A sunny afternoon, fresh margaritas, an easy conversation on our porch at our new Montana home.

A seemingly innocent question,

“when are you planning on having children?”

An inquiry that would send daggers through my heart.

As a woman facing infertility, pregnancy loss, how exactly do you answer that question? “Well we’ve already had a baby but she’s buried behind us.” Or how about;“We’ve been trying to have another kid for a year but it appears I’m barren.”


Not words I would have said. To protect them, to protect me, I had rehearsed the simple answer.

“Hopefully someday.”

Often the most innocent questions could pull me into a tailspin. Writing about it now makes me feel as if I was weak.

Maybe I should have gotten over it and trusted that my babies would come. But I will not allow that lie to win. Losing a baby is hard. Miscarriage, spontaneous abortion. These terms have medicalized what is a profound life experience.

I have spoken to many women who have experienced pregnancy loss, heck nearly 25% of us will, and the one thing that ties our stories together is heartbreak.

Some appear strong, “this baby wasn’t meant to be, a genetic defect I’m sure.” But they quickly breakdown. “It is harder than I could have imagined, I know it’s for the best but WOW does my soul ache.”

Some keep it to themselves, never uttering the words, “I had a miscarriage.” There is no correct way to handle this heartbreak. There is truth in all of it. Sometimes the only thing you can do is protect yourself.

Initially, I found myself wanting to be public with our loss, writing about it, telling those close to us that I was struggling but after hurtful words and misunderstanding, I retreated.

I was alone.

Unfortunately, I still feel misunderstood from those well-meaning individuals.

“I was there for you when your baby died but you weren’t there for me when mine was born.”

Words that come years later and still sting.  

The truth is I couldn’t be there. I wasn’t there. I was barely present to myself. The point to all this?

The only word that comes to mind is GRACE. We all face seasons where we: Simply. Can’t. Be. And in the end, we will arise. After all, the darkest nights produce the brightest stars.

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