The most difficult time in my life.

As part of my doula class, we were assigned to write about the most challenging period in our lives, how we overcame it, and how we believe it would contribute to our effectiveness as doulas. I decided to share what I wrote.

The most difficult time of my life was experiencing a miscarriage. My husband and I had only been married for six months. We were 18 years old, wondering why this was God’s plan for us. We had done everything right—why were we going through this? Losing my baby was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, but I wouldn’t be the wife, mother, daughter, or overall person I am today if I hadn’t experienced it.

It was the summer of 2022. My husband and I were high school sweethearts and had made the decision to get married young, at the age of 18. We were living in my parents’ basement, waiting for our house to close. We both had careers lined up, money in the bank—life was right where we needed it to be.

I had decided to come off birth control because I didn’t like how it was affecting my body. A few months later, I got pregnant. It was unexpected, but we were over the moon. We were raised to believe that babies are a blessing. Although it wasn’t our timing, it was God’s, and we were so excited to become parents and start that journey together.

We announced the pregnancy to our families and friends, scheduled our doctor’s appointments, and spent the next eight weeks in complete bliss, dreaming of our future baby.

I’ll never forget the day—August 4, 2022—the day of our ultrasound. The appointment was later in the afternoon, so the nerves and anticipation ran high all day. I was working at the church where my dad was the pastor at the time, so he came with me to the appointment, meeting my husband there. The doctor came in to perform the ultrasound, and the anticipation was finally over.

I was lying down, ready to see my beautiful baby on the screen—only to see my doctor’s face drop. No words. No sounds. Nothing.

I knew something was wrong immediately.

“Have you had any bleeding or cramping at all?” he asked.

“None,” I replied. I had felt perfectly fine the entire pregnancy. Not one indication that anything might be wrong.

“I can’t find a heartbeat,” he said. “I can see your baby surrounded by blood. This is looking like a miscarriage.”

Every woman’s worst nightmare was coming true for me. Tears started flowing down my face. I couldn’t speak—just cry. I was devastated, broken, angry, and confused. So many emotions hit all at once. I never thought this would happen to us.

We left the appointment broken, riding home in complete silence. I remember arriving at my parents’ home and immediately collapsing into my mother’s arms, sobbing. Wondering why God would do this to us. Why was this happening?

The next day was my mother’s birthday—the same day I ended up passing our baby, right before dinner. I remember being by myself, staring in disbelief, hysterical and in shock. I still didn’t understand.

Eventually, I called my husband and parents downstairs. We cried together, mourning our baby—and their grandchild.

Days went by, and instead of resting, I threw myself back into work. I thought if I kept myself busy, it would help take away the pain and anger I was feeling. But it didn’t. I found myself driving home from work alone, crying in the car, screaming to God, “Why? Why is this happening to me? To us? What did we do to deserve this?”

I asked Him often but never felt like I had an answer.

Then one day, the worship song “Defender” by UPPEROOM came on in the car. I started listening and singing, only to realize what the lyrics were speaking to me. The bridge of the song goes:

“When I thought I lost me

 You knew where I left me

 You reintroduced me to Your love

 And You picked up all my pieces

 Put me back together

 You are the defender of my heart.”

I had never felt so close and in touch with God until that moment. I knew He was letting me know I was going to be okay. That I wasn’t alone. That this didn’t define my story as a mother. He was there for me in my most broken time, to pick me up and make me whole again.

After that moment, worship became my coping outlet. While my husband was at work, I would lock myself in the bathroom, blasting music, worshipping, and praying to God to heal my mind and body enough to become a mother. I finally felt like I was healing.

Months later, after searching for peace in the situation, I felt brave enough to try again.

I believe everyone has a testimony at some point in their life. I never felt like I had one. I wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t have trauma, family issues, or a broken relationship with the Lord—I just didn’t have a story. Until this moment.

This became my testimony. God brought me through it, only for me to come out stronger, closer to Him, and with a clearer sense of purpose. I knew I was meant to be a mom—and to share my story to help others going through loss. It gave me the motivation to be the best mother I could be.

A few months later, I became pregnant with my son, who is now almost two. I remember sobbing tears of joy, relief, and gratitude when he was placed on my chest. I had labored for 19 hours overnight, and I remember being in pain but thanking God for it—thankful that I was even able to carry a baby to term after everything we had been through.

Instead of labor being something hard or dreadful, I now view it as a time to rejoice—a blessing, a gift. I was thankful that we were in a hospital, bringing life into the world. Thankful that God had trusted us with this child to raise.

I believe this experience will make me a good doula because I want moms to feel the same joy I felt welcoming my children into the world. I hope to help them find peace during labor so that they can feel nothing but joy when their baby is born. I understand the value and preciousness of life. I want to help moms feel supported and empowered—to have the best birthing experience possible.