On a crisp October morning in 2025, as the leaves began their annual blaze across Philadelphia’s tree-lined streets, Kylie Kelce transformed her cozy podcast studio into a confessional of raw vulnerability. In the latest installment of her hit show Not Gonna Lie, released on Thursday, October 2, the 33-year-old mother of four didn’t just chat about everyday chaos—she cracked open her heart, tears streaming as she recounted the silent agony of a miscarriage that shattered her world seven years ago. Coinciding with Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and the sixth birthday of her eldest daughter, Wyatt, the episode—titled a special “Red October” edition—has struck a chord deeper than any gridiron roar, amassing over a million downloads in its first day and flooding social media with messages of solidarity. For Kylie, wife to retired NFL legend Jason Kelce and inadvertent sister-in-law to global icon Taylor Swift, this wasn’t mere storytelling; it was a lifeline tossed to countless women navigating grief in silence.

The episode, numbered 38 in the series, clocks in at a brisk 62 minutes, blending Kylie’s signature blend of humor, honesty, and hockey-mom grit with the star power of supermodel Ashley Graham. Presented by Liquid IV, it kicks off with the host’s recurring “Can I Be Honest?” segment, rebranded for the Philly Eagles’ season opener—a playful roast of the team’s prospects against the Dallas Cowboys, complete with predictions that had listeners chuckling through their coffee. But the levity evaporates about 15 minutes in, as Kylie pivots to the episode’s emotional core: her 2018 pregnancy loss. “It is interesting how sometimes it takes you experiencing a loss for people to open up about their own,” she begins, her voice steady at first, laced with that trademark Kelce candor. What follows is a 20-minute torrent of memory, punctuated by sniffles, pauses, and outright sobs that leave no doubt—this wound, though scarred over by time and three more daughters, remains tender.

Kylie and Jason’s love story reads like a rom-com scripted by the football gods: She, a no-nonsense Drexel University grad and former field hockey standout from a tight-knit Philly family; he, the bearded behemoth who anchored the Eagles’ Super Bowl LII triumph just months after their New Year’s Eve 2018 wedding in a snowy backyard ceremony. Their union was instant folklore—Jason proposing on bended knee after a single date, Kylie quipping in later interviews that she knew he was “the one” because he could make her laugh through a hangover. By summer 2018, married life hummed with promise: Jason grinding through training camp, Kylie plotting their nest in the suburbs, both dreaming of little feet pattering across hardwood floors. After months of trying, a positive test in August lit up their world. “We were over the moon,” Kylie recalls, her tone warming at the memory. To share the joy, they turned it into a cross-continental treasure hunt during a family trip to Europe.

Picture the scene: In London, under drizzly skies, Kylie and Jason stage a fake photo op with Ed and Donna Kelce—Jason’s boisterous parents, the heartbeat of the Kelce clan—before unveiling a heartfelt video announcing the pregnancy. Tears flow, hugs ensue, the kind of unfiltered glee that binds families. Stateside, in Cleveland, they ambush Travis Kelce—Jason’s All-Pro brother and tight end extraordinaire—with a pair of tiny baby booties slipped into his Chiefs gear. “Travis just lost it, in the best way,” Kylie says, a watery smile audible through the mic. Even Jason’s Aunt Judy and Grandma Mary get the royal treatment, their reactions captured for posterity. It was a summer of secrets and celebrations, the prelude to what they imagined as their forever team.

But joy’s shadow loomed. Back in Philadelphia, Kylie schedules her 13-week checkup—for August 5, Jason’s 31st birthday, no less. He’s tied up with team obligations, so she goes solo, armed with the naive optimism of a first-time mom-to-be. The Doppler wand glides over her belly; silence. The ultrasound tech peers at the screen, brow furrowing. “Everything went into slow motion,” Kylie recounts, her voice fracturing as she relives it. No heartbeat. The baby, a girl they’d already nicknamed in whispers, had stopped developing between nine and ten weeks—a missed miscarriage, the cruelest kind, where the body clings to the illusion, hormones raging as if all is well. “I felt pregnant. I was pregnant. But I wasn’t,” she explains, the words tumbling out like confessions long bottled. The doctor estimates the loss occurred weeks earlier, undetected. Kylie stumbles to her car, dials her mom through sobs, then steels herself to break the news to Jason. “How do you tell your husband on his birthday that the baby we dreamed of isn’t coming?” she whispers, the pain raw even now.

The days blur into a haze of medical logistics: A dilation and evacuation procedure two days later, under sedation, erasing what her body wouldn’t release. Jason, ever the rock, holds her through the aftermath—the physical ache, the hollow mornings, the what-ifs that echo like unanswered prayers. “It was so hard for both of us,” she admits. “He wanted to fix it, to make it better, but there’s no playbook for this.” The grief lingered, reshaping their path to parenthood. When Wyatt arrived in October 2019—healthy, howling, a carbon copy of her daddy with Kylie’s fierce eyes—they waited until 20 weeks to breathe the news aloud, paranoia shadowing every milestone. Elliotte (2021), Bennett (2023), and baby Finnley (April 2025) followed, each birth a defiant victory, yet Kylie confesses the fear never fully fades. “Even with Finn, I’d Google survival rates for preemies at 2 a.m., just in case.” Four daughters later, the family is a whirlwind of preschool drop-offs, ballet recitals, and bedtime stories, but the ghost of that summer persists. “This still hurts after having four children,” she says, voice breaking. “It does. And it’s OK if you’re still in the thick of it, waiting to meet your tiny human. I’m so sorry—truly sorry—because it sucks. There’s no other word.”

This isn’t Kylie’s first brush with public vulnerability, but it’s the most unvarnished. Last year, amid relentless tabloid scrutiny—fueled partly by her proximity to Travis’s high-profile romance with Taylor Swift—she clapped back at pregnancy rumors with a subtle nod to past losses, urging empathy over speculation. “People don’t know the half,” she posted then, a quiet plea amid the frenzy. Now, with Not Gonna Lie—launched in March 2025 as her middle finger to the “football wife” trope—the platform amplifies her voice. The podcast, a Wave Originals production, has ballooned to weekly must-listens, blending segments like “You Know What’s F*cked Up?” (rants on toddler tantrums) with celeb chats that peel back the glamour. Guests like comedian Caleb Hearon and now Ashley Graham elevate the discourse, turning solo vents into sisterhood symposia.

Enter Graham, the body-positivity trailblazer whose own journey through three pregnancies, C-sections, and industry shade mirrors Kylie’s in spirit if not spotlight. Their conversation, post-miscarriage deep-dive, crackles with camaraderie. Over Zoom from her New York lair, Ashley dives into the minefield of plus-size labeling—”Why does ‘curvy’ still feel like a consolation prize?”—and regales with runway war stories: A Paris Fashion Week slip where heels betrayed her on cobblestones, or the time a designer whispered “diet” backstage, only to eat crow when she slayed the catwalk. Kylie, no stranger to body-talk after field hockey’s grind and motherhood’s curves, chimes in with her own “What the hell?” moments: Postpartum trolls dissecting her beach pics, or the sting of “glow-up” comments implying her pre-baby self was lesser. “We’re not trends; we’re women,” Ashley asserts, and Kylie nods along, the pair forging a bond over shared battles—pregnancy losses included. Graham opens up about her high-risk deliveries, the terror of NICU vigils, weaving her thread into Kylie’s tapestry. It’s a 30-minute masterclass in reclamation: Laughing through the leaks (literal and figurative), championing therapy over toxic “bounce-back” culture, and calling out the fashion world’s fatphobia with the precision of a well-aimed tweet.

The episode’s timing is no accident. October 2 marks Wyatt’s sixth birthday—a milestone Kylie ties to her revelation, honoring the daughter who “broke the Kelce curse” of preschool expulsions (sorry, Jason and Travis) while subtly nodding to the sibling who never drew breath. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month provides the broader canvas, a month when one in four women confronts similar shadows. Kylie’s choice to air this now? Pure intention. “Talking about it doesn’t erase it, but it makes the room less lonely,” she says toward the close, urging listeners to prioritize pelvic floors, mental health check-ins, and unapologetic grief. It’s a call-to-arms wrapped in empathy, amplified by her platform’s reach—now cresting 5 million monthly downloads, thanks to cameos from Swifties tuning in for Kelce lore and Philly faithful craving unfiltered takes.

The internet, predictably, erupted. Within hours, #KylieStrong trended on X, a deluge of blue hearts and personal DMs pouring in: “You just validated my silent cry—thank you,” one fan wrote, her story echoing Kylie’s beat for beat. Taylor Swift, ever the ally, reposted a clip with a simple “❤️,” her subtle nod sparking speculation of a future podcast crossover (dream fuel for the Eras Tour crowd). Jason, protective as always, shared a family picnic snap on Instagram, captioning it “Proud of my fighter,” his arm slung around Kylie amid a sea of pink balloons. Donna Kelce, the matriarch who once FaceTimed surprise grandbaby news, went live on TikTok, tears in her eyes: “My girl turned pain into power—hug your people today.” Even Ashley Graham extended the ripple, hosting an Instagram Q&A where followers unpacked their losses, turning one episode into a movement.

Critics and culture watchers hailed it as peak podcasting: Vulnerable without voyeurism, funny without deflection. Variety dubbed it “the anti-influencer manifesto,” praising how Kylie sidesteps the Swift-effect glitz—yes, she’s dined at Arrowhead Stadium tailgates, swapped stories with the pop titan over wine nights, but she’s no plus-one. She’s the field general, marshaling conversations on everything from Eagles’ draft picks to egg-freezing regrets (she’s on round three, she teases). In a media landscape bloated with filtered facades, Kylie’s tears feel revolutionary—a reminder that strength isn’t stoicism; it’s showing the cracks.

As the episode fades with a Liquid IV plug and a teaser for next week’s “potty training horrors,” one line lingers: “It just never leaves you.” For Kylie Kelce, that ache is woven into her joy, a thread binding Wyatt’s giggles to Finnley’s coos. It’s the unspoken superpower of the Kelce women—resilient, real, unbreakable. In baring her scars, she’s not just surviving; she’s soaring, inviting us all to the front row. For listeners still wiping their eyes, it’s permission: Grieve loud, love fierce, and never lie about the hurt. October’s just beginning, but Kylie’s truth has already lit the way.