Today, we walk in a story only God could have written. A redemption only He could have orchestrated. A blend of grain and oil and frankincense that only He could have provided.

We got pregnant the first time we tried, but what followed wasn’t just joy—it was trauma, grief, and hard decisions. My toxic in-laws' emotional abuse collided with my first pregnancy, triggering protective instincts I didn’t know I had. That journey, marked by early loss and healing, reshaped how my husband and I approach parenting, boundaries, and faith. This is a story of trauma, hope, and redemption.

I did not want to conceive in fear, believing something would go wrong. I did not want to begin my journey to motherhood believing I was incapable, sick, and less than any other woman. I began to feel like that would be the failure.

I spiraled. I questioned everything. I asked God if they were right — over and over again. But then… God named me. Over and over and over again.

I want to make certain that you know where I stand – and where I don’t. Because I don’t want to tread lightly or disrespect the stories of women in this space.

When TR excitedly asked his father what he thought at the end of the weekend, he was told, “Well, she’s sassy.” And I guess that is how it started. The true origin story. The one I accidently stumbled into, an unwitting victim.