For anyone who’s ever felt stuck between hope and heartbreak this is for you.
There are moments in life when everything feels like it’s holding its breath. You’re waiting for a call, a result, a sign that things are going to turn out okay. You don’t know whether to plan or to protect your heart. You exist somewhere between before and after, in this space where so many of us live when life doesn’t go as planned.
Maybe you’ve been trying to conceive, and the months have stretched into years, filled with never-ending appointments that make your head spin. Maybe you’re carrying a baby who’s been diagnosed with a life-threatening condition, and every day brings a mix of fear, hope, and grief.
Different stories, yes but they meet in the same place: uncertainty.
Hope looks different here. It’s not about finding the bright side or pretending things happen for a reason. It’s a decision to keep showing up, even when everything feels unfair and unbearable. It’s choosing to push through the unknown, even when there’s no promise of peace on the other side. Sometimes strength looks like tears in the doctor’s office or asking for help when you don’t know how to keep going. Sometimes it’s just getting through the day and even that can feel impossible.
Then there’s a kind of grief that doesn’t come with casseroles or sympathy cards. Its the loss of what you thought your story would be. Infertility and complicated pregnancies both carry that invisible ache: the grief of uncertainty, of plans rewritten, of identities you thought would come easily. This kind of grief doesn’t need to be reframed. You’re allowed to mourn the life you thought you’d have, even while you struggle to live the one you do.
The hardest part is often the in-between, the days that drag and blur. You may not even realize how much energy waiting takes until you’re in it. And sometimes there’s no beauty in it at all. There’s just exhaustion, emptiness, and the ache of holding on when you don’t want to.
There isn’t always meaning in what’s happened. There isn’t always a lesson, or light, or a reason that makes it make sense. Some things are just cruel. Some things will never be okay. You are still breathing in a world that broke something sacred inside you. And while that doesn’t make it better, it means you’re still part of life. Still trying. Still living.
You don’t have to find the good in this but there can be survival and sometimes, that’s enough. Just know that you are not alone in the ache of it and that your pain is seen. That’s what Made From This is for: not to make it okay, but to sit with you in what isn’t.