Breathing Through the Journey

Recently, I was asked a question that made me pause:

“What does support look like to you now and what doesn’t help?”

It made me realize how many thoughtful and complicated questions I’ve been asked lately. So I decided I’m going to start answering here—one by one.

So here we go. Question one.

This might end up sounding like the most confusing answer ever, because the truth is… I don’t fully know yet. I’m still figuring it out.

Right now, one of the biggest ways I support myself is through this blog. Writing has become my outlet— a place where I can process, vent, reflect, and sometimes just breathe. When it comes to support from others, though, it really depends on the day, my mood, my physical symptoms, and my emotional capacity at that moment.

And yes—that probably sounds complicated. Because it is.

Support Through the Medical Diagnosis

One of the biggest ways people can support me right now is simply understanding my limits and being flexible with plans.

For example, walking long distances is tough for me at the moment, and weather—especially cold air— can seriously impact my breathing. If something involves a lot of walking or being outside, I usually need extra preparation.

But even when I prepare, sometimes my body just says, nope.

That might mean we need to pivot plans.

And here’s the ironic part: professionally, I’m great at pivoting. In my personal life? Hell no. I’m a planner. I like structure. So when my health forces changes, it genuinely frustrates me—sometimes more than people realize.

That doesn’t automatically mean I want to cancel plans, though. And oddly enough, being asked “Well, what works for you?” in those moments can actually overwhelm me. When I’m already struggling physically or emotionally, making decisions can feel like too much, and I start to shut down.

Sometimes support looks like:

• Offering an alternative instead of a question
• Picking me up instead of expecting me to drive
• Changing the location without making it a big deal
• Understanding that “different plans” still count as showing up

And honestly? Sometimes Brandon can read how I’m doing better than I can explain it. If you’re unsure, he usually has a good sense of what’s going on with me.

Food & Adjustments

Food has been another adjustment. My diet has changed (low sodium; 1500mg), and I’m learning as I go. I don’t expect people to plan around me, so a lot of the time I’ll bring my own meals or snacks when visiting friends. It just removes the pressure for everyone and helps me stay consistent with what I need. Not going to sugarcoat it though, figuring out food right now can be frustrating. I’m still learning what works, what doesn’t, and how to balance being social while also taking care of my health. If I seem a little stressed about food, I ask for grace. I’m not mad at anyone else, I’m mad at the situation and getting used to the change.

What Doesn’t Help (Even If It Comes From Love)

Let’s start with this one: please don’t be overly cautious.

Repeatedly asking if I’m okay is exhausting. I know I’m not 100%, but I am managing. Being treated like I’m fragile or incapable actually makes me feel worse, not better. If I need help, I will ask for it.

That said—there are times I do need help and struggle to ask. I’m still figuring out that balance.

Also, if I go quiet when I am with you, especially if I’m in pain, I’m usually trying to stay calm and focused on breathing. Conversations in those moments can actually make it harder for me to regulate myself. Silence isn’t rejection—sometimes it’s survival mode.

And while I am an open book, answering the same heavy questions repeatedly can be draining. That’s part of why this blog exists. It allows me to share once, thoughtfully, instead of reliving it in every conversation. One stop shop.

Support Around Losing the Baby

This part is harder to talk about, mostly because I don’t think I’ve fully processed it yet.

Some days I can talk about it calmly. Other days, the grief hits later—when I’m home, alone, or caught off guard.

My best friend just had a baby boy. My sister is expecting my nephew. At one point, our kids were going to grow up together—same milestones, shared memories, all of it. That picture looks different now, and some days that reality hits harder than others.

But I want to be clear about something:

I don’t want people to avoid talking about their babies around me.

I want the pictures. The stories. The updates. I want to be part of their joy. Yes, I may have emotional days—but protecting me by avoiding the topic actually makes me feel more isolated.

I will be okay. And I still believe that one day we will have a child. Just not right now.

So What Does Support Look Like?

It looks like flexibility.
Grace.
Presence without pressure.
Understanding that I’m learning in real time.

I’m going to therapy. I’m praying. I’m adjusting. I’m breathing through it.

One day at a time.

If you’ve ever had a question about this journey — the health side, the grief side, or how I’m navigating it all — you can ask. Message me. Drop it in a question box. Some of them may end up here.

One question at a time.
One breath at a time.

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”
— Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring