Almost Forty: A Reflection of 30 and the Beauty of the Wildflowers

Thirty.

I slid into a new decade holding a new baby in my arms and grief, from a miscarriage, in my belly. The end of my twenties was such a bittersweet exit that I did not hold space for my entrance into the new beginning of what turning thirty meant to me. I did not allow myself to find beauty or inhale the moment because from 29 to 30, I loved and lost and loved again. Entering thirty with a baby after having a miscarriage the day before my 29th birthday felt like an exhale more than an inhale. It felt like a lean over the finish line instead of a run-through to victory.

I arrived in part, to some degree. Postpartum Anxiety held the pieces I couldn’t find the glue to put her back together perfectly.

Arriving as woman who died a little. Carrying grief no one could understand but reborn into a woman not yet known: Art untitled. Sometimes, we don’t meet the woman within us we desire to embrace until we’ve learned to allow those chapters of our lives a place in the soil to exist freely.

Wildflowers want to be noticed too. Pressing through the soil, growing, even if it wasn't planted with intention. Parts of our stories are the wildflowers. Not what we intended to plant and grow but it still makes the garden beautiful.

How do you find your way back when society tells you that only joy matters? Yet grief reminds you to lean deeper into the beautiful complexities of your experiences. A constant pendulum of joy and pain. Thirty began my journey of trying to figure out how to honor the two. Learning how to let grief guide me into a deeper love. At the end of that 30th year, I decided to quit my job at NASA and smell the wildflowers. A tiny step towards healing, a small light on the path.

I turn 40 on July 9.

If He never does anything else, He’s done more than enough.

Selah.