I don’t believe in trying to be better. I believe in working to be resilient and adaptable. Being “better” implies you weren’t good enough to begin with. That’s untrue. You are perfect at being just what you are, right now.

If you can adapt while keeping your principles intact, your environment becomes less of an obstacle and more of a classroom. You can take what happens to you and around you, and use it to further your purpose in life. Whatever that purpose may be.

And sometimes you have to prove to yourself that you are capable. I know this well. D and I got married in 2015, which was an eventful year full of ups and downs (identity theft, the story of which deserves its own blog; bought our first house; my face was broken). But December of that year was the most intense. I learned I was pregnant around November. We were so excited and happy. I had morning sickness, body changes, all of it. We shared news with family and some friends. But, I just knew deep down something was wrong. I chalked it up to my anxiety and OCD and forced myself to push it aside.

Then, on December 30, we went to my OB/GYN to hear the heartbeat of our little bug. Unfortunately, there was none to be heard. I had had a missed miscarriage. My body insisted everything was fine and refused to let go. I was absolutely devastated. I remember my doctor saying, “Would you like another ultrasound to make sure? I hope I’m wrong.” I told her, “I hope you’re wrong too.” She wasn’t.

What followed was multiple D&Cs and learning I had a bicornate uterus. Thankfully, my doctor anticipated potential issues and actively looked for and addressed them (something that would save me and my son in another, later pregnancy).

The first surgery for some godforsaken reason, they put me on the Maternity Ward. I remember feeling so hurt and telling the nurses that I would be back, but with a baby next time. The kindness in their eyes meant a lot. The second surgery was on Valentine’s Day (not the first, nor the last, Valentine’s Day I’d spend in the hospital), and we skipped the whole Maternity Ward nonsense.

The emotional aftermath gutted me. I fell into a deep, deep depression and self-loathing. Was it my fault? What did I do wrong? I went to a friend’s baby shower and smiled bravely then went home and cried myself to sleep. I felt like shell of myself.

Then, one day when I was running on the treadmill, I got mad. Just angry at the world for this narrative around pregnancy. Why is “miscarry” a verb? Like it’s something we actively do? F*** that. I had a miscarriage; it happened to me despite the fact that I did everything right.

I needed to prove to myself that I could do hard things and take control of power again. So, on that treadmill, I decided to audition to sing the National Anthem at our AAA-affiliate of the LA Angels baseball team, the Salt Lake Bees. They let me in and in early May of 2016, I sang on the field, having never ever sang in public before (except at my wedding, which was like 30 friends and family). I have evidence that I didn’t suck, although, honestly I don’t remember doing it.

After that, I was back. I was still very sad about our loss, but I knew I had the power to be resilient. I could honor what was, what could have been, and still look to the future.

As Mother’s Day approached, I became worried about my emotional state as that holiday is a minefield for women. However, on that day I learned I was pregnant again. And I could be happy in that. I was changed forever, but that experience gave me what I needed to tackle what was coming: our dear baby A, who was born with a cleft and a feisty spirit like my own, exactly one year later to the day we learned of our first loss, on December 30.

So while we can’t control what happens to us, we can control what we choose to do with it. Honor those feelings of loss and hopelessness; but figure out how to use them to serve you instead of the other way around. Don’t be better. Be resilient. Because you can.

Namaste.