I think we can all agree... 2020 was a storm of a year.

In my personal life, though, the first 10 months were in overwhelming contrast to the external world: I moved to Hawaii, got married, bought a house, and got pregnant. It was exciting and a lot of change all at once, and it required adjustment and some grit, but I like change and have grit.

Those first 10 months were what I now realize to be the eye of the storm because, in November, my world started to unravel as quickly as it came together. And in December, it altogether shattered when I had to say goodbye to my daughter at 23 weeks.

At my lowest point, I couldn’t move from the couch; I physically didn’t have it in me. My grief was that incapacitating. The tissues couldn’t keep up with my tears, so I switched to full rolls of toilet paper and spent all day waiting for night to fall so I could go to sleep and dream myself away from my waking nightmare. During that time, even the nightmares I had were a relief in comparison.

I wouldn’t wish this kind of loss on anyone. But I understand that just being alive puts us at risk of losing; it’s only a matter of what and to what degree. And the more earthshaking an experience, the bigger a catalyst for transformation and growth. The deeper the valley, the steeper the peak. The more our hearts are blown open, the more light they let in.

Losing my daughter is not the thing that defines me. It’s the thing that freed me: from old stories I had about myself, limiting beliefs, and anxiety-inducing fears. It forged in me an inner strength I knew was there but had become too comfortable, too complacent — and scared — to use. It restored my trust in myself, in my body, and in the universe. It allowed me to look at my life through a buffed mirror and see what was true, what needed to go, and what I wanted to stay. It gave me the ability to recognize patterns and qualities I was upholding that don’t serve me and the audacity to go after a life I hadn’t dared imagine before.

The defining moments of our lives, whatever they may be, bring clarity — the type of clarity I’d been searching for my entire adult life.

In times of trouble, my grandfather, a Navy man who had nothing growing up but his faith and extreme grit, used to say, “Weather the storm. You’ve just got to weather the storm.” And so I did. And when it passed, I came out of the depths and waded back into the shallows and laid myself upon hot rocks to dry out. Then, when I could breathe enough to look up and around, I saw rainbows again.

Our lives don’t come with extended forecasts — would we even want that? — we have to take the weather as it comes and ride out the storms as best we can. And after the rain, when the sky opens up and the sun reappears… after the rain is when magic happens. That I know is true.

That much, I promise you.

Credits

Photo (and potential book cover image) by Kevin Malmgren

Music: Sad Premonition / Lilium (Outro) by Haruka Nakamura

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