Before the Pink Lines, Part 3: Living in the Unknown

By Tesse Lester | Life Coach for Women Who’ve Learned to Survive the Seasons No One Prepares You For

Pregnancy didn’t feel like anticipation. It felt like waiting.

Not the cute, glowing, nursery‑decorating kind of waiting you see in movies. This was the heavy kind. The kind that sits in your chest and whispers, “What if?” every time you try to breathe.

Waiting for answers. Waiting for clarity. Waiting for someone—anyone—to tell me how bad it was going to be… or if it might somehow be okay.

When “Something Isn’t Right” Becomes Your New Reality

Early on, we were told something wasn’t right. Not enough information to understand—just enough to be afraid. And once fear enters the room, it doesn’t leave quietly.

Every appointment carried weight. Every ultrasound felt like a test I didn’t know how to study for. Every doctor’s face became something I tried to read like a secret code.

There were long drives to Minneapolis for Level 2 ultrasounds—hours filled with silence, nervous hope, and the kind of prayers you whisper when you’re too scared to say them out loud.

Specialists spoke slowly, carefully, choosing their words like they might break me. Screens glowed with shapes and shadows I didn’t understand, but desperately tried to.

The hardest part wasn’t what they told me. It was what they couldn’t tell me.

No prognosis.
No timeline.
No certainty.
Just possibilities.

And living in possibility—especially when you’re young, scared, and already overwhelmed—is its own kind of emotional marathon.

The Quiet War Between Hope and Fear

Every day became a negotiation between hope and fear.

I learned how to function while carrying questions that had no answers. How to smile when people asked how I was feeling. How to nod politely when reassurance felt premature.

The fear didn’t explode. It seeped. Quietly. Steadily.

It crept into my thoughts, my sleep, my body. I didn’t have the language for mental health back then, but now I can see it clearly: I was drowning in anxiety.

Living on edge. Bracing for news that could change everything—again.

And that kind of strain doesn’t stay contained.

When Fear Divides Instead of Unites

It seeped into my relationship with her dad. We were both scared, but fear doesn’t always bring people closer. Sometimes it isolates. Sometimes it turns into tension, silence, misunderstanding.

We were two kids navigating adulthood, parenthood, and medical uncertainty—without tools, without guidance, without space to fall apart.

We were supposed to deliver at Abbott. That was the plan. But life doesn’t always honor your plans.

I went into labor too fast. No controlled environment. No careful transition. Just urgency. Just surrender.

Surrendering to What You Can’t Control

Looking back, I realize how much of that season was spent surrendering—not by choice, but by necessity.

I had to learn how to live without guarantees. How to sit with fear without letting it swallow me whole. How to keep going when the future felt fragile and unfinished.

That pregnancy changed me—not just because of what we faced, but because of how long we had to face it without answers.

Uncertainty became its own kind of trauma.

Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But lingering.
Shaping how you love.
How you trust.
How you prepare for loss even while hoping for life.

I didn’t know it then, but those months marked the beginning of a pattern I’d spend years unlearning:

Holding my breath through hard things instead of allowing myself to be held.

Why I Share This With You

Because maybe you’re living in your own unknown right now. Maybe you’re waiting for answers. Maybe you’re carrying fear quietly. Maybe you’re pretending to be strong because you don’t know what else to be.

I see you. I’ve lived it. And I want you to know something:

You don’t have to hold your breath anymore.
You don’t have to carry the unknown alone.
You don’t have to be strong every second of every day.

Strength is not the absence of fear. Strength is learning to keep going even when the future feels blurry.

And that’s what I help women do—navigate the unknown with clarity, courage, and support.

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