The Unshakable Foundation of Self-Worth

From my earliest memories, my parents instilled in me a profound sense of self-worth. They would often say, “You are such a pretty little girl. No matter what, you are perfect exactly as you are, because God made you, and He doesn’t make mistakes. ❤️” This affirmation became the bedrock of my identity, a truth I carried into adulthood and passionately shared with others.

As I grew, whether raising my own children or mentoring young people, I felt an undeniable urge to remind them to know who they are and whose they are. This foundational belief in inherent value and divine creation was not just a comforting thought; it was a guiding principle. Little did I know, life was preparing to test the very core of this belief, pushing me to confront my convictions in ways I could never have anticipated.

The Onset of a Hidden Battle: Hyperemesis Gravidarum

The ordeal began subtly, a creeping sickness that soon escalated into something far more sinister than typical morning sickness. My body, once vibrant and energetic, became a battleground. The simple act of packing for a move, something usually mundane, became an insurmountable task. My husband, Cade, took over, patiently holding up items and asking, “Donate or pack?” Each question was a gentle reminder of my rapidly diminishing capacity.

Then, one morning, the delicate facade of normalcy completely shattered. The relentless nausea, the constant vomiting, and the profound exhaustion reached a critical point. I remember my girlfriend, a true angel, would quietly slip into my house without knocking, offering a silent check-in. She understood the unspoken needs of someone grappling with Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG). She’d take my girls only if I gave a clear affirmative, leaving behind a trail of love and respect for my boundaries.

Patients with HG desperately need to feel some semblance of control when their lives are spiraling. Well-meaning individuals often try to “take charge,” but when your world is already utterly out of control, additional infringements on personal autonomy can be overwhelming. My friend respected my occasional need for everyone to be home, understanding that the alternative was a desperate, isolating loneliness. But after she left that day, an inescapable truth settled in: I knew I was going to be admitted to the hospital.

Life in the Hospital: A Journey Through Despair

A quick text brought a compassionate friend to my side. She drove me to the hospital, silently witnessing my tears as my doctor confirmed the inevitable: readmission, and this time, the grim necessity of feeding tubes. It’s a sobering “fun fact” for those unfamiliar with HG: you can indeed throw up feeding tubes. It’s a literal nightmare that adds another layer of horror to an already unbearable condition.

This particular hospital stay was solely to prepare me for the feeding tubes. I was wheeled into a room and placed on a bed specifically designed to weigh me in situ, a necessary precaution because my muscles were so atrophied from prolonged immobility and starvation that getting up could cause them to crumble. Alone again, disconnected from my own home, a profound sense of isolation washed over me. Each week brought another ultrasound to check on our precious baby. This time, the news was a devastating blow: his heart didn’t look right. The gut-wrenching question echoed in my mind, “Did I do this to him? Did my illness prevent him from developing properly?” The heartache was immense, a burden of guilt layered upon an already unbearable physical agony.

A Glimmer of Hope Amidst the Storm

It was one of those truly bleak days. You know the kind: the sky remains perpetually dark, the sun attempts to rise but never truly breaks through. Rain hammered against the hospital window, then trickled down the pane, blurring my view of the parking lot into an indistinguishable grey. It felt profoundly significant. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, rain had always symbolized coziness and home, a stark contrast to the relentless torment of Hyperemesis Gravidarum that held me captive. I longed for the comfort of familiar rain, yet hated what this illness was doing to me.

That day, I remember feeling an eerie stillness. My thoughts dwelled on our unborn son and the unsettling news about his heart. The cafeteria phone rang again, an insistent, almost mocking reminder to order food I couldn’t possibly consume. The mere thought of it made me want to curl up in bed, to seek some elusive comfort from the nausea, yet I remained glued in place, knowing that even the slightest movement would trigger another round of violent vomiting. I held perfectly still, watching those dark clouds gather.

Our blog, everything Cade and I had lovingly built, felt utterly forgotten. My desire to continue anything, even life itself, had vanished. Life seemed too short, even if we somehow made it through this ordeal. All I wanted was to be home again, to reclaim a semblance of my former existence.

And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, the tiniest ray of light pierced through the ominous, dark cloud. It was a singular moment of pure light and unyielding hope amidst the crushing darkness. In that instant, I felt the Spirit whisper to me, a clear echo of God’s declaration to Moses: “I have a work for thee. Your ministry is not yet complete.” In that profound moment, I knew there would be a way forward. This platform, this voice I had cultivated, was given to me for a reason. It was time to start sharing our story.

The Unveiling of Truth and Anticipating Backlash

The decision was made, the purpose clear. I texted Cade immediately: “Bring me my laptop. I need to write a blog post.” And true to his unwavering support, he did. That post, titled Hyperemesis Gravidarum, it’s not morning sickness, was a raw and honest outpouring of my experience. While I didn’t know it then, this act of vulnerability would usher in the absolute worst of times, inviting attacks and criticisms against me that I never imagined people were capable of uttering. It perfectly described the perpetual internal struggle I felt throughout those two challenging years of house hunting and grappling with another HG pregnancy.

Facing the Storm: The Bison Mentality

My wise friend, @caleereed, once taught me a powerful lesson about resilience. She explained that when a big rainstorm approaches, cows often turn and try to outrun it. In doing so, they end up running alongside the rain, inadvertently prolonging their discomfort and exposure to the elements. However, studies have shown that bison, when confronted with an oncoming storm, do the exact opposite. They turn and face it. In fact, they charge directly into the storm, running straight through it, emerging on the other side much sooner. Their pain and discomfort are significantly shortened because they choose to confront the challenge head-on and push through.

This powerful analogy resonated deeply with my experience. You truly “can’t outrun the rain,” so why not “lift your arms open wide and feel the cleansing that comes through the rain”? The pain and discomfort of Hyperemesis Gravidarum became the most grueling ordeal I had ever endured. But by my third pregnancy – and HG is notoriously worse with each subsequent pregnancy – I made a conscious decision to adopt the bison mentality. I decided to push hard, to face the storm head-on.

My desire to see the good in every situation, to maintain a positive outlook, and to continue writing those letters of encouragement so I could still serve others, all fueled my determination to push through the physical agony. Yet, even after enduring so much, a new kind of pain awaited me, one I had never anticipated, a pain I would also have to survive.

The Deepest Cut: Online Attacks and the Weight of Vulnerability

As the sickness finally entered the “good months” – those phases where it mercifully transformed into regular nausea and only occasional daytime vomiting, a truly manageable state for an HG survivor – my clothes began to fit again. I felt an immense sense of relief and accomplishment, almost on cloud nine. I was proud of myself, humbled by the sheer fact of surviving, and eager to read how readers had responded to my story. And respond they did, but not in the way I expected:

• “You are the worst person I have ever heard of. How dare you get pregnant just to become skinny!!”
• “I hope you die, go ahead and do it, you already look like it anyway.”
• “Your children should be taken away from you, they deserve better than you as their mother.”
• “You are disgusting and need help for your mental issues. You clearly just want us to see that you are skinny. You probably aren’t even pregnant, you’re just seeking attention!”

I will spare you the rest, as the language and personal attacks escalated tenfold, becoming far more vitriolic and disturbing. Reading the flood of emails, comments, and messages left me paralyzed, unable to move. The physical suffering of HG had been immense, but this new pain – the pain of hateful judgment and baseless accusations – struck a different, deeper chord. It was a brutal reminder that sharing one’s light and truth can sometimes attract the darkest shadows, exposing a side of humanity I was ill-prepared to confront. Yet, in that moment of profound hurt, the lessons of self-worth and resilience instilled in me from childhood became more vital than ever.