Real Life Moments of Hope

I was sitting in the waiting room at my doctor’s office. The fluorescent lights seemed brighter, the laughter from behind the front desk appeared louder. Was everyone staring at me? Could everyone tell what was going on and why I was there? I was sure of it. The hair on the back of my neck suddenly went cold and I began to sweat profusely. I stared at the book I had brought with me, the letters seemed like characters in a foreign language I had never even heard of before. My husband squeezed my hand, but I felt nothing. Then they called my name. 

I had just had my fourth miscarriage in a row. In fact, I was actively still miscarrying when I went to the doctor that day. I was told that my “old age” (36) was a factor, and I just needed to find the right “egg/sperm” match, and to consider scheduling an appointment with the fertility doctor. I left feeling numb, disconnected, and my mind spinning. How was I supposed to cope with this information, and grieve all these losses while still caring for another child, holding space for my clinical clients, running a yoga program, and managing my home? It felt like too much, and in stark reality, it was, and it still is. 

I went home and hid under my sheets and cried, I turned on my phone and scrolled. I closed the blinds, and couldn’t look outside. I went against all of my experience, education, and mindful lifestyle, and my whole world became one thing, I am a failure, my body is a failure, just give up. 

And then my daughter came home from school. 

It’s amazing how in those simple moments, the coming and the going, the shoes on and off, the backpack thrown against the wall, the smile and glance in your direction, that your whole day can shift. Your whole day can become about the right now, and thank goodness for that. 

I felt my body shift into a mindful pause. On this day,  it felt forced, but it was still there. I sat with my daughter as she showed me her drawings, her writing, told me stories of her day. After bedtime that day, I sat for a while in the discomfort that had been ebbing and flowing for not just that day, but for the past several months. I started to fall into intuitive movement, and allowed my body to guide as I released built up tension stored in my soul. I had to accept the reality of the here and now, but this did not mean that I couldn’t continue to be hopeful, this did not mean that I had to give up. 

So, I didn’t. I kept trying, not just to have another baby, but in other endeavors in my life including starting my own business, becoming aware of and breaking cycles of generational trauma, finding moments of joy everyday. I chose my own well-being, my own energy, and my own intuition, and in turn, my entire world started to soften. This was where Real Life Moments of Hope was born. In the bleakest of moments, at a challenging time, I decided that my life would not be defined by survival or suffering, but in the choices I can make to soften the world around me. We don’t need more hardness, we don’t need to toughen it out, we need each other and we need connection. This is all still a work-in-progress, and one that I still doubt myself on at times, but if I’ve learned anything from the distress in our world it is that along with the suffering, there is also joy, and it is okay to let that part in. 

I’m grateful you have landed on my blog, and welcome you with giant soothing arms. You are right where you are supposed to be. 

Be Well, My Friends.