When I discovered I was pregnant again—after a fierce argument in which Wordfather and I had decided to separate—it felt as if the ground beneath my feet disappeared. The anger and frustration from that fight were still fresh, the words echoing loudly in my mind. We had made the decision. We had chosen to go our separate ways. And then, at that exact moment, I found myself standing there, carrying new life inside me.
The emotions that rushed through me were a confusing mix of disbelief, fear, and deep uncertainty. How could this happen? Just when everything was about to move in a different direction, life itself seemed to come to a halt. It felt as though I had been thrown into a storm—one where nothing was certain anymore.
I kept asking myself how on earth I was supposed to do this. Alone. With Professor Son already at home, and now another child on the way. The anger I felt toward Wordfather and toward the situation itself was quickly overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. This new life inside me did not bring the joy one might expect. Instead, it tied a knot in my stomach—a heavy awareness that everything had suddenly become even more complicated.
As the reality of the pregnancy settled in, I felt the walls around me closing in. The weight of responsibility pressed down on my shoulders. I didn’t know how to move forward, how to embrace this new turn in my life while the storm was still raging. The uncertainty, the fear, the loneliness—they washed over me all at once. And yet, one thing became clear: I had to find a way to keep going. For myself. And for the life growing inside me. Despite the chaos surrounding me.
After I found that strength somewhere within myself, Wordfather and I decided to try again—to fight for our relationship through therapy. This pregnancy was heavier, both physically and emotionally. Something strange began to happen. I started to feel afraid of my own Haflinger.
It was as if a veil of anxiety had settled over me. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of how dangerous horses can be. Perhaps it was the protective instinct of pregnancy, those hormones sharpening my sense of caution. Where I had once walked into the stable with confidence, I now felt a quiet, persistent fear rising inside me. Going to the stable each evening became harder and harder, until I was faced with a painful decision.
Wordfather, as always, quickly found a solution. He had located a retirement stable—a place where my Haflinger, who had already been twenty years old when I bought him, could live out his days in peace. He wouldn’t have to do much anymore and would even be admired for his beautiful long mane. The thought that he could stay there, cared for and appreciated, gave me a sense of comfort. It was a gentle solution to something I found incredibly difficult to let go of.
For the next three years, they kept me updated on how he was doing. They sent me photos regularly, showing how well he was cared for. Although I missed him, I also felt a sense of relief. It was clear that he was where he belonged, and that gave me peace.
By the fifth month of my pregnancy, I could barely walk because of the pain. I spent my days sitting cross-legged, working on large puzzles. Sitting like that shortened my muscles and nerves just enough to bring some relief. It reminded me of waking up after my first back surgery—my body slowly adjusting, my muscles and nerves finding their place again.
The household fell entirely on Wordfather’s shoulders, and he didn’t like it one bit. But he did it, because there was no other choice.
Our eldest, during that time, was incredibly sweet to me. He would often sit beside me, quietly puzzling or playing with his Lego at a small table by the window that I had set up just for him.
☕ A Cup of Comfort
Sometimes life arrives with both hands full of lightning—
precisely at the moment you thought: this is enough.
You find yourself standing in the middle of chaos. A new life growing inside you, old pain surrounding you, and no one who truly understands what it is asking of you.
Maybe you feel confused.
Maybe you are tired of fighting.
Or afraid of what is still to come.
Know this: the eye of the storm is also a place.
A place of stillness, where you are allowed to breathe—just for a moment—before everything begins to move again.
You don’t have to fix anything today.
You don’t have to know how.
You don’t have to smile while your heart is breaking.
This page is for you—
for your courage to stay,
for your love that keeps beating even when everything around you feels unsteady.
You are not alone.
Truly, you are not. ❤️
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