Two things I’ve always known: I want to be a writer, and I want to be a mother.

When I was twelve my biggest fear was that I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant. I had always been affectionate and caring; my favorite toy as a kid was my water-baby and I took it with me everywhere I went. My mothering instincts amplified tenfold as my youngest cousin, Cente, grew. He’s eight years younger than me, and was definitely an upgrade from my toy doll! I felt the power of unconditional love in a way I never had before. It solidified my desires to one day have a family of my own.

Flashforward to me at age 28. I was in a dedicated partnership, dating my best friend, with the intention of getting engaged soon. We just made the move from Austin, TX to Los Angeles so I could pursue screenwriting. By the time we arrived, the writer’s strike had just begun, and my partner was quickly discovering the challenges of working remotely. We decided to change our course and move to San Francisco instead. We had community there that we didn’t in L.A. — I had family and friends nearby, and Richard, my partner, lived there for eleven years before moving to Austin. Moving to SF, where he could work in person, and I could switch gears to another medium of writing, made sense.

We settled into our hotel room near Union Square and immediately began the search for an apartment. We had already spent three weeks house-hunting in LA, and now only had three weeks left to find a place before movers dropped off all our belongings. Suffice to say, this was one of the most stressful few months of my life. Packing up an entire house, saying goodbye to a beautiful community, embarking on a new career path, saying goodbye to said career path before it even began, moving to a new city (one I hadn’t planned on moving to, and wasn’t that excited about to be honest), and then looking for a home — it was hard, both individually and on my partnership.

A week and a half after arriving in San Francisco, we were relieved to find an apartment that met enough of our criteria. We applied for the apartment, and were approved the very next day! There was just one thing I wanted to do before signing the lease… My period was a few days late, and we hadn’t been super cautious; I wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be needing a two-bedroom apartment. So we went to Walgreens and bought a pregnancy test. We got back to the hotel, I peed on the stick, made myself wait the allotted time before checking for the results, and was shocked to see it was positive. We were going to have a baby.

My whole world tilted on its axis. We hadn’t been planning on having a child right now, and we had so much going on. But suddenly all the problems we were facing, moving to a new city and finding an apartment, seemed trivial: I am going to be a mother. I am having the love of my life’s baby. Moving to San Francisco makes perfect sense! I want to be near family as I make this transition. I get to have my sister by my side throughout my pregnancy. I can’t embark on a screenwriting career while pregnant! But I can do other forms of writing. Everything was falling into place perfectly.

My newfound mothering instincts were terrifying, of course: wanting to protect this baby so fiercely, for the rest of their life, but having complete lack of control. My only option was to surrender; surrender to God, to the Universe. This was bigger than me. I was motivated to start exercising again, to eat healthier (sugar now sounded repulsive), and to get back into my meditation practice. The things that once felt challenging to do for myself now felt like second nature—anything to support and protect this little being growing inside me. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace, of completion, of rightness.

I knew that people sometimes waited until after the first trimester to announce their pregnancy, but I couldn’t fathom the idea of keeping this inside me for another eight weeks! I got my dad a cute little puzzle with the adorable poem, “Tiny hands, tiny feet, there’s someone new, coming for you to meet.” I bought my mom a necklace with the baby’s birth stone on it. I got a little bandana for my sweet dog to wear that said, “Promoted to big sis.” I had a zoom date planned with my four best friends. The excitement was bubbling out of me and I was unable to contain the effervescence of my joy. I could finally release the fear of never being able to get pregnant. My dream of being a mom and having a family was coming true.

But God had other plans. I started spotting the day I was supposed to do my zoom call. I asked my sisters (one who had a baby, and the other who was pregnant) if that was normal. Neither of them had had that experience. They assured me it was fine, but that maybe I should schedule an appointment with a doctor just in case. I made an appointment at a women’s clinic for the following day, and by the time of my appointment my bleeding had increased, along with my fears. The nurse did an ultrasound, but couldn’t confirm the pregnancy. It was too soon. All I could do was wait and see. I felt like I had been pushed out of a plane with no parachute.

That night, I awoke at three in the morning with intense cramps. They came and went for a few hours, but never offered me the reprieve of sleep I so desperately desired. I turned on “Friends” for a shred of comfort until finally the sun came up. I had already spent four hours crying in pain, and decided it was time for Richard to wake up for good. I could no longer do this on my own. The bleeding increased, along with the pain, until finally it peaked. The tissues were released, and the physical pain subsided. The emotional pain remained.

It happened so suddenly. I was pregnant for such a brief amount of time, but my inner world transformed so dramatically. The identity of mother already bloomed, how could it be uprooted so quickly? I loved this being with all my heart, and I didn’t even get a chance to meet them. I already had a whole pinterest page filled with nursery ideas, and the baby shower was planned in my notes app. Richard and I had talked about having a “shotgun wedding” and I loved the idea of having a big belly while saying “I do.” We envisioned our future, and then had it ripped out from under us. We moved into our two-bedroom apartment the day after my miscarriage. The empty “baby room” reflected the emptiness inside of me. It felt so strange, mourning for something that never even existed (but it did, didn’t it?).

I found myself desperate to be pregnant again, grasping for a shred of hope, yearning for the sense of calm to return, wanting to escape the unbearable grief. I was in the dark, tumbling through space, reaching for something, anything, to make me feel right again. I didn’t want to reside in the feeling of being childless, the feeling of no longer being a mother.

This time, God listened. After just one month, I was pregnant again. Except now when I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test I didn’t feel elation or contentment, I felt dread…