My mom, my husband, and I on discharge day!
Hi there, and welcome to my blog Spectrum and Spirituality! This week’s blog post is different because I am starting my first-ever blog series, Becoming Strong. I am sharing my journey through love, loss, and the light I’ve found. May is Mental Health Awareness Month and I’m honoring it in a deeply personal way. As a mom with a story that hasn’t been easy to share, I am allowing myself to open up and be vulnerable. Last month, I was proud to raise awareness for Autism, and this month, I’m continuing to speak about the things closest to my heart.
Introduction
Some days mark you forever-not with celebration but with a quiet unraveling. When I was pregnant with my son what was supposed to be an anticipated time of preparing for a new life turned into one of the biggest storms life had to offer. A storm that I didn’t know how to weather. In this post, I want to share the day everything unraveled- a moment I’ll never forget. Because someone out there may be holding too much too- and needs to hear that healing is possible, even in the darkest places.
The Build-up: What Led To The Scare
In the weeks leading up to that day, I was barely holding it all together. The tragic, unexpected passing of my dad had left a hole in my heart. I was grieving deeply, but there was no time or space to process it fully – I was also pregnant, navigating doctors’ appointments, feeling fatigued, and having physical symptoms that left me drained. On top of that, I was battling an illness that only added to the weight I was carrying, physically and emotionally. However, I kept showing up, smiling when needed, and staying strong because that’s what I thought I had to do. But inside, I was unraveling- the pressure to be okay- to keep going for the baby, for my family, for everyone but myself- became too much. I didn’t see it coming, but my body, mind, and soul did. And eventually, they made me stop.
The Tipping Point: Waking To a Storm
The tipping point came quietly, yet it shook everything. I had barely slept for days- grief, illness, and a growing baby made rest feel impossible. That evening, I woke up to pull myself together for work, but something felt…off. My mind was foggy and disoriented. I stood in front of the mirror and couldn’t remember what came next. Dress? Breathe? My thoughts were tangled, my heart was racing, and I felt like a stranger lost inside my skin. I, however, kept trying to push through, telling myself I just needed to get moving, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I went back to bed confused and afraid. This wasn’t exhaustion. This was my mind signaling that it couldn’t keep carrying the weight of the emotions I was hiding. It was the moment I needed help because pretending to be okay was no longer an option.
The Scare The Day It Happened
Hours passed, but I didn’t move. I was still in bed, lost in a haze, unaware of the time or the world outside my window. That night I slept through my entire shift. I even slept through my husband getting up, going through his usual routine, and leaving for work- which had never happened before. The next morning, when I finally stirred, it was to the sound of my phone ringing. A family member panicked when they couldn’t reach me all morning, and something in their gut told them it was serious. I became aware that my husband had intervened. He saw that I wasn’t myself and that I was unraveling. He made the call that I couldn’t. He called for help and summoned an ambulance!
At that moment, I felt a wave of confusion and fear like I’d never known. My heart was pounding, and I remember looking around the room, trying to piece together what day it was- what year it was. I knew I was pregnant. I knew I should’ve been at work. But everything else felt scrambled. It turned out I was experiencing a severe episode tied to prenatal health. I wasn’t just tired or overwhelmed. My brain was signaling a deeper imbalance, one that needed urgent medical attention.
The Intervention: When Help Arrived
I remember the sirens, the flashing lights, the quiet shame of needing help- but even more, I remember the relief of knowing I wasn’t alone anymore, that someone was there to carry what I no longer could. When the paramedics arrived, I was still in a daze. I remember them asking me questions, my name, the date, and whether I was even aware of what was going on- realizing with a sinking feeling that I couldn’t answer all the questions correctly. That scared me more than anything. They treated me with such care, but I could see the concern in their eyes. At the hospital, things moved quickly. I was hooked up to monitors, had blood drawn, and was asked to describe what happened, the words though didn’t come easily. My thoughts felt stuck.
In those quiet hospital hours, I had to face a truth I hadn’t wanted to admit: I wasn’t okay. I was terrified- terrified for my baby, terrified for myself. Was I broken? Was my mind going to come back to me? And that didn’t make me weak. It made me human.
Eventually, the doctors explained that I had likely experienced a prenatal mental health crisis- possibly tied to a hormonal imbalance, or something neurological. I was admitted for observation and monitored closely. That moment was terrifying, but it also was the turning point. It was the beginning of my healing.
The Recovery: Finding My Way Back
Recovery didn’t come all at once. It came day by day- through therapy, support, rest, and something I can only describe as grace. Alongside the professionals and loved ones, quiet prayers were being lifted on my behalf- and I’ll always be grateful for every one of them. I didn’t always have the strength to pray for myself. But others did! Family members, friends, my church family,- they stood in the gap when I couldn’t find the words. Their prayers became a blanket around me, and there were moments when I could physically feel that covering. On the days when my mind was heavy and the answers felt out of reach, I would receive a message- ‘I’m praying for you, a verse being sent to my phone, or a worship song playing exactly when I needed it. It wasn’t a coincidence- that was God’s comfort, reminding me I was loved and not alone.
There was one song that became an anchor during the hardest nights. I would play it when I couldn’t stop the tears when I needed to remind myself that God was still near- even when I couldn’t feel him. The words held me together when everything else felt like it was falling apart. In the silence, I found strength in the promise that God was still working, even when I couldn’t see it. It didn’t erase the struggle, but it reminded me that I wasn’t walking through it alone- and that with each step I had support. And even when I couldn’t see the path moving forward, I could trust the one walking with me step by step.
The Aftermath: How I Coped
After the crises passed, life didn’t instantly return to normal. I had to redefine what normal meant. I came home with more than prenatal vitamins and doctors’ instructions- I came home with a deeper awareness of my mental health and the boundaries I needed to protect it. Coping became a daily practice, not a one-time fix. I continued therapy and stayed honest about how I was feeling. I permitted myself to rest- I learned to say no without guilt. I let my support system support me, which wasn’t always easy but was necessary.
Faith remained a foundation. Worship music played in the background of my day. Scriptures and quiet prayers gave me strength. When there is nothing more I can do, I pause, take a breath, and remind myself: You’ve made it this far; you’re still here. I also found comfort in journaling, walking, and connecting with other moms who had been through similar struggles.
Finding Purpose In The Pain
This experience broke me- but in the breaking, something beautiful happened. I began to see that my story wasn’t just about suffering; it was about surrender. It was about learning that strength isn’t pretending everything is okay- it’s having the courage to ask for help when it is not. Speaking out turned my pain into purpose. It reminded me that healing isn’t a straight line- but it’s real, and it’s possible.
On this blog, Spectrum, and Spirituality, I have always written from the heart- about the rawness of motherhood, the sacred moments, and all the moments in between. Most of what I’ve shared has been about parenting on the spectrum. But this post is a little different. This chapter of my story reminded me that mental health is part of that journey. I am becoming more aware that what happens within us is just as important. That our spirits deserve to be nurtured, too. And that quiet, slow, unseen healing is no less holy.
If you’re in a hard place right now, I hope this post reminds you that your pain doesn’t make you any less whole. You are not broken- you are becoming. And I am honored to walk this journey alongside you.