Through all the years I grew up I always felt something was missing. At the time I couldn’t quite figure out what that was until one day I woke up.

I don’t mean waking up from sleep; I mean waking up spiritually. For so long, my heart was bitter, weighed down by the burdens of past experiences that clouded my view of the world. I left nothing of my new strength unseen, showcasing a resilience that was both fierce and unyielding. Although I was a loyal friend, daughter, and sister, my outlook on life was to bulldoze through it with a bold, unfiltered personality that often scared others away. I allowed no one to tear me down again, having built emotional walls higher than I ever imagined possible. I grew a very strong demeanor about myself that was hard to love, perhaps because I had conditioned myself to think that vulnerability equated to weakness. I was a hard worker who hardly ever missed a day of work unless I was covered in vomit or riddled with a fever, showcasing my dedication and fierce commitment to my responsibilities. I kept a level of respect for my coworkers, bosses, and patients, always commended for my bedside manners and well-spoken customer service. Yet, outside of my career, I was far from naive and never trusted anyone; I viewed the world through a lens of skepticism. I didn’t believe anything or anyone ever told me, and I wasn’t afraid to let someone know if they treated me disrespectfully, often taking a stance that was more defensive than nurturing. Now that I look back, I realize I was plowing through life on my own understanding, blinded by a desperate need for self-preservation. Friendships perished because I didn’t allow a lot of grace; I was quick to dismiss those who couldn’t align with my stringent values. But my motto always was that if you are a liar and I catch you, you’re done—no second chances. I made it clear that I would never beg someone to be my friend, nor would I ever look back. I still think that same way and have those same boundaries, but perhaps I approach them with a little less harshness and a lot more grace and forgiveness. Forgiveness, as a concept, wasn’t even a part of my vocabulary back then; it felt like a distant notion meant for those who chose to be weak. Now, however, as I reflect on my journey, I understand that forgiveness is not merely a gift to others but a vital component of my own healing, allowing me to evolve into a person who meets others with compassion rather than judgment.

My mid 20’s came along, still feeling that something was terribly missing in my life still ignoring it most days. I knew that I never truly felt happy until the day I found out I was pregnant with my first born.

I was 24 years old when I met the man of my dreams. He was carefree, with a spirit that seemed to dance through life, and the first one to listen to my heart and understand why I had grown so bitter. He exuded a warmth that made me feel safe; he was gentle with me, showing me that I was allowed to step into my femininity, a side of me I had suppressed for far too long. His kindness was the first step towards healing my emotional wounds, and he showed me love without reservation, looking over the shield I had up guarding my heart. Better yet, I allowed him to see the real me, the one behind the walls I’d built. We spent hours talking about our dreams, fears, and laughter filled the moments we shared; days turned into weeks as we continued to explore each other’s minds and souls. We discovered we shared the same values and principles in life, a foundation that I believed was essential for any relationship. I finally didn’t feel judged, and not a day went by that I didn’t want to start my life with this incredible man who had come into my world. Then, soon after, just 8 short months later after meeting, we found out that there was a tiny human growing inside me, a miraculous surprise that took my breath away. I always knew I wanted to be a mother, and it was finally happening, completely unplanned. Yet, there was no doubt in my mind that this tiny little person would complete me in ways I never imagined possible. We embarked on an adventure to find a more suitable home for our growing family, envisioning a cozy space filled with love where we could nurture our child. We were both blissfully happy making plans for the nursery, selecting paint colors, and filling it with whimsical decorations, talking about parenting philosophies and the type of parents we wanted to be for this little bundle of joy. My family was beyond excited to meet this precious little girl, showering us with advice and handmade gifts, each proclaiming their joy and anticipation. Oh ya, I forgot to mention we were having a GIRL! My mom and I were absolutely thrilled to have a girl, after all, we knew all about girls! I envisioned raising a prissy little girl who wasn’t afraid to get dirty, teaching her about the beauty of both elegance and play. I had so many plans and ideas I wanted to instill in her as she grew up, from the joys of reading to discovering the wonders of nature. We did everything we could to plan ahead for this little girl of ours, filling our home with love and laughter. My pregnancy was good, even though I was sick most of the time, battling nausea that felt relentless. I puked from sun up to sun down the whole 9 months, but I didn’t care about the sickness; I was just blissfully happy, dreaming of the day I would hold my daughter in my arms and tell her how much she was wanted and loved. We had talked about getting married and making life official but we wanted to wait until after our little girl was born so that she could be there with us in the flesh.

On the day that my water had broke, I actually felt like I peed my pants. Just a small trickle made its way streaming down my leg, an unexpected and surreal moment that filled me with both excitement and anxiety. I wasn’t quite sure so I laid down in bed to rest and see if anything would change, my heart racing with anticipation. Oh boy, after about 30 minutes, it definitely proven to be my water breaking, so off to the hospital we went! I had called my mom on the way, her voice filled with both joy and concern as she said, “oh my gosh you’re going to be a mommy.” By this day, I was 25 years old and totally ready to start this journey that I had dreamed of since I could remember, envisioning every moment of it. I laid in labor for almost 14 hours, feeling each contraction as a wave of pain and purpose. Finally getting that epidural after about 12 hours, I could breathe a sigh of relief, knowing the worst was behind me as it was time for her to make her debut. It took me 1.5 hours to get this baby out, a grueling yet exhilarating process filled with determination and hope. The doctors almost took me to have a c-section; her little heartbeat had dropped, and I had just minutes to get her out on my own, which felt like an eternity. With the medical background I had, I knew something wasn’t right when they were paging respiratory stat to our delivery room, a chill of fear coursing through me. I mustard up all the strength I had to get this baby out! I had delivered a baby that was face up; generally, babies will turn face down coming down the birth canal, making it easier for delivery. Once she was out, the doctor discovered that she had a knot in her umbilical cord, which was causing difficulties in her breathing—a moment that tied my stomach in knots as well. They didn’t lay her on my chest but quickly whisked her away to the nursery, leaving me feeling helpless yet hopeful. I caught a glance at her while working to start an IV and trying to stimulate her first breaths. I couldn’t get up because of the epidural numbing me from the waist down, anchoring me in place as I fought against my growing anxiety. I immediately told her daddy to follow her and watch as they worked on her, my mind racing with what-ifs. My mom was in the waiting room, her eyes glued to the team of nurses and respiratory therapists who were quickly flying into the nursery, each fleeting second stretching time farther than I could bear. We waited what seemed like hours, but it was just about 15 minutes later that a nurse came in to tell us she was finally breathing and stable, a wave of relief washing over me like rain after a drought. They cleaned me up and kept her in the nursery for the next 4 hours, updating me every 30 minutes, a lifeline of communication that kept my spirits buoyed. I couldn’t have asked for a better team of nurses; they were fantastic in their composure and professionalism, guiding me through one of the most intense moments of my life. Finally, 4 hours had passed, and they brought my little girl into our room, a bundle of warmth and love. She was absolutely perfect—her stats were perfect, her breathing was normal, a health report that filled my heart with gratitude. She ended up staying in our room for the remainder of our stay at the hospital, a tiny miracle nestled in my arms. The minute I held her, the gravity of that moment hit me; it was as if my heart stopped beating but then regained another rhythm. My heart was beating exclusively for this sweet little baby girl, a new kind of love enveloping me. Looking down at her, I knew, without a doubt, that she had rewritten everything I understood about my own heart. My whole world completely changed that day as I counted each of her ten fingers and ten toes, marveling at how perfect she was in every way. Her face was framed with a head full of wild red hair, vibrant and full of life, she was 6lbs 10oz of pure perfection chosen to be our daughter, destined to fill our lives with joy and love beyond measure.