Grief is an experience unlike any other, and it can take many forms. For me, the grief I felt after the loss of Brexton was unimaginable—both in its depth and its complexity. The sadness, the confusion, the overwhelming emotions—they were all consuming. But what made my grief even more difficult was the onset of severe postpartum depression, which hit me harder than I ever could have anticipated. And the worst part? It was compounded by the fact that I was grieving a child I never even had the chance to meet.
Postpartum depression is already a serious and challenging condition. It affects so many new mothers, leaving them emotionally drained, disconnected, and lost. But when you add the loss of your child into the equation, it creates a pain so deep, it can feel suffocating. My doctor told me that the depression that comes with childbirth is hard on its own, but that the loss of a baby makes everything exponentially worse. And I can say, from experience, that those words couldn’t have been truer.
In the weeks immediately following Brexton’s loss, I was numb. Completely numb. The grief
was so all-encompassing that it felt like I couldn’t even process it. My emotions were all over the place. I was confused, disoriented, and honestly just trying to survive each day. I went through the motions, but I wasn’t truly living. For two to three weeks, I felt like I was walking through life in a fog, disconnected from everything and everyone around me.
Once that numbness began to wear off, and I started to adjust to what had become my new reality, I thought things might get better. But what I didn’t expect was the overwhelming rush of emotions that hit me once the numbness faded. The grief became more intense. I became someone I didn’t recognize. And I mean that in the most profound way. I lost myself during that time.
The most shocking part of it all was how my behavior started to spiral. The emotions were so raw and overwhelming that I felt like I couldn’t control them. I made decisions that were completely out of character for me, things that I now look back on with regret. I remember trying to divorce my husband, for absolutely no reason. I moved out of our home for a month, coming and going as I pleased, unsure of what I wanted or needed. I withdrew from everyone—my family, my friends, even my husband. The people who loved me and wanted to help me were left in the dark, unable to reach me. And I wasn’t okay.
In those moments, the thought of being with my babies—Brexton and the two I had lost before—felt like a comfort. I found myself thinking that maybe it would be easier to be with them for good. I started partying almost every weekend, which was completely out of character for me. It was almost like I was trying to numb the pain, to fill the void with temporary distractions. I deleted all of my family posts on Instagram and began posting as though I was living life completely on my own. This was so unlike me—my family is everything to me. My husband, my stepdaughter, my loved ones—they are my world. I do everything for them. But there I was, acting in a way that was completely foreign to the person I knew myself to be.
People who truly cared about me were trying to talk me down, to remind me of who I was and help me come back to reality, but it felt like nothing was working. I thought I was doing what I needed to do to cope, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t right. I knew I was spiraling. I didn’t know how to stop the pain or even how to make sense of it.
Eventually, I moved back in with my husband, and as much as I tried to ignore it, I realized I couldn’t keep living the way I was. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t even sure who I was anymore. I felt completely lost, and it was in that moment that I realized I had hit rock bottom. I had to make a change.
I’ll never forget the moment I just started to pray. I don’t even know what led me to that point, but I felt like I had nowhere else to turn. I spent three days praying—three days of asking for guidance, for strength, for healing. On the morning of the fourth day, I woke up, and I felt something I hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever—calm. It wasn’t an instant fix, but it was the beginning of something that would change everything for me.
In that moment, I realized that my anger toward God—the anger I had been holding onto since Brexton’s loss—had been consuming me. I had been angry with Him for taking my babies from me, but after those three days of prayer, something shifted. I wasn’t angry anymore. I felt peace, a peace that I had been longing for but hadn’t known how to find. And with that peace came the ability to begin healing.
Over time, I started to reconnect with myself. Slowly but surely, I began to find my way back to the person I was before all of this pain took over. I found a new normal in life after loss—one that would never be the same as it was before, but one that allowed me to breathe again, to move forward, and to live in a way that honored the memory of Brexton.
Through this process, my relationship with God deepened in ways I never expected. I had always been a faithful person, but this experience changed me in ways that words can’t fully describe. It wasn’t just about my faith anymore—it became about a deeper understanding of grief, healing, and the power of resilience. I began to see my own struggles as part of a bigger story, and that realization helped me heal in ways I never thought possible.
As I began to heal, I found that I had become an inspiration to others—someone who could offer hope to those who were going through their own dark times. My grief was no longer just my burden; it became a source of strength and encouragement for others.
Grief is undeniably hard. But when you’re grieving a baby, especially one you never got to formally meet, the pain is in a league of its own. It’s a kind of pain that is impossible to explain unless you’ve experienced it yourself. The grief, the emptiness, the longing—it’s a loss unlike any other. But I want others who are struggling to know that there is hope. There is light after the darkness, even if it seems far away.
The journey through grief is not linear, and it’s not easy. There are days when the weight of it feels too much to bear, and there are days when you feel like you’re making progress. But if you take it one step at a time, with faith and support, you will find your way back to yourself. You’ll discover a new normal, one that honors the memory of your loved one but also allows you to keep moving forward.
To anyone out there who is struggling with grief, postpartum depression, or the loss of a child—know that you are not alone. It’s okay to feel lost, it’s okay to feel broken, and it’s okay to ask for help. Your journey may not look like anyone else’s, but there is hope. There is healing. And there is a new chapter waiting for you, even if it takes time to turn the page.
Keep going, and hold on. You are stronger than you know, and you will find your way through this.
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