The Eye of the Storm

The decision had been made.

The conversations were over. The pressure was still there, but my mind was settled. I had chosen life, and there was no turning back.

What nobody tells you is that after you make the decision, reality starts knocking.

Loudly.

The first few weeks weren’t filled with baby showers, nursery themes, or daydreams about tiny outfits.

They were filled with questions.

How am I going to do this?

Can I afford this?

Will I be able to keep the job I love?

What happens if I have to do this completely alone?

How much does daycare cost?

What if I need help and there’s nobody there?

The questions came in waves.

Not enough to drown me, but enough to remind me that my life was changing.

I wasn’t just responsible for myself anymore.

I was responsible for someone I hadn’t even met yet.

Looking back, I think pregnancy felt like standing in the middle of a storm while trying to convince everyone around you that the weather was beautiful.

On the outside, I was smiling.

Inside, I was learning how to quiet fear.

I never allowed worry to consume me completely, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t there. Some nights, my mind raced faster than my body could keep up. I’d lay awake thinking about budgets, housing, childcare, work schedules, and all the unknowns that come with building a future for someone else.

But somehow, every morning, I got up and kept moving.

I worked.

I worked a lot.

I continued showing up to the job I loved.

I picked up my hair clients.

I stayed productive.

I stayed focused.

I stayed grounded.

Not because I wasn’t scared.

Because purpose gave me somewhere to place my fear.

One thing I learned during pregnancy is that idle time can become a playground for anxiety.

So I stayed busy.

After work, I shopped for my baby.

I folded tiny clothes.

I imagined little feet filling tiny shoes.

I stayed with friends.

I surrounded myself with people who reminded me that I wasn’t alone, even when loneliness tried to convince me otherwise.

And when life became overwhelming, I slept.

A lot.

Looking back, I think sleep became my refuge.

A place where my mind could rest from all the planning, all the worrying, and all the preparing.

It was as if my body knew I needed restoration before the next chapter arrived.

One thing that surprises people when I tell this story is that I genuinely enjoyed my pregnancy.

Despite everything.

Despite the uncertainty.

Despite the abandonment.

Despite the disappointment.

I enjoyed it.

People constantly told me I glowed.

They said my personality never changed.

That I was the same person pregnant as I was before.

I laughed.

I worked.

I showed up.

I carried myself with joy.

What they didn’t always see was the quiet work happening beneath the surface.

The conversations I had with God.

The moments I sat alone and reminded myself that everything was going to be okay.

The faith I practiced daily when I didn’t have all the answers.

Because spirituality became my anchor.

When I didn’t know what the future would look like, I trusted that I wasn’t walking toward it alone.

I couldn’t control who stayed.

I couldn’t control who left.

I couldn’t control who chose responsibility and who chose distance.

But I could control how I carried myself through the storm.

And I chose peace.

Not perfect peace.

Not effortless peace.

Earned peace.

The kind that comes from surrendering what you cannot control and focusing on what you can.

Looking back now, I realize something beautiful.

Pregnancy wasn’t just growing a baby.

It was growing me.

It was teaching me resilience before I needed it.

Patience before I understood it.

Strength before I could see it.

I thought I was preparing for motherhood.

What I didn’t realize was motherhood was already preparing me.

And that was only the beginning.