The beauty of the NICU is that it has a way of unassumingly rewriting everything. I didn't plan to write from here. I didn’t even plan to be here. But living through a NICU stay changes a person.
This is a space for the duality of this season: a long-term, devastatingly beautiful NICU stay. For every NICU family learning to take baby steps in a job they never applied to, it’s a virtual comfort room for preemie loved ones, hard-won survivors, and every soul in their village who loves someone who has ever been wired, watched, prayed over, and waited on. For the grief-carrying, faith-gripping, “love-will-find-a-way” parents whose bodies are healing while their hearts are still holding their breath.
For the ones grieving the birth they planned, the pregnancy they lost, the life that existed before the NICU swallowed everything whole. For the quietly-breaking village members who don't know what to say but refuse to leave. For the ones whose NICU story ended in the hardest way, your grief is held here too.
I wanted to create a space that was honest and unhurried, written from the middle of it. I’m not writing from the safe space of healed or coming from a place of ease. This is a raw and unfiltered look at the uncertainties every NICU parent experiences. I’m not waiting until I’m healed to talk about this. I am learning to surrender, to trust the pace, and to heal in community, one honest letter at a time, and I hope you’ll join me in this journey
For every human who learned a language nobody taught them in the middle of the most terrifying season of their life.
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