hope in 2001

Reading these journals is bringing back memories I haven't thought about in years.

I came across an entry from October 14, 2001.

"Well good news! Today I found out that I am pregnant."

You can practically feel the excitement jumping off the page. I was already figuring out due dates, planning trips, talking about finding a job, and imagining this baby that wasn't even here yet.

Then three days later I wrote:

"I guess I am NOT pregnant."

Talk about emotional whiplash.

I remember being absolutely devastated.

The doctor told me that because of my miscarriage, I could still have pregnancy hormones in my system causing a positive test. I remember sitting there feeling like such an idiot because I had been SO sure.

I wanted that baby.

What makes reading these entries so hard is knowing what had happened just a few months before. I had lost a baby at 14 weeks, and that loss absolutely wrecked me.

I found another journal entry where I wrote:

"My marriage sucks, we have no money, but my body and mind are calling for another baby."

Now, reading that as a 45-year-old woman, I have to laugh a little.

Because honestly? That sounds exactly like something I would still say.

But underneath that sentence was a 20-year-old girl carrying a lot more pain than she let people see.

She wasn't stupid.

She wasn't irresponsible.

She was grieving.

She was trying to figure out marriage, motherhood, money, family drama, and who she was supposed to become all at the same time.

I wish I could sit down with that 20-year-old version of myself and tell her a few things.

First, I would tell her to stop being so hard on herself.

Second, I would tell her that life eventually works out, even when it looks nothing like the plan.

And finally, I would tell her that one day she would have a house full of kids.

The thing that stands out to me most while reading these journals isn't the mistakes I made.

Trust me, there are plenty of those.

There are choices I wish I could take back. Things I would absolutely do differently if I had the chance.

But there is also something else.

Hope.

No matter how hard things got, I never stopped hoping.

I never stopped wanting a family.

I never stopped believing things could get better.

And maybe that's why I can't stop reading these journals.

They aren't just stories about my past.

They're reminders of who I was, where I've been, and how far I've come.

And if I'm being completely honest, I think they're helping me write this book as much as I'm helping tell their story.