I’ve written before about my first miscarriage (My own story + International Women’s Day 2019). But in 2023, it happened again. And that second time, during those few short weeks of being pregnant, I lived in fear.

When Pregnancy Feels Like Walking on Glass

From the moment I saw the positive test, I was terrified. I think I was excited for like a day. After that not hopeful, not happy. Just terrified.

Every cramp, every ache, every bump in the road felt like a threat. I remember sitting in a bus once, we went over a threshold, it was bumpy, and I panicked, convinced it could make me miscarry. That was my reality: holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong.

And then it did.

Losing that pregnancy hit hard. Especially being in my late 30s, when Google loves to scream “high risk” and everyone around you seems to remind you that your clock is ticking. I told myself I couldn’t do this anymore. That I wasn’t strong enough. That maybe it just wasn’t meant for me.

My doctor (shoutout to the bestie) gently warned me I’d feel like stopping and encouraged me to give myself time, dust myself off and try again. She was right. For a while, I did stop, I focused on just enjoying life.

Ireland: The Trip That Changed Me

At the time it happened, I already had a trip booked to Ireland to visit one of my longtime friends. My instinct was to cancel. How could I show up for anything when I felt that broken? But the people around me pushed me to go saying I probably needed it. I needed to go away for a little while. My friendly mostly had to work so it would be

So I did. And it turned into exactly what I needed.

Most of the trip ended up being solo. I wrote. I grieved. I sat in silence. I even spent Mother’s Day there, alone. On purpose. That day was brutal, but it cracked me open. I let myself grieve. And in that space, I found something else: clarity.

I wasn’t done. I wasn’t ready to give up on becoming a mom. Not yet. I enjoyed the rest of my trip. I took tours alone (something I wanted to do for a while) hung out with my friend and her little family (including the most awesome dog) and enjoyed some me time.

Healing, Praying, and Moving

When I came back, I focused on healing. Womb healing (yes, it’s a thing), journaling, praying. I took my time. and it took a little over a year to be comfortable and ready to even think about the process again. Slowly, I found my way back to hope.

At the same time, we were planning to move to Suriname. At first, I thought: let’s wait until I’m pregnant again. But then we flipped the script, why wait? Why make things harder? We wanted to raise our family in Suriname anyway, so we went. And it turned out to be the best decision.

Round Two for Two!

Almost exactly two years later, I was pregnant again. Not with one, but with two babies.

And here’s the shift: this time, I wasn’t terrified. My soul felt different.

Yes, there was bleeding, a scare that would have crushed me before. But instead of spiraling, I prayed. I told myself daily: Whatever happens, it’s how God wants it to be.

And I had the best support: my partner, my family and friends and my best friend, who also happens to be the best gynecologist in the world. She guided me through every panic moment, every appointment, and reminded me that my body wasn’t broken. That I could do this.

By week 8, the bleeding eased. By month 4, I felt it in my bones: this was my time.

And Then There Were Four

Fast forward to today: four of us. Two amazing, smart (read: genius), beautiful girls, and two parents who survived the rollercoaster to get here. (still on a rollercoaster FYI)

Motherhood didn’t come easy. It came with loss, fear, healing, faith, and a lot of waiting. But it came. And because of everything it took to get here, I cherish it even more.

The journey no one talks about; miscarriages, the constant fear during pregnancy, the late-30s pressure; is also the journey that shaped me into the mom (and us into the family) we were always meant to be.