When Walls Go Up: Emotional Shutdown After Miscarriage

The shutdown is real and it’s dangerous.

It doesn’t come with pizazz and fireworks. It creeps in. Quiet. Like fog under a door. You stop talking about it. You stop asking how she is. You throw yourself into work, or workouts, or DIY projects you never finish.

You tell yourself, “She’s been through worse.”
You tell yourself, “I’m just trying not to make it about me.”
You tell yourself, “I’m fine.”
You’re not fine.

You’re flooded. Ashamed. Powerless. And you’ve got no language for any of it. The disconnection grows as you slowly convince yourself it’s not about you.

What does your partner see? Disconnection. Distance. Absence.

And it hurts. It’s pain on top of pain, being piled up as the days and grief roll on. The one person you need at this moment is for all intents and purposes, not present.

Because she’s not just grieving the loss. She’s grieving the space that’s opened up between you both.

You’re both in pain. But you’re in separate corners, and no one’s crossing the room. It’s isolating despite maybe people having your corner.

What most men won’t say out loud:

We shut down because we don’t know how to stay open without falling apart.

We shut down because we think we’re protecting her from more pain.

We shut down because grief is supposed to look like a funeral, not like standing in the kitchen holding your partner while she
breaks.

But emotional shutdown isn’t strength. It’s a system overload. And it breaks more than it protects.

If you weren’t shown or modelled on how to deal with such emotional trauma then is it any wonder you shutdown. Your brain is trying to protect you, unfortunately it’s only concerned about you.

The healing is in the connection.

This is the whole reason we choose the people we love. Not for the Instagram holidays. Not for the “likes” and matching PJs at Christmas. But for the trenches. The sleepless nights. The moments when it all falls apart and you show up anyway.

When it hits the fan, the only person in the world you want there is your partner. You’re not required to fix this. But you are required to contribute to the mending.

So where do you start?

Not with grand gestures (I’m sure they don’t hurt either!). Not with a magic sentence.

With this: “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.”

Say it. Mean it. Let it be enough.

• If you can’t talk? Write it.
• If you need space? Take it but own it. Don’t vanish into it.
• If it’s too much to carry alone? Talk to a mate. A therapist. A men’s circle. Sod it, scream into your car stereo and get a punch bag! But don’t let silence be the only outlet. That monster gets fed the more you shut down.

Here’s the other truth:

Grief will come out one way or another. Better it comes out in words than in silence that becomes a second kind of loss. Eventually that silence seeps out in often destructive ways. You don’t need to have the answers. You just need to stay in the room.
Presence can be so much to so many people and cultures but silence is the same in any language.

If you’re reading this you’re already turning up! That’s no small thing.
And everyone at The Worst Girl Gang Ever Foundation and beyond is inspired by every partner who takes a step.

Alexis Hills is a  human first, therapist second. His approach is tailored to YOU with a very honest, authentic style and the fluffy ‘therapy speak’ is kept to a minimum.

https://www.callmealcounselling.com/