When I became a mom, I expected the newborn haze.
I expected sleepless nights, cluster feeds, and the kind of love that rearranges your entire world.

What I didn’t expect was to almost die.

No one prepares you for the version of motherhood that begins with trauma.
No one prepares you for the shock, the fear, the ambulance lights, the “we need to move now” urgency.
And no one prepares you for the identity shift that comes after.

But that’s where my story really begins.

When a routine checkup turned into a fight for my life

After six years of infertility, doctors, procedures, and more heartbreak than we ever imagined, finally being pregnant felt like a miracle.

So when I walked into what was supposed to be a standard checkup, I had no reason to think anything would be wrong.
Nothing felt unusual. Nothing alarming.

Until it was.

The nurse’s face changed.
My blood pressure was dangerously high.
Labs came back immediately concerning.
Words like preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome were suddenly being thrown into the room faster than I could process.

And then the doctor said it:

I needed to be transferred right now.

Not later.
Not “we’ll monitor you.”
Right now.

An ambulance was called to take me across the state to the nearest hospital with a NICU because the only way to save my life, and my baby’s, was to deliver him.

I remember being strapped to the stretcher.
I remember the sirens.
I remember clutching my belly and praying.
I remember realizing, with devastating clarity:

This is happening.
We have to deliver.
This is the only way.

The birth story I had imagined and fought for dissolved into something entirely different. Something urgent, frightening, and out of my control.

Survival changes you

When trauma hits that quickly, gratitude and fear coexist.
You’re grateful to be alive.
You’re grateful your baby is alive.
But you’re also grieving the birth you didn’t get.

Everyone tells you,
“Just be thankful.”
“You’re both here and that’s what matters.”

And you are thankful.

But survival rearranges you.
It shifts your priorities, your identity, and your sense of what truly matters.

I walked out of that experience alive, but not the same.

The decision that broke me open

Once I healed physically, another part of the journey began.

I knew I wanted more children.
But my doctor looked me in the eyes and said:

“You may not be able to get pregnant again.
And if you do, the risk to your life is very real.”

So my husband and I had to face an impossible question:

Would our son rather have a sibling…
or a mom?

That question shattered me.

We cried.
We talked endlessly.
We grieved the family we expected to have.
And eventually, we made the most loving choice we could:

We would pursue surrogacy.

We chose my life.
We chose the mom our son already had.

And then life surprised us again.

The miracle I never expected

Despite everything we were told, I got pregnant naturally.

No treatments.
No interventions.
Just… a miracle.

And while that second pregnancy was emotionally complex, filled with hope mixed with fear. It also gave me clarity about what I wanted my life to look like.

Surviving HELLP and preeclampsia had changed me.
Becoming a mom had changed me.
Facing mortality had changed me.
A miracle pregnancy had changed me again.

And suddenly, the path I’d been on no longer fit.

Motherhood forced me to ask new questions

After the trauma, I didn’t want my old life back.
I didn’t want high-pressure jobs, long hours, or the version of success that demanded I sacrifice time with my children.

What I wanted was simple:

To be present.
To be at home.
To still have purpose.
To still contribute.
To still feel like me.

But no one gives you a roadmap for rebuilding your identity after trauma.
No one teaches you how to find purpose when you’re trying to heal physically and emotionally.
No one explains how heavy it feels to be grateful… and lost at the same time.

I know now that so many moms feel this way long before anyone hands them permission to say it out loud.

How the trauma led me to a completely different kind of work

In searching for a way to earn income from home without sacrificing my health or motherhood, I started to dabble in new things:

Print-on-demand.
Etsy.
Design.
Content.
Anything that fit into tiny windows of time.

Eventually, I discovered mockups.
Then AI.
Then the creative freedom that changed everything.

What started as small experiments during nap time turned into a six-figure Etsy shop.
Not because I wanted to “hustle.”
But because I wanted:

• stability

• safety

• flexibility

• identity

• something that didn’t risk my life or take me away from my kids

• Something that was just mine

And as that business grew, I realized something bigger:

There are so many moms trying to find themselves again after trauma, postpartum challenges, infertility, NICU stays, identity shifts, or simply the emotional weight of motherhood.

My work became about more than mockups.
It became about giving moms options.
A new chapter.
A new way to rebuild.
A way to earn income without sacrificing the moments that matter.

If you’re reading this, maybe you needed to hear this too

Maybe your birth didn’t go as planned.
Maybe you’re carrying trauma no one sees.
Maybe you’re trying to rediscover yourself while raising tiny humans.
Maybe you’re craving purpose, identity, or income that fits into motherhood not against it.

You’re not alone.
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re rebuilding and that’s powerful.

You deserve safety.
You deserve purpose.
You deserve options.
And you deserve a story you’re proud of.

Resources for the next chapter of your story