135: Still in the Group Chat, But Not One of Them Anymore

Have you ever been invited to something — a baby shower, a play date, a summer gathering — and felt that quiet dread settle in before you even replied?

It's not that you don't love your friends. You do. It's that somewhere along the way, you became the exception in the group — the one everyone is a little careful around, the one whose life went a different way. And now being around the people you love most can feel like the loneliest place in the world.

In this episode, Jennifer talks honestly about what happens to your friendships after stillbirth — especially when you're watching a whole friend group move into the season of babies and play dates and nursery updates that you were supposed to be part of too. She talks about why it's so hard, why you keep showing up even when it hurts, and what you can actually do about it without losing yourself or the friendships that matter.

What you'll learn:

• Why being invited isn't the same as feeling included — and why that difference is so important
• How to understand the real reason your friend group feels so isolating right now (even when everyone loves you)
• Why the two worlds — yours and theirs — don't speak the same language, and why that's not anyone's fault
• What's really behind the guilt and longing and resentment you feel when you see their babies and their beautiful, uncomplicated lives
• Why pretending you're okay is keeping you stuck — and what honesty with your friends can actually look like
• How to decide what you can and can't do right now — without guilt and without apology
• What to do when you're invited to something that feels impossible — including a few real, honest options that aren't just "white knuckle it"
• Why some friendships will deepen after loss and some will fade — and why both of those things are allowed
• How to protect yourself without pulling away from every person you love
• Why you are not responsible for managing everyone else's comfort around your grief

[Read the full blog post here: https://navigatingbabyloss.com/post/friendships-after-stillbirth-baby-loss-135

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Transcript

So many times, the topic ideas I get for this podcast come from real conversations I'm having — with my clients, with other moms who come into my world. And this is one that's come up a few times, especially because it's springtime and people will start gathering and doing more events and things.

You may get invited to more. So I was thinking about baby showers, but then it really occurred to me that it's not just the baby showers. It's not because you're going to a random baby shower that it's so painful. It's really about who's at that baby shower. Who is at all of these summer picnics? Who are the people — the cast of characters, really — in your life?

Maybe you have a friend group. Other couples that you all get together with. Maybe it's the seven best friends you've been best friends with since grade school. And you were all at this point where you were pregnant together. You were texting back and forth, helping each other pick out nursery things, picking out names together. Everything was so exciting. You were building this future together, dreaming about all these play dates, what the kids were going to do, who was going to be doing what.

And then your baby died.

And suddenly all the texting, all the messaging — everything feels different now. They're sharing their ultrasound pictures, talking about doctor's appointments, planning baby showers, talking about maternity leave and childcare and what kind of strollers and car seats to get. And you may or may not still be in the group chat, but you're just not part of it anymore. Because you're the mom whose baby died.

They love you and they still want you there. They say that. They text you invitations, they ask how you're doing. But something feels different, and you feel it in every single interaction. You just feel like you don't belong anymore. You are not one of them anymore. You're the exception. You're the sad one. You are the mom who doesn't fit into the excited, uncomplicated, joyful conversations that pregnancy and new parenthood bring.

And the thing that's even harder is that you want to be there. You still want to be there. You love these people. You love your friends. You do want to see their babies, and you really want to be part of their lives.

But walking into those moments — or even just thinking about going to a baby shower — feels impossible. Or what if you have other children and you're going back to play dates with them? The conversations about sleep schedules and feeding all feel so small now. It all feels so hard, because you're terrified. You're terrified that if you pull away to protect yourself, they're going to stop inviting you, stop being your friends. And then you're going to lose them too.

So you stay stuck. And staying stuck feels like drowning. And leaving feels like abandonment. And you're all alone.

So today I really want to talk about what is happening in this space — why it feels so lonely, even when you're surrounded by people you love — and what you can actually do about it. Because I promise you, there is a way through this that doesn't mean losing all your friends or losing yourself.

When your baby dies, one of the things nobody prepares you for — among many — is how it changes your friendships. Not in the way you'd expect. It's not that your friends are bad people. It's that they're living in a completely different reality now, and you are living in yours. And those realities just aren't the same anymore.

Your friends are in the world where pregnancy equals baby. Where nine months of planning and anticipation and excitement ends in a crib and a nursery and this magical, beautiful life. That's their world, because that's what they're experiencing.

You are in the world where pregnancy doesn't guarantee anything. Where all that planning didn't protect you. Where a baby you loved — a baby you held, or didn't get to hold — is gone. And you're still here. You're still breathing, still showing up, but fundamentally changed.

Those two worlds don't speak the same language. And that disconnect is what makes being in a friend group with them feel so isolating.

I see this over and over with my clients. After your loss, your friends want to include you. They really do. They want you at the baby shower. They ask if you're coming to the play date. They truly want you there. But there is this unspoken tension. They're excited — and nervous about being excited around you. They don't know if talking about their pregnancy will hurt you. They don't know if asking you to celebrate their baby is insensitive. So they invite you, but they're cautious. They're tiptoeing.

And you feel that tiptoeing. It makes you feel like a burden. Like maybe your grief is too big and too complicated for you to fit into these friendships anymore.

At the same time, every time you look at their lives, it's a reminder of everything you don't have. Their babies are here. They're getting to do all the things you were supposed to do with yours. The nursery. The midnight feedings. The Instagram photos. And yeah, they're tired and overwhelmed — all of that's hard — but they get to have their babies. And you don't.

So there's this complicated stew of emotions. Grief. Longing for what you don't have. A little resentment. Probably some jealousy, even though you don't want to feel it. And underneath all of it, this deep fear that you are going to be left behind. That you no longer fit into their lives because you don't have what they have.

And maybe even scarier than that — you're worried that if you're honest about how much it hurts to be around them, they're going to retreat. That they're going to decide it's just too hard to be friends with a mom whose baby died. That your grief is going to be the thing that costs you these relationships.

So you pretend. You smile. You show up. You do things that are so hard and heartbreaking. You listen to the stories and the nursery updates, and you're happy for them because you do want to be happy for them. But you're also drowning.

So let's talk about what's really here, because I think you might need to hear this.

It is completely normal for friendships to change after loss. It doesn't mean something's wrong with you. It doesn't mean you have bad friends. It doesn't mean you're reacting in a way that you shouldn't. It just means that this loss has changed your life — which I'm guessing you've already noticed in every other area of your life. That's also true for friendships. And when life shifts, sometimes that's just what happens.

On the other side of it, some friendships will deepen because people show up. Some people show up and they are the most amazing — you never knew they had it in them. Some friendships will fade because the connection might have been surface level to begin with. Some get awkward and painful for a while. And all of those things are okay.

Second of all — you're allowed to grieve the friendship that used to be. The one where you were carefree and all in the same place, dreaming about the same things and building that same future together. That friendship is gone, and you can be sad about that. You don't have to pretend it just naturally evolved. You can acknowledge that it hurts.

And third — I really want you to hear this. You are not responsible for making them comfortable with your grief. You are not responsible for protecting their joy. You're not responsible for showing up to every single event and pretending you're okay when you're not. That's not what friendship requires.

Here's what's happening in your friend group right now. Your friends have no idea how isolated you feel. They think they're including you. They think inviting you is enough. They're trying. What they don't understand is that being invited to celebrate the thing you lost, over and over again, is not the same as being included.

It's like being invited to a party where everyone's celebrating something beautiful, and you're the only one who's also quietly grieving. You're happy for them — you are. But you're also scared. You're wondering if this is what the rest of your life is going to look like. Watching everyone else have the thing you wanted so badly and don't get to have.

And your friends don't know that because you haven't told them. And you haven't told them because you're afraid. Afraid that if you say out loud how much it hurts, they're going to pull away. Afraid they're going to decide you're just too much.

Here's what I see happen over and over with the women I work with. The friendships that survive the loss are the ones where someone is brave enough to be honest. Where someone says, "I love you, I'm so happy for you, and this is also really painful for me right now." And then the other person has a choice. They can meet you there, or they can't. But at least you're not drowning alone.

So if you don't know what to do — because I know you feel stuck and it hurts — here's what you can do.

Decide for yourself what feels right and what you can and can't do right now. Not what you should do. What you actually can do. Can you go to a baby shower? Maybe not. Can you show up to a play date? Maybe, but not for the whole time. Can you sit through conversations about nurseries and sleep training? Maybe not yet.

And whatever you decide, it's okay. That is allowed. You don't have to do things that bring you to your knees just to prove that you're still their friend. That's not what friendship is about.

So if you get an invitation to a baby shower and you feel that dread — instead of automatically saying yes and then white-knuckling your way through it, pause. Ask yourself: is this something I can actually do right now?

If the answer is no, don't do it. Send a gift. Send a text saying, "I'm thinking of you and I can't be there, but I'm celebrating you from home." That's honest, and that's kind.

Or maybe you can go, but just for part of it. You show up for the first hour and then you leave. You don't have to stay for the whole thing. You're not obligated to sit there while every gift is opened. You can show up, give your love, and then protect yourself by leaving. That's okay.

Or maybe there's a certain friend in your group — someone you feel safer with. Someone who actually asks how you're doing and wants to know. You could have a separate conversation with her. Tell her, "I love you all, and I also need you to know that being around all this baby stuff right now is really hard. I'm not quite ready for all of it yet, but I don't want to lose you."

That's real vulnerability. And it can change everything.

Whatever is going on in your friend group right now, I just want you to remember: your job is to protect yourself. To be honest about what you can and can't do. And to trust that your friends don't want you to be unhappy. Let these friendships be whatever they're going to be — and trust that the ones that matter will find a way.

In my free workshop — Practical Ways to Release Guilt and Navigate Grief — we talk about all of these things. How to navigate grief and friendships and guilt in a way that feels kind to you, and helps you make these kinds of decisions. You can join for free at navigatingbabyloss.com/workshop.

But until next time — I just want you to know that you are doing the best you can in an unimaginable situation. And I'm sending you so much love.