Surviving the Hormones of Miscarriage: When Your Body Moves On Before Your Heart Does

How trauma rewires the mind, how HcG keeps the suffering alive, and how a yellow foam bird reminded me that hope still existed.

When I had my miscarriage, people told me to be strong… to stay positive… to focus on healing.

But the truth is:

My mindset during trauma wasn’t about thriving.
It was about surviving.

It was:

• “Just breathe.”
• “Don’t scream.”
• “Don’t collapse in front of everyone.”
• “Why does it feel like I’m dying inside?”

Mindset doesn’t look like inspirational quotes when your life has just crumbled.
Mindset looks like clinging to existence.

Trauma changes how the brain works

When the brain senses danger:

• The body goes into survival mode
• Logic shuts down
• The nervous system fires nonstop
• Everyday decisions feel impossible
• Emotional systems begin to protect instead of express

You’re not broken —
your mind is doing exactly what it needs to do to keep you alive.

After miscarriage, HcG doesn’t just stop

This is the part nobody prepares us for:

Whether you miscarry or give birth, HcG continues to be produced for 4–6 weeks.
It decreases — but it doesn’t disappear overnight.

You can’t turn off a pregnancy at the flip of a switch.

That lingering hormone storm affects:

• Mood
• Energy
• Appetite
• Thought patterns
• The ability to process loss
• The ability to feel anything

This wasn’t depression I recognized.
This was chemical survival mode.

I felt like a hollow body walking around —
numb, soulless, barely existing.
There was no “thinking positive” through that.

And then one day —
my bloodwork showed HcG dropping more significantly.

My physical energy came back.
But emotionally?

Nothing.

My brain had locked my heart away to protect me.

Numbness is protection — until you’re ready to feel again

It wasn’t until I talked to my coach
that the door finally cracked open.

In that moment, I discovered something terrifying:

My numbness wasn’t hiding grief.
It was hiding fear.

The fear of dying alone.
The fear that I would leave this world unseen.
The fear that this baby was the only proof that I mattered.

I didn’t even know that fear lived inside me
until the numbness broke…
and I dump-cried harder than I knew a person could cry.

That moment didn’t mean I was healed.
It meant I was finally safe enough to feel.

Partners grieve too — but differently

Partners are forced to watch the person they love suffer
in a way they cannot touch or stop.

Their mindset becomes:

“Don’t upset her.”
“Be strong.”
“Fix it… even though I can’t.”

Some partners disappear —
not because they don’t care,
but because they feel so helpless
that escape feels like the only way to cope:

“If I leave, I can’t make it worse.”
“I can’t watch her hurting.”
“I don’t know what to do, so I’ll do nothing.”

Both reactions come from the same place:
fear + love + zero tools.

Everyone is lost.
Just in different directions.

And then… healing starts to change everything

Healing doesn’t arrive dramatically.
It begins as a tiny belief:

This is not the end of my story.

And that one thought
— even if you don’t fully feel it —
creates a direction.

We must acknowledge:
• the numbness
• the pain
• the grief
• the terror underneath

But we must also believe
there is light on the other side of the tunnel.

Because if we don’t believe the light exists,
the tunnel becomes a tomb.

And this is where Lucky the BYRD flew in

I didn’t find Lucky when I was strong.
I found Lucky when I was empty.

In the middle of my worst HcG chaos…
when my soul felt gone…

Lucky brought me one tiny spark of joy.

I drove that silly giant rubber ducky around for two weeks
— laughing, waving, being ridiculous —
and people smiled.

Strangers waved.
Kids giggled.
My own inner child lit up again.

I didn’t share Lucky because I thought it would help anyone.
I shared Lucky because Lucky helped me survive
when I wasn’t sure I could.

Lucky wasn’t the end of the tunnel.
Lucky was the flashlight.

Lucky proved that light still exists
even when you can’t feel anything at all.

If you are in the tunnel right now…

You are not weak.
You are not broken.
You are surviving.

Your brain is protecting you.
Your body is recalibrating.
Your heart is waiting for the moment it’s safe to feel again.

You don’t need to rush your healing.
You just need to know this:

There is light.
And you will find your way to it —
even if your first flashlight looks like a goofy yellow bird.

I’m walking through this with you.
You are never alone in the dark.