard to describe.

Here's an emotion wheel and metaphor wheel mashed together, courtesy of yours truly!

6. Let Your Therapist Know When You’re Feeling Disconnected. If you go blank, zone out, or just feel numb — say so. That is useful information. You don’t have to “perform” in here. Letting your therapist know what’s happening helps them tailor the work to where you are, and gives them ideas of where to press in gently, later on.

7. Give Feedback About the Therapy Process Itself. If a question or statement your therapist throws out feels confusing, confronting, or just not helpful (like “Where do you feel that in your body?”), say so. That’s not disrespect — it’s collaboration. Your therapist is human too, and feedback fine-tunes the work. Great therapists are hopefully already eliciting feedback from you regularly.

8. Pay Attention to What's Happening During a Session. Does your breath get shallower when you talk about something? Do you shift in your seat? Go quiet? These are clues. You don’t have to interpret them, that's your therapist's job, yo, but you can bring them up. A great therapist may also bring them to your awareness, or point out a pattern you've engaged in multiple times in session as well.

9. Know That Not Feeling Anything is a Valid Experience. Feeling “blank” or emotionally flat isn’t a failure — it’s usually protection. Instead of pushing past it, just name it: “I feel nothing right now, but I know this topic matters.” Ask yourself what 'feeling nothing' is protecting you from? What are you afraid will happen if you allowed yourself to just feel?

10. “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung. The goal of therapy isn’t to feel something on command — it’s to gently bring awareness to what’s been hidden. That includes defenses like overthinking and intellectualizing. The work isn’t about being put together perfectly. It’s about becoming aware, about bringing your whole self to encounter truth. The truth doesn't just set us free. It creates space for more.

So if you’ve been wondering why therapy feels like it’s not quite landing — even though you’re showing up, talking through things, and gaining insight — it might be time to gently invite your body into the conversation. No pressure to suddenly become a feelings guru or somatic expert. Just a willingness to experiment with new ways of being in the room.

Therapy isn’t just about insight; it’s about practicing connection, with a safe, regulated person offering presence and peace, (a.k.a. your therapist). If this post feels a little too accurate… welcome. You’re not alone, and you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just ready for the next layer of the work.

Take exquisite care of yourself,

Megan

The Difference Between "Good" and "Great Therapy"

Let me say this first: good therapy is still good. It’s not trash. It’s not useless. It’s the kind of therapy that makes you feel seen, supported, and validated. For many of us—especially if you’ve experienced invalidation, emotional neglect, or trauma—that kind of gentle, affirming space can be the first experience of psychological oxygen.

You finally exhale. You’re held. You feel safe.

But here’s the thing no one told me (or maybe I didn’t want to hear):

Good therapy might help you feel better. But great therapy will help you become better.

And the space between the two? That’s where the real magic—and real discomfort—lives.

I’ve done both kinds. I’ve been both kinds. I’ve sat on the couch, tearfully explaining the same relational pattern over and over again, only to leave feeling soothed but unchanged. And I’ve also sat across from a therapist who looked me in the eye and gently said, "I think you're being avoidant here with me, and it's playing out in your life in all of your relationships, too." It made my stomach drop—but damn if it didn’t change my life.

Let’s talk about what makes the difference:

1. Comfort vs. Challenge

Good therapy feels good. It’s warm. It’s validating. It builds trust.

Great therapy? It challenges you—without abandoning you. 

It invites you inward rather than outward. It reflects your blind spots and remains with you as you confront them. It is both supportive and stimulating. It’s an environment where your nervous system can relax, yet your patterns won’t be able to stay hidden indefinitely. Good therapists often know 'how' to do the work, but they don't always know how to 'deepen' your experience in the room.

This is where so many therapists (and clients!) get stuck. If every session feels like a cozy vent sesh, you might be doing good therapy. But if no one’s ever gently interrupted your spiral to ask, “What do you notice happening right now as you tell me that?”—you haven’t touched great therapy yet.

2. Content vs. Process

Good therapy tracks your story. Great therapy tracks how you tell it.

Look, I can hear a client talk about their mother’s harsh criticisms for six months straight. But the moment I start to notice that same self-criticism bleeding into the session—maybe they apologize every time they take up space, or they freeze when I gently offer a different perspective—that’s where the work is. It's seeing the client shrink away from me when I offer feedback. Therapists who aspire to greatness in their work are peeling back the layers of content to get to the process underneath. After all, we act out in the therapy room what we are doing in real life.

Great therapy lives in the process—not just the plot. It sees the reenactments. It calls attention to the shame that walks into the room with you. It notices how you move through connection and rupture. And it’s not afraid to name it.

3. Scripts vs. Creativity

Good therapy sticks to the script. You learn coping skills. You label your emotions. You get handouts. And yes, those things can be really helpful—especially early on.

But great therapy knows when to toss the script out the window.

It leans into silence. It follows the energy in the room. It holds space for nuance and humanity. It might mean sitting together and not "doing" anything at all. There’s an aliveness in the session that goes beyond the worksheet—and that’s often where the deepest healing happens.

Because people aren't machines, even if insurance would like to think so. Great therapy also involves a therapist who believes in themselves, not necessarily just the right modality. Great therapists are original, and they don't copy. They co-create with you to write new ways of being.

4. Clinging vs. Liberation

Let’s talk about this one because it makes me CRINGE:

I’ve heard therapists say, with pride, "That client will be with me forever."

...Why? Is it a lack of trust? Is it avoidance by the therapist? Do they not want you to be better? Are they holding onto a different vision of what healing looks like for you? Can they not refer out when they know they've met their match?

Great therapy doesn’t want to keep you. It wants to free you.

You might be in therapy for years (I have been), but the goal should never be dependency. We’re not here to be your emotional crutch. We’re here to walk beside you until you trust your own legs. Until you’ve built a community that can hold you. Until your inner compass is louder than your inner critic. There are many skilled therapists who may not recognize the right moment to encourage you to leave the comfort zone, much like a baby bird needs to leave the nest to strengthen its wings and learn to fly. Using another metaphor, young trees require the challenge of the wind to build resilience. If, as therapists, we act like the supports tied to young trees to keep them stable, we prevent your strength from emerging and growing.

5. Technical Skill vs. Self-Awareness

Good therapy comes from technically competent therapists. They know the models. They follow the ethics. They stay in their lane. They often consider themselves the 'expert' in the room. (LOL, as if any of us have life completely figured out)

But sometimes, those therapists are deeply disconnected from their own humanity.

They haven’t processed their own wounds, and that unexamined pain leaks out. Suddenly, clients are being labeled as "resistant" or "too much" or "manipulative"—when really, the therapist is triggered and doesn’t know it.

Great therapy comes from therapists who do their own work. Who sit in supervision and say, “This client is bringing something up in me, and I want to understand why.” Who notice when they feel annoyed or checked out or overly invested—and stay curious about it. Who have enough ego strength to admit when they’re wrong. Great therapists are those who consistently discover new ways to be present with themselves, rather than seeking another method that claims to heal in 8-12 sessions. Good therapists frequently pursue additional training; great therapists seek to understand their own inner selves and trust who they are, not what they can do.

Final Thoughts: What You Deserve

If you’re in therapy right now, and it’s helping, I’m genuinely glad. This isn’t about shaming “good enough” therapy. It’s about raising the bar.

You deserve a therapist who can hold your pain and your potential. Who can sit with your story and help you edit the next chapter. Who can be warm and real and human—but also clinical, sharp, and brave enough to meet you where you really are.

Good therapy is a start. Great therapy is a portal.

And if you’re ready, you’re allowed to walk through it.

Take exquisite care of yourself,

Megan