“Keep it close and sacred,” I say.

But only when we have the courage, strength, and capacity to carry it alone. And now, I need help. I cannot do this alone. I desperately need my village.

I write this feeling empty, incapable, terrified, weak, heartbroken, and absolutely devastated.

On Christmas morning, we were gifted the blessing of our second baby. Yesterday, we learned that I had a 9-week ectopic pregnancy. If you’re not aware of what this is, it’s when a baby implants and begins growing outside of the womb — an immediate and life-threatening situation for the mother.

In our case, our baby began growing between my uterus and fallopian tube, an incredibly dangerous circumstance. Although our baby had a heartbeat, it was not a viable pregnancy. I was rushed into emergency surgery for only me to be saved.

This has been the most terrifying, heartbreaking and earth shattering experience.

I share this for awareness and to humbly ask for help.

Right now, I cannot lift my son. I cannot pick him up or play with him. I cannot pack our home as we prepare for an imminent move. I cannot move without pain.

And alongside this loss and recovery, we are facing a financial reality we never anticipated.

We missed our insurance switch by just four days. My husband’s benefits had not yet begun, and we had just dropped our Blue Cross coverage in anticipation of this transition. We truly did not believe that being uninsured for a single month could result in such an overwhelming burden. Our coverage begins February 1st, but this emergency surgery and hospital care are now to be paid entirely out of pocket.

The weight of grief, recovery, caring for our child, preparing for a move, and navigating these unexpected medical expenses has simply become too much to carry alone.

If you feel called and have the capacity to support us financially — whether through a donation, sharing this page, or holding us in prayer — it would mean more than words can express.

Every contribution helps ease the very real strain we are under as we grieve, heal, and try to find our footing again.

I am learning, painfully and humbly, how to ask for help. I am choosing to trust. I am choosing faith.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for witnessing our story. Thank you for being part of our village.

May your kindness return to you tenfold.