One of the first publications I ever submitted any of my essays to was Pregnancy After Loss Support. I had worked hard on the essay, was proud of how it turned out, and crossed my fingers I could give it a wider audience.
I couldn’t believe my luck when the PALS team said “yes” — and then asked me if I’d be interested in an ongoing place in their editorial calendar! (That piece is still one of my favorites, by the way, it’s about what raising butterflies taught me about coping with miscarriage and infertility).
Saying yes to the opportunity was vulnerable for me. I like to write pieces after I’ve had some time to process on my own. However, the experiences I’ve had with pregnancy, pregnancy loss, and infertility are ongoing, and I can be a slow processor. For example, the first essay I submitted to PALS started coming to me a year before I finished it. And that felt fast!
But another part of me believes that good writing is honest writing. To me, honest writing includes meaningful disclosures from the writer. My family and the process of forming it are among the most meaningful parts of my life. So, while difficult, the vulnerability is also part of why I decided to say “yes” to PALS and accepted a spot as a magazine contributor.
My regular spot is the first Friday every other month, which just happened again last week. This month was one the hardest for me yet. That’s because this is the first piece I’ve written for PALS since I became pregnant for the fifth time (If you didn’t know: Surprise! I’m 21 weeks pregnant with our third boy!).
Given how far along I am (and that I wrote about it in The New York Times!), it may seem like I should be comfortable writing about this pregnancy by now, but the truth is I still feel like I am tempting fate every time I talk about it. I am trying to hold space for that fear. And for excitement. And gratitude. And grief. So that’s what I wrote about.
I hope this essay resonates with anyone who is trying to move forward with authenticity after one of life’s curveballs. You can read it over on Pregnancy After Loss Support. It’s called The Yarn that Holds Hope: Knitting Grief and Longing into the Fabric of Life.