Tag: pregnancy

  • The Truth About Self-Worth: We Don’t Need to Earn It

    The Truth About Self-Worth: We Don’t Need to Earn It

    “Success isn’t about what you do; it’s about who you are. Just existing—waking up, breathing, being present—is enough.” ~Unknown

    On my third trip to the emergency room, I lay in a hospital bed, ten weeks pregnant and nine kilograms lighter. I had just vomited for the forty-seventh time that day. My body felt empty, but the nausea never stopped. An IV dripped fluids into my arm, and I didn’t swallow anything for the next five days.

    Hyperemesis—a rare and severe condition that affects about 1% of pregnancies—typically subsides by twelve weeks. For me, it lasted my entire pregnancy.

    For fifteen years, I measured my worth by what I did. If I exercised, ate well, showed up for my friends and family, and worked hard—then I could go to bed knowing I was a good person. That was my framework. My safety net.

    Now, I couldn’t do any of it. I could barely move.

    And for the first time in my life, I asked myself: Who am I if I can’t do anything at all?

    Six months of pregnancy, living in survival mode—failing to meet a single requirement on my self-made checklist for being a good person—I hated the person I had become.

    The Framework That Held Me Together (Until It Didn’t)

    For years, my sense of worth was built on a framework—one I had carefully constructed to keep myself on the right path. If I could tick off all the boxes, I could go to bed knowing I was enough. It gave me structure, a sense of control, and a way to measure whether I was living up to the person I believed I should be.

    This checklist was my identity. It was how I knew who I was and that I was good.

    At first, this framework served me well. When I left the structure of school, this checklist gave me direction.

    It kept me disciplined, motivated, and focused on self-improvement. But beneath it all, there was fear—that if I didn’t check every box, I would somehow fail at being a good person.

    The voice in my head wasn’t encouraging; it was demanding. Slowing down felt like slipping. No matter how much I did, there was always more to prove. Nothing was good enough, fast enough, or impressive enough.

    Then, when Hyperemesis stripped me down to a barely functioning shell of myself, the framework collapsed. I wasn’t showing up for anyone. I wasn’t achieving anything. And without those measures of success, I felt like I had lost myself. My identity. My sense of worth. If my worth had always been something I had to earn, what happened when I could no longer earn it?

    That’s when I realized the flaw in my system: it was built on conditional self-worth. As long as I kept up, I was safe. But the moment life forced me to stop, the framework didn’t hold me—it crushed me. Life was only going to get more complicated with kids, and I didn’t want it to feel this hard forever. More than that, I didn’t want them inheriting this checklist as a way of living.

    Rebuilding From the Bottom Up: A Shift in Perspective

    Hitting rock bottom can be an incredible gift. With nowhere lower to go, it becomes a chance to rebuild in a simpler, more aligned way—letting go of what doesn’t serve you.

    A framework can be useful—until it becomes a cage. When discipline is fueled by fear, it exhausts us. True growth doesn’t come from relentless self-monitoring, but from knowing you are already enough. It comes from showing up, doing your best, and trusting that’s enough.

    Talking things through with a psychologist, it became obvious: the checklist that once gave me security had become a restrictive system holding me back.

    I decided to trust the extensive research that shows leading with self-compassion drives success and happiness by turning setbacks into growth, reducing stress, and helping us become more present people.

    The hard part was learning to believe it—not just in my head, but in my gut. That kind of shift takes time, patience, and a steady mindfulness to gently bring yourself back when you drift.

    Doing Things Out of Joy, Not Obligation

    When I used to run, it was with a fierce determination to get to the finish. Quickly. And it was never fast enough. I didn’t use a social fitness tracker because no run I ever did was perfect enough to represent who I thought I should be.

    When I started to exercise again after surviving the pregnancy and transitioning from a place of self-judgment to self-compassion, my mind was blown.

    The voice in my head was kind and understanding and came from a place of love. When pushing for another lap, my thoughts would wander to words of encouragement. “Okay, do another lap, but stop if you need—you’ve already come so far!” I felt complete gratitude.

    The rules I had followed for years didn’t disappear; they transformed from needs to wants—and never musts.

    I still love to move my body, but I do it because I can and because I want to, not because I have to.

    I still care for the people around me, but not at the expense of myself.

    The things that once felt like obligations became absolute pleasures. And the best part? There are no repercussions if I don’t do those things. I either let it go without thought or reflect and learn from my actions. Without judgment.

    You Are Enough, Always

    Your worth isn’t something to prove—you are enough just by existing.

    It doesn’t need to take a crisis to realize this. Checklists, measuring, self-checking, the relentless need to keep up—they are never what make you worthy. Letting go of that weight doesn’t mean losing yourself; it means freeing yourself.

    Start noticing the voice in your head. Is it pushing you out of fear, or guiding you with love? Self-compassion isn’t about doing less—it’s about doing things from a place of kindness, not criticism. You can still strive, grow, and show up—but now, it’s because you want to, not because you have to. And that changes everything.

    Shift the script. You don’t have to do more. You don’t have to be more. You already are enough—always.

  • Healing Your Broken Heart After Miscarriage

    Healing Your Broken Heart After Miscarriage

    “You never arrived in my arms, but you will never leave my heart.” ~Zoe Clark-Coates

    If you have experienced a miscarriage, I am so sorry for your loss. I know the pain of pregnancy loss all too well, as I recently experienced a miscarriage at ten weeks pregnant.

    It was a complete shock.

    I had two healthy previous pregnancies, and everything felt fine—until it wasn’t.

    As a mental health professional, I have worked with many women who have experienced miscarriage, and I know the statistics show that one in four will experience pregnancy loss.

    With everything I knew and all the stories I had heard, I still hadn’t considered how likely it was to happen to me. During and after the loss, I found myself in a tunnel of darkness, sorrow, anger, shame, and unrelenting guilt.

    Before I go further, I want to affirm that miscarriage is a significant loss, and it is natural to hurt deeply. Your grief is real, and it deserves to be honored.

    “Grief only exists where love lived first.” ~Franchesca Cox

    This quote is an important reminder that the attachment, love, and hopes you had for a future with your baby were real, and it does not matter how many weeks along you were.

    In the aftermath of my miscarriage, I truly expected to move on quickly and didn’t imagine it would take such a toll on my well-being and mental health.

    For months, I was triggered by everything and would break down into tears daily. I felt tremendous guilt for miscarrying.

    The word “miscarriage” itself made me feel like I must have missed something, like I had failed my baby, my husband, and myself.

    At no point had I received a follow-up call or been offered emotional support from doctors, and I truly didn’t realize how traumatic the physical aspect would be.

    I knew I couldn’t change the pain of this experience and that I could not continue to bury it and isolate myself, hoping that the grief would just disappear. From the moment I found out I was pregnant with my third baby, my life changed, and it changed again when I lost the baby.

    Here are some tips as a pregnancy loss survivor and mental health professional that helped me heal and find my sense of self again.

    Grieve and Mourn Your Baby

    Grief is your feelings and thoughts associated with the death, whereas mourning is when you take that pain outside of yourself by showing or doing something. Please give yourself permission to feel your feelings, and if you have any mementos, consider placing them in a special memory box.

    I have a box with my pregnancy test, ultrasound picture, and a picture my four-year-old daughter drew for her angel baby brother or sister.

    Take Time to Heal

    Take some time to heal, and do not rush to get back into your normal routine. Something traumatic has happened to your body and soul, and you need time to recover.

    Take some time off work, cancel commitments, and let household chores slide for as long as necessary.

    Remember: There is no timeline for grieving. It hurts for as long as it hurts, and you need your own patience and compassion every step of the way.

    Set Aside Time to Grieve

    Purposefully invite your pain in and set time aside to mourn your baby. I know this may sound strange, but grief and mourning are hard work, and as human beings, we can easily push away the pain that comes with grief.

    I encourage you to give yourself five or ten minutes of uninterrupted time where you dedicate yourself to your pain and truly allow yourself to feel it.

    In the early days after my miscarriage, I would listen to Taylor Swift’s “Bigger Than the Whole Sky” and allow myself to cry while writing. That song spoke to me after my miscarriage and can still make me feel close to my baby when I listen to it today.

    Find Your Tribe

    I know initiating discussions around miscarriage is difficult, but remember that you are not alone, and that every time you share your story, you are breaking down the stigma and shame associated with talking about miscarriage.

    Whether you join an in-person support group or just post in a community forum online, sharing your feelings can help you process them, and it could also help someone else heal from their loss.

    If you are supporting a loved one through a miscarriage, please do not put pressure on yourself to “fix” their pain.

    Your presence, empathy, and ongoing emotional support will help them in their healing more than you know.

    Some Parting Thoughts

    Be gentle and patient with yourself during this time, and remember that everyone experiences pregnancy loss grief in their own unique way.

    An affirmation that I tell myself on those hard days is: My baby lives in my heart and will be safe there forever.

  • How Releasing Control Opened Me Up to a Limitless Life

    How Releasing Control Opened Me Up to a Limitless Life

    “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.” ~Richard Bach

    I have always wanted to create a family.

    As a child, I lovingly cared for my dolls and fell head over heels for my college boyfriend. Kneeling before me with a ring, he said, “I want you to be the mother of our children.” I swooned as we walked down the aisle at the tender age of twenty-two, convinced I was set for life. I had the husband, and I would have the family.

    I entered into our marriage with the expectation and security of certainty. We had vowed to be together for life, so I believed that was the truth.

    But I had another love besides my husband.

    I was in love with performing.

    After a childhood of classes in the arts, I was accepted into the BFA Musical Theater Program’s inaugural year at Penn State University. I soaked every minute up and graduated with summer work already booked and the plan to move to New York City with my new husband and dive into my career.

    Creating a family could wait. Broadway was calling.

    Except I found myself hitting a ceiling. Despite working consistently as a professional, Broadway eluded me. With the exception of two Broadway shows that closed before I would have joined them, I would choke when I was invited back for a second or third audition, and never make it any further.

    I was a true triple threat, strong in my singing, dancing, and acting, but I didn’t know how to deal with the loud and critical voice in my head. When I needed to deliver my best at these big moments, the critic would become deafening and my voice would crack or I would spontaneously “forget” which leg to step forward on while I was dancing. In those moments, it was as if all my training went out the window.

    Over time I was losing confidence. I literally worked at every level except Broadway. I worked off-Broadway, regionally, did national tours and commercials, and kept auditioning in hopes my break would come.

    And then I found myself at the age of thirty-seven staring into my husband’s eyes as he told me, “I don’t think I love you anymore. I don’t think I want to be married anymore. I don’t think I want to have children.”

    The security and certainty I had clung to in my twenties evaporated in smoke. I lost my marriage and the ability to create the family I had desired for the last fifteen years.

    In the face of my divorce, I felt a great urgency arise. It fueled me to heal emotionally, spiritually, and mentally from my heartbreak and to seek the right support to guide me as a single woman. I worked with love coaches and therapists and joined women’s groups to help me make sense of how to find a life partner.

    And then four and a half years later, I went on a first date with a kind blue-eyed man who took me to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens and gently opened an umbrella over my head as rain began to fall. In all the dates I had been on, I had never felt like this before, and we quickly fell in love.

    Before I became exclusive with him, I asked how he felt about creating a family and was thrilled when he shared that was his biggest desire as well. We were married a year and a half later and began to try naturally to get pregnant.

    Creating a family was now. There was no more waiting. I had the husband and the security. Certainty had returned to my life again.

    Except after a year of trying, nothing had happened. So, we entered into IVF as I had frozen my eggs after my divorce for this very reason. We followed all the steps, and I was convinced this was going to work. With the number of fertilized eggs, I imagined we had two tries and I was completely open to twins. But on the day of the transfer, only one egg was ready, and the other three became unusable.

    The pressure was unmanageable. I was experiencing migraine headaches from the synthetic hormones and was terrified it wouldn’t work. Which it didn’t.

    I vowed I was done with the drugs and our family was either going to happen through natural causes or through adoption.

    A year later, I found myself staring at a positive pregnancy test.

    My husband and I were giddy beyond belief, and began to read children stories to the growing life inside me.

    Creating a family was now. There was no more waiting.

    Except just before my eleventh week, I stared at an ultrasound with no heartbeat. The white light that had fluttered with such ferocity at seven weeks was now a static white dot.

    While we went back to trying, my heart was broken. Nothing was happening, so we entered into the process of adoption.

    Within two months we were matched with a birth mother, and I wept when we got the call. The birth mother had just entered her second trimester, so we had several months to wait.

    Now we could prepare! I dived into podcasts, books, and workshops, learning everything I could about adoption, about being a trauma-informed parent, and what products felt most aligned with our values. I created a registry, and we both planned to take time off work.

    Everything was set.

    Creating our family was now. There was no more waiting.

    And then a month before the baby’s due date, the birth mother changed her mind. In adoption, they call this a disruption, and that is exactly how it felt.

    I found myself reliving every pillar of my journey. Choosing Broadway over family. The divorce. The failed IVF. The miscarriage. And now the disruption. I wasn’t just mourning the recent loss; I was mourning decades of a desire that had burned in my womb.

    I thought it was the end of the world. End of certainty.

    I found myself feeling completely disoriented. I had planned maternity leave from my business and set up an elaborate schedule for my approaching book launch all around the adoption. I had a nursery filled with a stroller, changing table, clothes, and a glider. I had thought of everything.

    I had planned it all out, because I wanted to believe it was going to happen. I wanted to believe there was no more waiting. I wanted to believe in certainty.

    I pulled an Oracle card from Alana Fairchild that read, “This comes with special guidance for you. More love is rushing towards you like a great cosmic tsunami. You will struggle with this blessing to the extent that you will attempt to hold onto what has been. So don’t. Let go. You’ll perhaps get some water up your nose, but nothing will come to you that you cannot handle. Instead, you’ll have no idea what is going on. Oh, how the tsunami will deliver you into your divine destiny!”

    So I did something new. I surrendered. I surrendered all my plans.

    I started coaching my clients again. We went back to being active again with the adoption agency. I started my book marketing tasks again.

    But none of this had any certainty or definitive timeline. After decades of knowing the exact day and time things were going to happen, I embraced not knowing.

    I embraced waiting. Because it seemed there was nothing else to do.

    It felt like a part of me was dying, the part that had planned my family with such ferocity and certainty.

    In my grief, I turned to the Oracle deck’s guidebook and saw Robert Brach’s quote. As soon as I read it, I began to weep in resonance.

    How I had strived to stay the caterpillar.

    The caterpillar of certainty. The caterpillar of timelines. The caterpillar of planning.

    But the caterpillar couldn’t transform with these values. It needed to be washed up on the waves of love, and finally enter the cocoon to grow into a sacred butterfly.

    Robert’s words speak to that profound moment when we recognize that the way we’ve been living our life doesn’t work anymore. If we want to grow, we have to let go of our clinging, specifically our clinging to certainty.

    Because the truth is, our greatest power comes in the acceptance of not knowing.

    If you “don’t know” then you are actually opening yourself to a limitless life, one that is led by divine timing, instead of what your ego wants to believe is “right.”

    What if experiencing the same thing over and over is actually a divine tap on the shoulder to try something new?

    What if being disoriented and not knowing when your desire will arrive is the softly spun silk surrounding your most vital soul?

    For me, the tsunami washed me up on the shore with sacred wisdom. No longer holding onto a timeline was actually a deep relief. Going through the cycle of trying to control every aspect of creating my family had been so taxing and exhausting.

    I had formed a castle of certainty with bricks and stones, only to discover it was actually made of sand. And when the waves crashed through, I saw it was never meant to last. It was always meant to wash away.

    Now I’m opening to something far more powerful than certainty. I’m opening to trust.

    I don’t know when my family will come. I have no idea how my desire is going to manifest. Perhaps my life has actually been working out beautifully, creating a divine path I may not have “planned” but one that has sparked a vital inner transformation.

    One that has opened me to the possibility of my life unfolding in a new direction. And with that, I can let go of crawling on the ground in vain as the caterpillar. Now I can just open my wings and fly.

    Now I can simply receive.

  • To the Expectant Mom with a Million Questions and Worries

    To the Expectant Mom with a Million Questions and Worries

    “Have a little faith in your ability to handle whatever’s coming down the road. Believe that you have the strength and resourcefulness required to tackle whatever challenges come your way. And know that you always have the capacity to make the best of anything. Even if you didn’t want it or ask for it, even if seems scary or hard or unfair, you can make something good of any loss or hardship. You can learn from it, grow from it, help others through it, and maybe even thrive because of it. The future is unknown, but you can know this for sure: Whatever’s coming, you got this.” ~Lori Deschene

    As an obstetrician in Manhattan, I see the following scene often…

    A woman who is newly pregnant walks into my office, her eyes wide, her fingers clutched around her phone or a notebook and pen.

    She has just come from her first ultrasound and is now looking at me in total fear and anxiety. Not because she was told she has had a miscarriage—there is a beautiful heartbeat noted. Not because she has been told something looks abnormal with the baby—the baby looks healthy, like a little jumping peanut, as they all do early in pregnancy. Not because she has medical complications that make her pregnancy extremely high risk.

    Instead of taking a deep breath and feeling relief that the ultrasound showed a healthy pregnancy, her mind immediately goes to the million things she needs to get right and understand and process to ensure that she does everything right. To ensure that she receives an A+ in pregnancy and growing a healthy baby.

    Her look is a reflection of her inner emotions related to the unpredictable nature of pregnancy. She is scared to death because she realizes that she is no longer in control. She can do everything perfectly and still something bad may happen.

    This may be the first time in her life she has ever felt this way. So she desperately wants to control every bit of the process and soak in every detail she can in regards to statistics, testing, the effects of her diet, exercise, stress, work environment, and household and dietary toxins.

    She is clinging to any bit of power she has, to make everything turn out alright. To make sure she has a good pregnancy, an uneventful birth, and goes home with a healthy baby that will flourish and go to the top schools and become a happy and successful person.

    She also wants to maintain control of herself, the self she has cultivated for years and involves her career that she has worked hard for, her body that she has meticulously cared for, and her ability to work hard and be successful in everything she does.

    Now that all medical records and patient notes are available for the patients to see, a colleague of mine has coined a code word to add to such patient’s notes so that everyone who sees them understands they will need double the standard time for these appointments to answer the long list of questions that will inevitably arise.

    They should be prepared for questions on everything from birth plans to whether or not they should do invasive testing for Down’s syndrome even if the very sensitive screening tests return normal to what their chances are of getting gestational diabetes to whether it is safe to paint their nails and color their hair.

    They often bring a bag full of the supplements they have been taking and the makeup and skin products they have been using and ask the doctor to review and comment on each and every one and the safety and risks and benefits of each in pregnancy. If we do not have a good enough answer based on the available data, they want to know what we personally would do, as uncertainty and lack of direction is not an option.

    These moms require a little extra gentleness and support from their doctors; however, it can be difficult, as often no matter how many questions I answer and how well I try to ease their fears, I know that they may never be fully satisfied with my responses.

    The information I give them involves many responses that reflect a lack of a complete knowledge of all of the answers to their questions.

    I cannot definitively tell them how the face cream they used before knowing they were pregnant may affect their growing baby. I may not know how likely their fibroid is to cause preterm contraction or pain compared to women who have fibroids in other locations or of different sizes

    I can try to reassure them that even if they can only tolerate bread due to extreme nausea, their baby will get the nutrients they need; however, they may never fully believe me and feel that they have already done something wrong that is causing irrevocable harm.

    What I want to tell them, but often don’t due to my concern for their response and thinking that I do not take them seriously or provide the level of support and intensity they need, is this:

    Pregnancy is scary because most things that happen are beyond our control. Life, and everything about life, is also beyond our control; however, pregnancy is often the first time we come face to face with the fact that we really just have to let it be and accept what comes. 

    This is terrifying. We want to feel that we can influence the outcomes—the harder we work, the healthier we are, the better we follow all of the rules, the better our outcome will be. But just as someone can eat healthy, exercise every day, and get hit by a car crossing the street, a mom can follow every rule and recommendation and end up with a baby with a heart defect or have cervical insufficiency and lose the pregnancy. 

    The more we can accept the unpredictable nature of life and death, the more we can just be during the pregnancy and not live in perpetual fear of possible negative outcomes. 

    The truth is, worrying about it does not lessen the pain if a bad outcome occurs. So spending our time worrying about what may be is not helping us in any way and is actively preventing us from fully living in the present.

    This is the first lesson of being a parent, and an important lesson for everyone in life, no matter if you desire to be a parent or not: You cannot control your children; you can only do your best to be present and conscious and support them so they can flourish and grow into their own authentic selves. 

    Do the same for yourself during pregnancy and in life in general. Try to be present in the moment instead of focused on all of the ways that things could go wrong. Be conscious of how you treat your body. Provide yourself with nourishment, rest, exercise, and self-care so you can thrive during the pregnancy and beyond.

    Oftentimes pregnancy provides a window of time when women will actually focus on themselves more instead of on taking care of everyone else, as they understand that their well-being inextricably affects the well-being of the baby growing inside of them.

    If you notice yourself becoming very anxious or stressed, take some quiet time to sit with these emotions. You may intuitively discover what is causing them, and often it will be your lack of control and the uncertainty that is inevitable during pregnancy.

    Try meditation, yoga, or other mindfulness activities to re-center and get into the present moment. Be grateful for how your body is supporting you and your growing baby. Journaling and talking to a therapist, alone or with your partner if you have one in this pregnancy, may also help uncover the underlying programming and conditioning that lead to your current emotional state.

    Oftentimes there are roots going back to our own childhood and feelings of inadequacy, low self-worth, or invalidation that make us feel we will somehow mess up or not be a good enough parent. We become very anxious or worried that we will either make the same mistakes our own parents did, or that we cannot live up to the standards we have set for ourselves if we have placed our own parent(s) on a pedestal.

    We may have become a perfectionist at a young age to emotionally cope with the dynamics in our own families. We may even have avoided risks or failure during our adult life so that we never had to deal with the sense of not being good enough.

    Pregnancy brings all of these emotions and more into focus. It can become a time where we are either forced to turn inward and address our personality traits that developed in our own childhood or risk becoming very anxious, stressed, and depressed.

    During my own pregnancy I went to an extreme. I detached from my pregnancy, as the thoughts of all of the negative outcomes I have seen in my professional experience were too much to bear.

    I did not have the proper tools or self-awareness to explore it and heal myself. Rather than face the crippling anxiety and work through it, I dissociated from the pregnancy and did not allow myself to connect or bond with my daughter until she was born.

    I always was very relaxed and nonchalant at my own obstetric visits and sonogram appointments because I had forced the emotions so deep inside that no one could even see them. I eventually developed severe postpartum anxiety and depression that stemmed from this lack of confronting my true feelings and understanding where they came from so that I could heal them.

    I was completely unaware that I was even suffering from severe anxiety and depression for almost two years after the birth of my daughter. This was how deep the schism was between my emotional response to pregnancy and having a baby was and my ability to process and understand these emotions.

    Not everyone who is anxious or depressed during pregnancy or postpartum has similar feelings to my own. However, I have noticed that women who come into the pregnancy already very anxious and worried are more likely to develop worsening of these symptoms during pregnancy and postpartum.

    It may be related to the fact that initially the concern is over having a normal healthy pregnancy, but as birth looms closer they realize that the birth is also out of their control, and then as going home with the baby looms closer they realize that breastfeeding, soothing the baby, and the temperament and health of their baby is also out of their control.

    We go from facing a finite period—we just have to get through this pregnancy—to an infinite period,  parenthood, in which the older our child gets the less control we have. This is terrifying to someone who is naturally a perfectionist, type A, someone who has learned through life that the more they do and the harder they work, the better the outcome will be.

    Instead of struggling and succumbing to the toxic, negative emotions and fears, we have to learn to acknowledge them and then let them go. We must learn to just be. To sit with the uncomfortable nature of the unknown. 

    This does not mean you should not ask questions. This does not mean that you will never worry or feel anxious. But it means that you can also let in moments of calm and relaxation. Moments where you trust your body to do what it innately knows how to do without our conscious interference.

    Your doctor or midwife cannot and will not be able to fully reassure you and hold your hand and tell you everything will be okay. We will do our best to answer all of your questions and support you in a nonjudgmental and compassionate way; however, no matter how many notes you take we cannot release you from the anxiety that comes from a feeling of lack of control. Only you can do that.

    I recommend trying to avoid the triggers that will make it worse, avoiding pregnancy apps where other women write comments that are often not based in science, and limiting the amount of books and classes you digest during your pregnancy and parenthood.

    There are whole industries created that exist and profit off of our desires and needs to feel perfect and in control. The truth is that perfection does not exist, and the future is never predictable.

    Instead of allowing fear and anxiety to control me and close me off from all of the wonderful, deep emotions that come from embracing vulnerability and the unknown, I now choose every day to consciously work to uncover my anxieties when they appear.

    I thank my inner self for showing me I still have work to do, and then bring myself back into the present moment and back to the gratitude for what I have right now, no matter how messy or imperfect it may be.

  • The Many Shades of Support: Everyone Shows Up for Us in Different Ways

    The Many Shades of Support: Everyone Shows Up for Us in Different Ways

    “Empathy has no script. There is no right way or wrong way to do it. It’s simply listening, holding space, withholding judgment, emotionally connecting, and communicating that incredibly healing message of ‘You’re not alone.’” ~Brené Brown

    What do a pregnancy test, a wheelchair, and an Airbnb have in common? The answer is this story.

    In February 2019, one night before I was to get on a flight for my first ever trip to Paris, with my sister and best friend, I took a pregnancy test and it read… positive.

    Excited? Worried? Anxious? I was all of the above.

    You see, I have a history of early pregnancy loss, at least one of which has been an ectopic pregnancy. This means that for me, every positive pregnancy test is considered high risk because ectopic pregnancies can be fatal.

    Normally, I would have to notify my doctor about the positive pregnancy test. Then, they would test my blood for pregnancy hormones every two days to keep an eye on the trend. The direction of the numbers tells us whether we should expect a normal pregnancy or a miscarriage or suspect an ectopic pregnancy.

    Well, in this case, I wouldn’t be doing that… because, well, Paris.

    Another consequence of my history of recurrent miscarriage is that I never tell anyone, other than my husband, when I test positive for pregnancy. I usually lose the pregnancies so quickly that it’s not worth the shame and emotional rollercoaster to have other people involved.

    So, when I boarded that plane to Paris, my sister and best friend had no single idea that I was a ticking time bomb.

    The festivities commenced.

    One night near the end of our weeklong trip, I was standing in the kitchen of our Airbnb when all of a sudden, it felt like a dagger had been hurled through the right side of my groin.

    I dropped to my hands and knees.

    In between the stabs of pain and trying to catch my breath, the alarm bells started going off in my head.

    The girls immediately came running over. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

    I managed to get out the words “Call my husband. Tell him what’s going on.”

    They called him and he told them that I would need to get to a hospital immediately … in Paris … where none of us spoke French.

    Luckily, our Airbnb host, an American expat, lived in the same building and was an absolute angel. She responded when they called and then quickly escorted us to the nearest hospital and even stayed around to translate for me.

    We were in those waiting rooms for hours.

    At some point in the middle of all the ruckus, I had had to come clean to the girls. Sheepishly, I explained that I had had a positive pregnancy test and it was possible that I was having another ectopic pregnancy. (They knew about my first one and understood the gravity of this emergency).

    When the seriousness of the situation became clear, shock initially brought them all into silence.

    Soon after, my best friend sprung into action. She was offering encouragement and consolatory back rubs and updating my husband every few minutes. I can’t quite remember how many cups of water she offered me.

    My sister, on the other hand, my own flesh and blood, had no words. The few that she had, awkwardly dripped from her mouth—“Do you … need anything?” She had this shocked and frightened look stamped permanently across her face for the whole ordeal.

    There is one moment that I can’t forget, however.

    When they finally brought a wheelchair to wheel me down to the OB/GYN side of the hospital, someone else attempted to take hold of the wheelchair, and she quickly said “No” and rushed in.

    She planted her hands on those wheelchair handles and didn’t let go as we silently walked down the long, cold, concrete corridor to the other side of the hospital.

    Our Airbnb host eventually returned home to her son.

    But as for my sister and my best friend? They were there all night into the wee hours of the morning.
    In those uncomfortable waiting room chairs. While it was cold. Despite hunger. Without asking why I hadn’t told them ahead of time. And without once making me feel guilty about the obvious demise of the rest of our trip.

    We eventually went home and took flights back to our respective cities.

    A couple days after we had returned to the US, my sister called me to see how I was feeling.

    After giving her the updates, she offered an apology. She said that she was sorry if she hadn’t said or done the right things. She admitted that she didn’t know the right thing to say and felt bad that my best friend had been so much more proactive.

    I was happy to reassure her that she had done exactly what I needed at that time.

    You see, she was there. And she stayed there. Without complaint. Without exception. Without excuse. She was there. And that was all I needed from her at that time.

    My best friend also did exactly what she needed to do. She offered comfort and tried to advocate for me as much as she could. She gave me everything that was within her capacity in that moment.

    And I don’t take either response for granted.

    You see, when it comes to support, there is no one right way to do it. It means different things to different people in different situations.

    In any given moment, the support of a loved one can mean a word of encouragement or a pot of food. It can mean buying something from your friend’s new business at full price. It can mean connecting them to resources, driving them where they need to be, a hug, and it can mean just being there.

    Sometimes we underestimate the power of just holding space. Even though oftentimes, that is enough.

    And for those in the position to receive support, it’s important to remember that the people that love you all have different capacities for supporting you at any given time. Show them grace and be thankful for how much or how little they can offer you.

  • Lessons and Gifts from Grief: What I Learned After Losing My Baby

    Lessons and Gifts from Grief: What I Learned After Losing My Baby

    Today marks the twenty-year anniversary of when I lost my first baby.

    I was, at the time, happily married and we were excited to start our family. My pregnancy was planned, wanted, and blissful. I was six months along. I was showing, and the baby was kicking vigorously. We had just moved into a wonderful house only a few blocks from my parents. Everything was absolutely golden.

    It took me a little while to find an OB-GYN in the area, so I was about a month late for my baseline ultrasound. We were very excited to get a clear view of our baby and find out the sex.

    The tech performed the ultrasound and was very quiet while my husband and I chatted excitedly. She told us it was a boy and then rushed out of the room to get the doctor.

    At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We discussed painting the nursery blue and confirmed our choice of name. But then I turned to my husband and said, “Did she seem weird to you?” It suddenly struck me that she was kind of abrupt.

    The next thing I knew, the radiologist was there delivering news that sucked all the air out of the room. Our baby was not viable. He had severe brain defects: Dandy-Walker malformation, an absent cerebellum, and extreme hydrocephalus. 

    I wailed. My husband stared blankly in shock. And then came the next news. We had to do something.  We had to end our baby’s life…and do it that day.

    Because of the laws governing “late term abortion,” I was right at the deadline for a procedure called a Dilation and Extraction. If I was past the deadline, I would have to be induced, labor, and deliver a dead baby. The doctor fudged my gestation by a week, just to be on the safe side.

    I called my mom to tell her. I will never forget the sound of her scream. I went straight to her house and my parents, my husband and I all piled into the car.

    I remember being shocked by what a lovely sunny day it was. How could the sky be so blue when this was happening?

    I went to a clinic to begin the dilation process. And they euthanized my child in my womb.  I won’t get into details, but it was so painful, I threw up from the pain and couldn’t get out of bed for hours afterwards. At the hospital a day later, I was put under and they took my baby.

    Sometimes, you have to make a decision without a choice. It didn’t seem right to me to continue with the pregnancy knowing my baby could die at any time. The doctors were shocked he had made it so far. I didn’t feel right about bringing a baby into this world to suffer and die. I was also mindful that I needed to preserve my own physical and mental health because I wanted to be a mother. In fact, eight weeks later, I was pregnant with my older son. He will be nineteen on December 19th.

    The grief was horrible. The shock amplified it. The happiest time of my life was turned into the saddest. 

    My family and friends rallied around me. My next-door neighbor, who is a yoga teacher, told me to “just come” to class. I did. Every day.

    I covered all the mirrors in my house because I couldn’t stand the sight of my body. I looked postpartum. My breasts were ready to nurse. But no baby.

    I made recovering from grief my full-time job.

    I painted an oil painting every day. I spent time in my rose garden. I prayed. I cried. I worked my way through the grief as expediently as I could so I could continue on my journey to motherhood. And I did.

    On the one-year anniversary of losing my first baby, I was just about full term with my older son. I was terrified I would lose him too. My pregnancy was fraught with anxiety, and it culminated at the end. But of course, the joy of delivering my son insulated me from the grief. It wasn’t until the second anniversary that I was finally able to process what had happened.

    Grief finds a way. There is no around, only through. Fighting it only makes it hurt more.

    I can remember feeling like shards of glass would come flying at me, and I needed to just let them pass through. There were times when I felt absolutely fine, and then the grief would overcome me. I called them cloudbursts. These were lessons I took into other experiences. I always say grief brings strange and beautiful gifts.

    I was with my grandfather as he died. I was one of my grandmother’s caregivers as she moved toward death. I was at my father’s bedside the moment he passed. Grief is different, but also the same every time you go through it. It will not be denied.

    I remember telling a family friend that as I healed from losing my baby, I could feel it becoming a part of me. I knew it would always be there, like a vein running through me.

    On this day, two children and two decades later, I honor my experience. I bless it for the lessons it taught me—not only about grief but about life in general.

    I had very black-and-white thoughts about abortion. I was raised Catholic. I was pro-choice for other people while “knowing” there were no circumstances under which I would have one. I was certain.

    And then something literally unimaginable happened. I learned that a huge portion of life is grey. 

    I learned that ambivalence is common.

    I learned that you don’t really know what you will do until you are faced with a situation. It’s not a question of knowing your own mind or having faith or holding certain values. It’s a question of the circumstance. It’s a matter of not having all the information until you are faced with it directly, in the moment. This has served me well.

    I have come to understand I will feel discomfiture, and it’s alright. I realize I will not always know what to do. I now know that sometimes I will do what I believe is “right” and I may never, ever be okay with it. Ever.

    And I also realize that judging someone else’s circumstances is nonsense. We all have struggles, and we all do the best we can. None of us can ever understand someone else’s challenge because it’s for them. The best we can do is be kind, supportive, and respectful.

    These are the lessons my lost baby taught me.

  • Lessons from Infertility: What’s Helped Me Cope with Disappointment

    Lessons from Infertility: What’s Helped Me Cope with Disappointment

    “When you find no solution to a problem, it’s probably not a problem to be solved, but a truth to be accepted.” ~Unknown

    For the longest time, I swore I’d never get married or have kids.

    Growing up with an alcoholic father, in a domestic violence situation, shattered my young spirit and left me putting the pieces back together for years.

    Since I didn’t see healthy coping skills growing up, it’s no wonder I grappled with my own addictive behaviors. I struggled with self-worth, focusing solely on accomplishments to fill a void inside of myself.

    Externally, people saw a well-adjusted, smart girl who excelled at sports and was a natural leader, with plenty of friends.

    All seemed well.

    It wasn’t.

    Internally, I was dying, and I’d take anything I could get my hands on to escape my reality. I used work, relationships, and substances to make myself feel better for a short while.

    However, self-loathing runs deep and it eventually won the day.

    I wasn’t enough, and there wasn’t anything sustainable that would make me feel okay about myself for any length of time. I didn’t realize it then, but what I really wanted wasn’t to merely the fill the void; I was longing for a connection to my authentic self. But I couldn’t figure out how to create it.

    My emotional suffering was crippling.

    While other people were getting married and having babies, I was surviving the day between emotional highs and lows and barely holding on to any form of functioning.

    Though I had vowed never to get married or have kids, I secretly longed for it. I’d disavowed it only because it didn’t seem possible for me.

    Plus, how would I ever bring a child into this mess of a life?

    I wouldn’t.

    When my self-destruction hit a crossroads of kill myself or live, I chose to heal and get better so that I could be a healthy person for myself right then and perhaps for a partner and child in the future.

    I wanted to be the healthiest version of myself, and thinking about what might be helped me get present to what needed to be healed.

    Part of the journey back to my true self was about learning unconditional self-love. Hearing the paradigm that I’m a spiritual being having a human experience opened up an avenue of self-loving within me that I had never experienced before.

    I focused diligently on having a healthy relationship with myself by engaging a daily self-care practice that included positive affirmations, physical exercise, self-forgiveness, and connecting to something greater than myself.

    By learning to relate to myself in a more positive way, I started to have better relationships with others. And one particular relationship came in that reflected back to me my deep self-love and spiritual growth. This relationship would turn into a life partnership and eventually a marriage.

    Though I never thought I would get married, I did the inner work to transform myself into the partner that I wanted to have in this lifetime.

    My spiritually connected and loving relationship with Richard opened me up to the possibility of having children.

    This was a huge shift from my days as a child and young adult where I vowed never to have significant relationships with anyone.

    But then something I never expected happened. We never got pregnant.

    We tried for many years and mutually decided that if we couldn’t naturally have a child, we wouldn’t have one at all.

    There was tremendous disappointment, anger, and sadness. When something isn’t a possibility for you, it can make you want it more.

    I went from obsessed to defeated.

    Richard and I finally landed on and allowed our grieving.

    It was a process. It still is.

    What’s super special about this journey is that I was able to pull from my recovery toolbox to support myself through this experience.

    I focused on these three powerful steps.

    1. Look for the learning.

    Getting my mind right has been the biggest growth opportunity in my healing process. Before learning about my infertility, I’d studied spiritual psychology at The University of Santa Monica, where I learned the twenty-two principles of spiritual psychology. One of those principles, “life is for learning,” has empowered me to look for my spiritual curriculum instead of staying in victimhood.

    Staying empowered versus going into disempowerment has kept me learning from my life experiences, and helped me avoid growing bitter. Through my infertility, I learned to let go of control. I learned true surrender to the unknown. And I learned to trust something greater than my humanness. I’ve experienced so much grief, resilience, and acceptance. Embracing it all has enriched my life instead of making this a solely painful experience.

    2. Accept what is.

    I found acceptance of what is. I’m not fighting reality, saying it should be different. I don’t know what it should look like, and I accept that this is my spiritual curriculum.

    Ego thinks it knows what the human experience should look like. My spirit knows that this is the experience I’m meant to have. Or at least that’s what I believe—that I was meant to grow through this and love myself no matter what. And I’m doing that!

    I’ve also come to realize that even when life doesn’t turn out how we think it should, it can still be enjoyable if we’re willing to shift our focus and do the best we can with the hand we were dealt. For me, that’s meant committing to being the healthiest human I can be, living a purpose-driven life, and helping other people self-actualize.

    Even if you don’t believe you receive a “spiritual curriculum” for life, or are “meant to have” certain experiences for your growth, it feels incredibly liberating to accept what is and choose to make the best of it. This is how I’ve been able to keep my peace instead of giving it away.

    3. Choose peace.

    I choose peace. It’s an affirmation that has served me well for many years through different life challenges. I can choose to be in resistance and suffer, or I can choose to be in acceptance and have my peace. I choose peace. It doesn’t mean I don’t experience some sadness from time to time, but those moments are few and far between because it’s more valuable to me to accept and have peace than it is to hold onto grievances.

    Life didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. I put expectations on life, and life had its own plans.

    My duty is to be with what is and love myself through it.

    Accepting what is has been one of the most freeing experiences of my lifetime because it’s opened me up to new possibilities I wouldn’t have been able to see had I stayed stuck in resistance. Furthermore, I’ve been able to experience motherhood through mothering myself, our four wonderful dogs (Peanut, Ziggy, Tucson, and Bootie), and those I come into contact through my life’s work.

    I can still be a mother—to myself and others. I get to define what that looks like for me.

    When life seems difficult or unfair, focus on the lessons so you can empower yourself instead of victimizing yourself, accept what is, and remind yourself that this is what it means to choose peace. These strategies have offered me continued spiritual growth, supported me in strengthening my relationship with my husband, and empowered me to carry on with co-creating an enjoyable life.

    And if you’re experiencing infertility, like me, know that it doesn’t have to be something that sidelines you. It can not only be a source of tremendous spiritual growth, it can also be the gateway to a different path that could be equally as fulfilling.

  • The Miscarriage: Why My Heart Feels Full In Spite of My Loss

    The Miscarriage: Why My Heart Feels Full In Spite of My Loss

    “Suddenly you’re ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you’re alive and it’s spectacular.” ~Joseph Campbell

    They say all feelings have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

    The truth is that I’m still in the middle part, but I felt like it was time to share this story with you—not just for me, but for all women who have faced this and for all women who have made a plan and then surrendered as the plan changed.

    Two months ago, I had a miscarriage.

    The pregnancy was a little bit of a surprise. We’d been talking about it, but weren’t “trying.” (Sidenote: I got off birth control pills years ago when I quit drinking alcohol—best decision of my life, but that’s a different story.)

    Over the years, I really learned my body and I’d been able to sync up with my cycle, except for this one time a few months ago when I miscounted the days. Whoops.

    I took a pregnancy test. Two lines. I took three more pregnancies tests. All four said the same thing: two lines = pregnant.

    Were we excited? Were we scared? Do we celebrate? Did we just mess up our entire lives? Do we move? Do I cancel my work trips in the fall? All the plans. All the feelings. All at once. But the excitement was incredible—we made a baby!

    I started telling the women closest to me.

    My husband started calling and checking in more than normal.

    We were preparing in our own way.

    I was early. Only eight weeks.

    And I was eager to tell my family in person because I just so happened to have a trip already planned to see them.

    But before boarding the plane a few weeks ago, I could sense something was going on. I called a close friend and told her that I was starting to feel attached to the little creation growing inside of me and that I was scared I would lose it. Part of me already knew, even though I wouldn’t find out for another week.

    My wise friend said something I’ll never forget. She said,

    “Julie, no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

    She was right. She’s always right.

    A week later, when I started spotting, I was in my mother’s bathroom in Louisiana. I had told her the news the night before. I immediately called that same friend, then my husband, then the doctor. Tears and more tears. I knew what was happening.

    Emergency ultrasound.

    My sister (my closest friend and a nurse) moved into action, told me what to do, and pulled all the strings for my appointment.

    My mother sat on the couch with me, held my hands, cradled my face, and prayed with me.

    My father rushed to my side with fierce strength and held back his tears with loving tenderness.

    My husband, thousands of miles away, held strong—mentally and emotionally—and kept telling me that everything would be okay. One step at a time. Always, grounding and anchoring me.

    They were all strong for me, which allowed me to be soft.

    The ultrasound showed no heartbeat and a tiny little thing measuring only six weeks. It wasn’t time.

    I walked out of the doctor’s office and paused at the door before meeting my parents on the other side. I cried and held my womb and cried some more.

    I cried for the loss of the plans we’d made.

    I cried for the loss of what could have been our baby.

    I cried for myself, for my husband, for our family, and for all the women who have been initiated into this phase of life.

    My parents rose to their feet the moment they saw me. We stepped into the hallway so I could tell them the news without disturbing the pregnant women waiting for their appointments.

    I told them what I saw and what I knew. I cried and they cried. My mom cried for her baby and her baby’s baby. My dad cried for his little girl. My sister called fourteen times waiting for the news. My husband remained peaceful, hopeful, and calm on the other end of the phone.

    They were steady in the midst of my storm.
    My body released everything naturally. It was intense and beautiful. My hormones started to regulate. My heart is starting to heal.

    I say this again and again in the work I do, but I believe it to be truer now more than ever….

    In order to be fully alive, we must feel it all.  

    My heart was torn open into a hundred piece two months ago, but not just because I was sad. It was torn open as I learned to feel even more.

    My heart held grief and love in a way that I never knew could co-exist. To witness the miracle of my body, the beauty of being a woman, and the strength and resilience of my spirit blew me away.

    I am different.

    Clear. Focused. Fierce. Tender.

    I am more me than I’ve ever been.

    A new rite of passage. A new opportunity to deepen within myself.

    In many ways this little spirit baby birthed me. I am no longer the same.

    Life isn’t meant to be easy, or perfect, or happy all the time. Life is meant to confront us. It will get in our face and push our boundaries and stretch our limits.

    Life doesn’t do this to be cruel. It does this to remind us of our strength and bring us closer to our spirit.

    In the midst of grieving in a way I’ve never done before, I feel stronger than I ever have before. It’s such a weird paradox.

    That’s the beauty of life.

    With every twist and tug and pull, with every heartache and break, life is making us all. Making and molding and polishing our soul so that we may one day shine even brighter.

    This is life.

    I continue to welcome all of life—the heartbreak and hope, the pain and the joy, the smiles and the tears. There is room for it all.

    Above all things, I trust more than ever before that life is completely and utterly holding me. I don’t have to do a thing. Life has got me and if it’s not this, it will be something else because that’s the way life works.

    I feel a deep sense of peace and openness as I finish this note to you.

    My heart feels full. Full from love. Full from pain. Full from life. And that is a beautiful gift.