By Jagroop Singh, MA
Grief does not always look the way we expect it to. Some losses are visible and supported, while others are carried quietly and alone. There are many types of grief in this world.
Grief that is recognized. Grief that is complicated. Grief that is hidden.
When people hear the term grief, they often associate the word with the experience of a death loss, or bereavement. While bereavement is a substantial experience of loss and grief for many, it does not encompass the full range and multitudes of grief experiences. There is grief that comes with rituals, condolences, casseroles, and time off work. And grief that is carried alone, behind hidden tears, pretending things are okay, and a lack of support from our community. These griefs live in quieter corners, beneath the layers of everyday life. They are harder to name, harder to explain, and often go unseen and unrecognized. They are what is known as ambiguous and disenfranchised grief. Within these experiences are the layered losses that can accompany immigration and pregnancy.
While immigration loss and pregnancy loss may look different, they share an important truth: both involve grieving something deeply meaningful that others may not see or acknowledge.
These forms of grief do not always come with closure. They do not always receive validation. Yet they shape lives in profound and lasting ways.
Grief Without Closure
Ambiguous grief occurs when a loss is unclear, incomplete, or lacks resolution. It lives in uncertainty. For immigrants, this might look like leaving behind family, culture, language, and identity. There is no formal funeral for a homeland left behind, no formal acknowledgment of distance with family, culture, and identity that may never be bridged in the same way again. People expect you to be okay and move on with life as if leaving a homeland is not difficult, not anxiety-provoking, and not fearful. Ambiguous grief also occurs when immigrant families are forcibly separated through deportations and relocations, resulting in loss of family, stability, and the life being created in a new country. There may not be a tangible death, but that separation, that forced separation, brings deep pain and grief.
Pregnancy loss, too, can carry ambiguity.
The loss of a future, of imagined milestones, of a relationship that had already begun to take shape internally. There may be no shared memories with others, no tangible evidence of what was lost, yet the attachment was real. Whether through a miscarriage, an abortion, a stillbirth, issues with adoption, or infertility, this grief can feel deeply personal and profoundly isolating. Parents may not feel as though they should share this grief with others, as there is no tangible evidence of the loss, or feel that the loss is incomplete and that they are not allowed to grieve.
A dear relative of mine shared her experience with pregnancy and loss with me, and expressed these words:
“I’ve accepted that I can’t be pregnant again, can’t have a big family, will only have one child. That is enough, but I still feel empty.”
Her words are ones of a mother who has experienced miscarriages, dangerous pregnancies, and the grief of a future she may not have, of milestones she will not experience, of a family that she wants to complete, of coping with this intangible loss while pretending everything is okay. No one may have known she was experiencing this grief about a future, about a family that she so desired, and yet the impact of the loss cut deep.
When Grief Isn’t Acknowledged
Disenfranchised grief occurs when a loss is not socially recognized or validated. It is the kind of grief that people feel they must hide, minimize, or justify.
Immigrants often experience this when their losses are overshadowed by narratives of opportunity or resilience. The grief of separation from parents aging far away, from cultural belonging, from a sense of home, from family and community, is rarely acknowledged in everyday conversations. This type of grief is felt not only by those who leave their homeland but also by those experiencing the losses created by deportation.
A close uncle of mine had shared his experiences with me about his path to coming to a new country:
“I’ve tried my best to fit in and experience the culture here. It’s not the same as being back home. I feel uncomfortable, I don’t know how to fit in, I don’t feel at home, like I feel like I should in a country full of new opportunities.”
His words are one of an immigrant who had to leave behind their elderly parents, their friends, the culture they grew up with in order to start a new life in a new country. These losses are experienced by both the family being left behind and those having to leave. The grief is about missed milestones, aging, and that sense of being home.
Similarly, pregnancy loss is frequently minimized. Comments like “you can try again” or “it wasn’t meant to be” can invalidate the depth of the loss and dismiss the significance of what was lost. For some, cultural stigma or silence around reproductive experiences further isolates them. Those who have had a pregnancy loss, whether it be a miscarriage, issues with adoption, or infertility, can feel as though they are not allowed to talk about their experiences because it is “taboo” to speak about a woman’s body or pregnancy. Parents may feel as though they should not grieve this loss due to societal stigma, when in reality, it is such a deep and painful loss.
Honoring What Was Lost
For those carrying these often invisible griefs: Your experience is real. Your loss matters, even if it has not been formally acknowledged. You are allowed to grieve fully, even in spaces that do not yet know how to hold that grief. Because even grief that is unacknowledged deserves to be witnessed.
As a community, we can begin to make space for these quieter forms of grief—by listening without assumption, by resisting the urge to minimize, and by acknowledging losses we may not fully understand.
When we name what has gone unseen, we take a step toward connection, validation, and healing.
If you are carrying a form of grief that feels unseen or difficult to name, you are not alone. At CTC, we support individuals navigating these quieter, often unrecognized losses with care. You can learn more about our services or schedule an appointment here.
Jagroop Singh (she/her) is a doctoral student pursuing her Psy.D. at Adler University.