It was a Monday in September.
âGym dayâ at school.
I was in third grade.
Zack and I were dressed in our green sweatsuits that made us look like little lanky string beans.
Mom and dad sent us to the neighborâs house after school while we waited for the news.
âItâs a girl!â
We jumped up and down and cheered.
We had a little sister!
We drove the hospital and could barely contain our excitement.
We arrived, beaming with joy, and could hardly wait to cradle you in our arms.
Sweet Baby Jane.
I couldnât get enough of you.
Your tiny fingers and tiny toes.
Your big blue eyes.
You were a special one, a gift, a long-awaited blessing.
About a year before, Zack and I sat dumbfounded at the kitchen table as mom sobbed because she had lost the baby she was carrying.
The little one weâll never know.
We mourned the loss, not even knowing if the baby was to be a brother or a sister.
And then came you.
A little one whose arrival was an answer to prayer.
I remember singing you to sleep to Colors of the Wind,
Rocking you, holding you, kissing your small round face.
I adored you.
Everyone did.
I look back at gratitude journals from high school.
âIâm grateful for my little sister, Janeâ was written on every other page.
You brought so much joy to our lives.
You made us laugh until we cried.
You amazed us with your intellect and maturity.
But you had a secret.
We didnât know you felt so much pressure to always be funny, always be sweet, always be okay.
We didnât know you felt so alone, so unknown, and so misunderstood.
We didnât intend for you to have to hide that pain for so many years.
If only weâd known.
Iâm sorry we didnât know, sweet sister.
Iâm sorry you carried that alone.
The Surprise
Itâs now 24 years later.
On a Friday night in August.
Bill and I have just finished a game night with you and your boyfriend, Patrick.
We like him. Heâs kind. Heâs gentle. Heâs funny. You suit each other.
Weâre sitting on the couch in our basement as you look at us and say,
âPatrick and I have something to share with you guys.â
I pause and glance at your hand.
Engaged?
No ring.
âIâm having a baby in March.â
Time stands still.
I donât know what to do.
Instead of reacting (my norm), I respond to you with love.
I draw toward you and hug you, holding you tightly, trying to process what youâve just told us.
You begin to cry.
Both of us do.
âIt was a surprise, but weâre excited,” you continue through tears and a smile.
You’ve always been so good with children, so I imagine how you’ll be with one of your own.
You are 10 weeks along but had only known for about three weeks.
Just a few weeks before, you had finished an Ironman triathlonâŠpregnant.
You are already a fighter, someone who persists in the face of difficulty.
âWeâll figure it out. Weâll be okay,â you assure me, as you wipe away tears from your cheeks.
I want to ask you so many questions.
But they would likely have been condemning and shame-inducing.
And I know there is no place for condemnation or shame in this situation.
Because shame and love cannot coexist, and it’s not my role to judge.
Instead, I tell you about grace and love and compassion.
That all life is a gift.
That Iâm glad you are keeping the baby.
That we love you, support you, and are here for you.
We hug again.
I donât want to let you go.
I pray over your belly and the little one inside.
I pray for protection, peace, health, and strength.
For casting off any feelings of shame, guilt or judgment.
For wisdom about how to tell mom and dad.
The Awakening
I wake up the next morning.
I didnât sleep well.
I reach out to a few friends to begin to process the news.
One is a pastor and a friend of 15 years.
âItâs normal to grieve the unmet expectations of a lifeâŠbut then you have to let go.â
I lament how you donât have a strong community of support, a close network of girlfriends who can rally alongside you during this part of your journey.
Tori reassures me.
âShe has you.â
Bill and I spend the morning in the car, driving up to Pennsylvania for his alumni soccer game.
I go to the outlets while he relives his glory days.
Maybe some retail therapy will help.
On the way there, something in me breaks open and pours out.
Something painful.
Something raw.
I sob uncontrollably.
I cry the ugliest of cries.
I wail from the depths of my soul.
I cannot remember a time I have felt so intensely.
As I walk from shop to shop, I feel increasingly numb, listless, overcome with sadness.
I try to hold it together and pull myself together, as I always do.
But every few minutes, I start crying again.
I canât snap out of it.
The sadness wonât lift.
I call Bill through tears.
Iâm supposed to meet him and his buddies post-game at a bar.
âI canât be around anyone right now. I canât stop crying.â
I meet him at a restaurant for lunch.
He holds my hand.
Just when I think itâs over, another wave of tears and sadness passes over me.
I wipe away my tears and attempt to eat my lunch.
Iâm not hungry, but I need a distraction.
As we drive home, I feel sad, broken, emotionally exhausted.
I had just started seeing a therapist a few weeks prior.
I share the news with her at my next appointment.
I donât spare any details.
I cry some more.
She listens.
At the following appointment, she checks back with me to see how Iâm doing.
âWhen you left last time, I couldnât help but think, âThatâs an awfully strong reaction to someone elseâs pregnancy.ââ
I sat there in stillness,
Feeling the weight of her words.
âYes, I think youâre right.â
What if I was actually grieving the unmet expectations of my life?
You see, Iâve always been the career-driven woman, climbing the ladder of success.
I’ve defined myself and found my identity and worth at work.
By societyâs standards, Iâve been successful.
But I canât fight the feeling that something is missing.
That all of my efforts to impress and achieve are empty because they are trying to fill a void that no recognition, promotion or word of praise can fill.
For years, Iâve feared what having a kid would do to my future.
How could I handle my career and a baby?
How could I walk away from opportunities to advance, to be known, to build my platform?
I was blind to the possibility that motherhood could be beautiful and wonderful and fulfilling.
Because I was so wrapped up in the fear that it would destroy all that I thought I wanted.
So I suppressed my desire to be a mother.
For my entire adult life.
I recalled mom telling me she never saw herself as a mom before becoming one.
She didn’t see herself as the nurturing type.
âMaybe Iâm not meant to be a mom,â I reasoned.
My body gave me plenty of signals that this might be true.
Half a year of missed menstrual cycles and clinical malnourishment a few years ago.
Sacrificing my immune system and being diagnosed with mono last year.
Monthly cramps that were a recurring source of agony,
A reminder that something was wrong with my body.
I braced myself each month, anticipating the debilitating pain they would bring.
But now, in light of your pregnancy, the cramps took on new meaning for me.
Maybe they were a sign that my body was longing for something I refused to give it, that my empty womb was yearning to be filled.
I began to realize I had never truly opened myself up to a desire buried deep down in my soul that was now being stirred and awakened.
The desire to be a mom.
The Gift
On March 11th, he arrived.
7 pounds, 11 ounces.
With a name that means “strength” in Celtic.
Bryce Allen Wood.
You became a mom.
I went to the hospital to see you and hold this precious little life weâd prayed for months ago.
You courageously made it through a challenging and unexpected turn of events with his delivery.
You were beaming, proud to be a mom, enamored by your sweet baby boy.
It made me happy to see you so happy, so full of life and joy.
You were born to be a mother.
I held his tiny hand, kissed his tiny toes, gazed down at his little round face.
What a gift, what a blessing, what a wonderful surprise.
Nearly two weeks later, itâs a chilly Friday morning, and I awaken from a dream.
I rarely remember my dreams, but this one is unforgettable.
I dream that I am pregnant.
With a little bump under a pale pink shirt.
A symbol of a little girl, perhaps?
âIt happened on the first try!â I excitedly tell my friends in the dream.
I place my hand on my lower abdomen right where the bump would be.
I call Bill into the room.
âI had a great dream last night. I was pregnant.â
He hugs me and smiles,
âWhat a happy dream.â
Iâm grateful for you, my sweet, brave sister.
I’m grateful for all the lessons I’m learning from your journey to motherhood.
For the unexpected news you shared with us last summer.
For all that it broke open in me that I have worked so hard to suppress.
For the hope and excitement I now feel as I think about motherhood.
For taking me from fear to the possibility of life and love.
For unlocking my heart and its desire to be a mom.
Love,
Sissy
Michela
Rachel, I love this post. It is so raw, and full of emotion. I am so happy to see you learn and grow in this way. I wish you and Bill nothing but the best đ Congratulations to your sister and her new family and bundle of joy, he is adorable! Aren’t sisters the BEST?! They help even when they aren’t trying! <3
Michela
Rachel Druckenmiller
Thank you so much! Yes, it’s been so interesting to think of where I was on this issue a year ago and how open I am now to wanting children in my life. I know you want kiddos, too, so who knows – maybe we will end up going through that journey together! Yes, sisters are the best and my little nephew is such a sweet pea. I’m going to have her bring him to the office in June! đ