Kaitlyn’s Story
My husband, JT, and I started trying to get pregnant in March of 2020. COVID-19 quarantine had just begun and we were both working from home. I was filled with excitement at this time, dreaming of the future while equally being completely unaware of what the following months would hold. I just thought it was all so simple—a positive test leads to a healthy baby. I had never before considered the possibility of losing a baby, although I knew how common that outcome was.
Fast forward to the first week of May. I unexpectedly began to bleed eight days before my expected period. I remember it clear as day—the very intense cramping. I was at a friend’s house for “church” in quarantine, and I could barely sit. I assumed my cycle had come early, and the sadness set in that I had still not gotten pregnant. I shed a good amount of tears on the ride home. The Advil I took wouldn’t even touch the abdominal pain I was experiencing.
I kept hoping the cramping would subside. But then I started having other symptoms, unlike my usual cycle. It was all abnormal to me. After three days of these symptoms my curiosity grew. Could I be pregnant? Some women I knew had these symptoms during pregnancy, so I wondered if that was what was happening to me too. I got myself a test, and to my shock and awe, I saw a faint line. I was completely shocked and genuinely excited! But something in me knew the symptoms I was experiencing weren’t a good sign.
During this time, I experienced more anxiety than I ever thought possible. I couldn’t find words to accurately express my fear and pain. I decided to take another test to see if it was still positive. The anxiety I felt while waiting for the short (though seemingly endless) three minutes was unnerving. When the test results showed up, they were even fainter than before. My heart sank and tears streamed down my face at an almost uncontrollable rate. It occurred to me that what my body was doing at that very moment was letting go of the life inside me. I wished I could tell my body to stop what it was doing, but I knew I had zero control. JT grabbed me and held me as we both knew we wouldn’t get to meet this sweet little one on this side of eternity. Realizing that I was miscarrying was one of the most deeply painful and personal feelings I’ve ever felt.
What was I supposed to do next? Was I supposed to just let these symptoms continue? Were we supposed to tell our family? Oh, the pain of that felt like too much to bear after the excitement of announcing our pregnancy to them just a few days before. What embarrassment I faced as these thoughts raced through my head. I naturally value intimate conversations, brutal honesty, and connection below the surface, but for the first time in my life, I felt like this was way too personal to allow out of my mouth.
I went to the doctor to confirm that I had lost my baby. They were kind and hopeful, reminding me how common it was. They also said I was further along than I had thought—6.5 or 7 weeks. After confirming the news of my miscarriage, I didn’t feel much at all. The drive home was silent. I didn’t want to listen to music, talk to anyone, or really think at all. I felt numb.
I took a few days to think on how to tell people. I didn’t want to hear the condolences even though I knew they’d be meant well. It made me feel even more vulnerable—and even somewhat shameful. Could I have caused any of this? Would they think something was wrong with me? “Please don’t ask me how I am. I don’t know how to respond,” I thought. I don’t think anyone really knows exactly how to respond to someone else’s grief. Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure what I even needed. How could I expect others to know? Instead, I rested in the fact that the Lord was my portion; He was more than enough. He knew the longings of my heart and the“groanings too deep for words.”
JT shared the news of our loss with our family and close friends while I sat behind the camera, crying in silent, as was my normal state those days. The amount of people who reached out in love and support to us was overwhelming in the best way. God’s people are one of His beautiful instruments of grace and love to us.
One of the only things I could articulate to JT was, “I don’t want to forget. I’m scared I will forget our baby.” It still doesn’t fully feel real that this has happened to me because I don’t have anything to “show” for the inner turmoil I endured. Miscarriage truly is a silent grief. You’re left with nothing but the pregnancy test that alerted you of your baby’s existence. So much of this has felt so lonely. It’s not something I’ve been able to articulate well, and I often wish others could be transported into my heart, mind, and body to experience all I do. But, I rest in the fact that God knows me intimately and supplies all I need in Him.
In the months following, we began trying to conceive again. Each month, I felt okay until the week before my cycle was to come. Then I was left fighting anxious thoughts and longings that only God knew and understood. It felt so undoing—that’s the best word I could use to describe it all. Every month I would try to restrain myself from testing early, trying to protect myself from the pain of another negative test. Sometimes I would cry at the negative test, and sometimes I felt surprisingly peaceful. Sometimes I felt that we needed to try again and again, and other months I would refrain from checking the calendar so as to not become obsessive.
It has now been ten months since this process began, and seven since the miscarriage. If I have learned anything, it’s that there’s no formula for any of this. There’s no hope you can cling to in your own schedule or body. Our hope is in Jesus Christ alone. The undoing process of sanctification as it relates to motherhood has exposed all the ugliness of my heart—entitlement, jealousy, fear, worry, anger, and wrong thinking. Yet, at the same time, it has revealed to me God’s listening ear and His grace, comfort, truth, and love Lamentations 3:33 says that “God does not afflict from His heart.” God is not cruel in how He relates to me. Rather, His refinement of me is His love expressed to me.
At times it feels like it’s the season of babies everywhere I look. Each time I hear another pregnancy announcement, my heart is exposed once more to the depth of my pain and longing that God alone knows. But my experience cannot be compared to others. My hope cannot rest in the ever changing lives of others, but I can rest in the promise that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. And He is making my story beautiful even if it doesn’t look like someone else’s.
God is in the business of taking broken things, broken hearts and thoughts and experiences, and making them into beautiful masterpieces—not because of the vessels He uses, but because of His hands crafting it. There’s something so profoundly intimate about how God uses suffering to draw us near to Him. He is close to the broken-hearted. Through it all, God saw me. He inclined His ear to me.
I find all I need in God as my portion, no matter the outcome. I wouldn’t have wished for any of this, but God knew this before the foundation of the world. Some people say to me,”This will be worth it when you have a baby.” But that’s really not the goal. God is my hope, not a healthy pregnancy or baby. God is my peace, not a positive test. I would not take any of this back because every sorrow and suffering comes from my Father’s hand. I can say with my fellow believers, it is well with my soul. Come what may; Great is Thy faithfulness. I wait on You, oh God. I wait for you.
- Kaitlyn
Hope Mom to Baby Stead
Kaitlyn is a full-time youth pastor’s wife, happily serving alongside her husband, JT. She helps her friend homeschool her children, and loves to teach. She enjoys reading, being outside, and spending time with friends, family, youth group girls, and all her friends’ little ones. She has one baby in heaven, and is hopeful for more children in the future. She couldn’t imagine a more fulfilling life than serving the Lord and His church alongside her husband.
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