When the NICU Becomes a Spiritual Initiation:

There are chapters of motherhood we don’t speak about until the storm settles.

The NICU.

Everything was set for our son’s arrival this past May, we had a birthing center, midwives, my dream second pregnancy, then BAM.

I went into labor 5 days early, arrived at the birth center, but was turned away because I was not dilated enough. My 8-year-old and partner could not fathom driving 45 minutes back home with the closest hospital being 25 minutes away if something went wrong. I rented a hotel and waited out the contractions.

Not realizing I was most likely in active labor as my son and husband took a swim in the pool to find a moment of peace. The contractions had been on and off for the past few days, and things were intensifying fast.

The birthing center we opted for had specific guidelines and requirements in place to ensure a safe delivery. As things started to look uncertain and intense, we left the hotel and I returned to the birthing center. My gut was telling me it was time, but the new Midwife was uncertain after another check. Upon hooking up to the belly monitor, we watched his heart rate surge and then drop. The ache, fear, and anxious energy took over when a more experienced midwife decided to send me to the hospital. Luckily, it was 3 minutes down the road. As we made our way over to the hospital, the contractions became so intense, and within 20 minutes, I delivered my son.

Everything turned around for the better, I thought.

I sent my son and partner back to the hotel to get some rest, as we all could barely fit on a full-size hospital bed, and our home was over 45 minutes away. Then, by 2 a.m., his blood sugar began to drop dangerously low.

My son was born 5lbs 2 oz and was under duress for who knows how long, i wish we hooked up to a monitor earlier but this was not presented. I trusted the care team and realized quickly the midwife, who never had children, couldn’t possibly know my symptoms, let alone my cervix, which was literally tucked, so to get a good judgment on my dialiation was a struggle in itself. Even the midwife at the hospital was unable to get an accurate reading.

Why was this happening?

I took the prenatal vitamins, attended every appointment, and ate as well as I could.

The only thing I could think of was that I was still live-streaming and experiencing high-stress-induced situations. Or maybe I was leaking amniotic fluid like my first son.

So many questions.

I questioned everything, then we went from welcoming our new son to having to watch him be rolled away in an incubator. I breastfed, I tried everything, but his little body just was working so hard to stay alive.

I had to watch a team of medical staff whisk him away, and then the doctors informed me I would have to pay out of pocket to transfer or be readmitted since it was a different hospital group. My vaginal birth came with no complications, and my bleeding was stable. Not a moment to process, let alone think of calling anyone, and too exhausted to figure it out, I discharged and went home with my 8-year-old and sent my partner back to the NICU to be with our new son.

As if this was not traumatizing enough, TRANSFER THE MOTHERS FUCK PROTOCOL OR INSURANCE OR WHATEVER BULLSHIT EXCUSE

For the first few days, their father slept in his car or on a bench until he was informed by a social worker that there were options. He was also driving a 2-hour round trip to ensure my other son and I were OK.

I had to watch my newborn son on a phone screen for 3 days.

The longing, physical pain, and pressure were building.

Someone or others I could have called slipped my mind as I was curled in bed with my 8-year-old and nursing myself back to health.

What makes a good caretaker?

Is it the verbal expression of love, or is it the unspoken grace and dignity you extend through presence and purpose? Initiating the caregiver role can be exhausting. Still, the most profound impact is watching your child, whom you carried for nine months, nine years later, come into his own personality. Thank goodness for his maturity and bravery. Even scared and unsure, his cuddles, kindness, and truth got us through a child’s love, a mothers’s love.

The nights you don’t sleep because the machines breathe louder than you do. The postpartum shadows that arrive without permission. The way your whole identity dissolves and reforms in real time, raw, cracked open, holy.

My journey into motherhood wasn’t wrapped in softness. It came with health scares, back-and-forth information, and the waiting that tests your faith.

The Ronald McDonald House was a lifesaver while juggling one car, another child who needed homeschooling, running my business, and trying to heal my own body after birth. They offered rest, love, and all the amenities to feel at ease during such a stressful and uncertain time.

A season of stretching emotionally, spiritually, and physically, and it taught me that survival after birth sometimes looks like choosing the smallest possible next step. Lean on whatever support is available, even if it’s not the support you expected.

The Atmosphere was like most hospitals:

Nurses shifting in and out, alarms beeping, specialists offering levels and numbers as if they could measure a mother’s intuition. Finally, a PA heard my plea and agreed to 24 hours to allow our son’s body 24 hours to regulate. Risky as we were moving into day eight, his blood sugar levels were still not showing solid, stable numbers.

Call it a hunch, call it woo woo, or my complete trust in the body to know exactly what to do to reach a state of homeostasis.

What they said would take months took weeks.

Advocating for your child’s wellness is a struggle, but it's a must.

Please remember that the body is resilient and robust.

Love is the best medicine, but also alternating breastfeeding with formula, and combining it with Reiki and skin-to-skin contact. All our attempts showed progress; his levels increased, he started eating, and then there was a complete turnaround.

My spirituality grew stronger!

Our first son had a similar experience, except he got stuck in my birth canal. During that time, their son's father, whose parents passed away when he was younger, made their presence and support known, especially through music.

For example, when my other son was born, the phone in the room kept ringing, and they had to unplug it, and my phone kept playing all the songs their son's father's parents loved.

It's amazing how when one life hangs in the balance, loved ones become more noticeable in signs, synchronicities, and those inner feelings.

The song above was one that came on late one night while scrolling through TikTok. I instantly burst into tears

I had been saying that all along.

Quietly.

Repeatedly.

I AM NOT OK!

Truth was, it felt like I was dying inside.

Postpartum felt like it took hold immediately!

But this was about getting my boy back to health and advocating for the importance of spirituality, the importance of a mother and child not being separated, and the balance of motherhood.

This publication and sisterhood have brought me so much joy and purpose to continue to share, so thank you for being here.

Those moments in the NICU changed everything: not just my son’s healing, but also my understanding of myself. The breaking apart, the breaking open, and the realizing of my worth.

Motherhood did not weaken my intuition; it amplified it.

It’s strange how the NICU becomes a portal. A sterile, humming, fluorescent-lit temple where a new version of you is forged. Where you learn to trust the soul’s knowing over the world’s noise. Where you learn to advocate, to sit with fear, to breathe when your chest feels like stone.

Searching for support

I turned to my TikTok community and was once met with full rooms, but now it's trickles. The redirection of energy was scary and at time times overwhelming. Being met with rejection also came with a renewed sense of empowerment to maintain my overall wellness.

I had a membership with 50 other women, and the next thing I knew, there were only a handful left.

I was hit with a pit in my stomach and the realization that I had spent years feeding a culture that thrives on drama, competition, and hatred.

I felt cheated, but I also felt a sense of relief.

I can not blame them; I had to take responsibility.

Note to self:

When you're faced with real-life uncertainty, it puts things into a deeper perspective, so thank you to the ones who have stuck around.

I appreciate you more than you know.

Spirals sometimes can feel like a long nap you never thought you needed or a strong cup of coffee after hours of no sleep.

Stimuli that rewires, not misfires.

The best thing I ever did was pivot.

When people talk about their “Whys” and what made them shift, you always hear the same “I was at rock bottom.”

Then there's a dramatic shift that creates a drive to move away and let go of people, places, things, and habits that no longer serve.

Repeat after me:

“ I AM NOT ABANDONING MYSELF. I AM ReRouting”

Not abandoning, but creating a more sacred space within myself to continue doing what I love and helping others.

I started diving deeper into finishing the third installment of my poetry collection.

Some things to remember or share: (whether you had a baby or not LOL)

Accept help without guilt.

Say no without fear!

Simplify everything you can: meals, routines, commitments.

Rest every time your body whispers, not just when it screams.

Keep a journal to stay connected to your intuition, because when everything feels chaotic, your inner voice becomes your compass.

And most importantly, give yourself permission to fall apart and rebuild at your own pace.

Healing after birth isn’t linear; it’s a mosaic of strength, surrender, and grace.

I cried, got angry, pushed myself back into insecurities, and had flashbacks from the sexual abuse of my second abuser after hearing he passed away.

No one talks about the flashbacks and how they can cripple an already struggling, fragile woman.

What's easy for others may feel like a lifetime for some.

Everyone’s healing is different.

Then comes postpartum, the identity grief, the betrayal, the abandonment by people who promised support, the ache of realizing your tribe was smaller than you thought.

If you're going through hell, reach deep within yourself!

It's right around the corner, the heaviness will lift, but you need support.

Diet, exercise, and discipline are wonderful

But it's through the rupture, the uncertainty, the complete brokenness that purpose walks in.

Not loudly, not with fanfare, but with a hand on your shoulder whispering:

You’re needed.

Just when you think you're alone, you are reminded you are loved…

You've got to find your people.

My beautiful tribe came back and around after the dust settled, not to take, but to hold space. That’s how you know it’s a true friend, partnership, and connection: you disagree, but you honor and love each other regardless. Time may pass, but the feelings of connection, truth, and love always outlast miscommunications and setbacks.

For those who need to hear this, I have always loved you.

You strayed because you felt pressured. I get it.

You rejected love, as I did, because I rejected myself.

But you are never a lost cause, throwaway, or mistake.

I LOVE YOU

What I didn’t know then was that every NICU monitor, every update, every setback, every moment of trusting my own voice was preparing me to step deeper into my life’s work.

To hold women through their unravelings.
To guide mothers through their shadows.
To write stories that tell the truth.
To coach women who are still carrying their own silent NICU moments — even if they never had a child.
To remind them that intuition is not fragile, and healing is never linear.

Because purpose often rises from the places where we thought we’d break.

Life coaching came naturally after that initiation, not as a more focused career shift, but as a calling. I stopped streaming, shut down all memberships, and I learned that the body remembers, but so does the spirit.

And writing… writing became the bridge between the woman who survived and the woman who leads.

Every time I share these pieces of my story, the fear, the hospital corridors, the spiritual signs, the postpartum shadows, I’m reminded that none of us heal alone. We heal through witnessing each other.

Most important thing I learned:

Through holding space for what was once too painful to say. Through remembering that motherhood is not meant to be endured in silence.

If you’re in your own season of uncertainty, postpartum grief, or spiritual rearranging, I want you to hear this:

You are not failing. You are transforming.

Your intuition is trying to guide you back home.
Your purpose is not waiting for you to be perfect; it's just being willing.

And if you need support, guidance, or a space to breathe again, I’m here, offering coaching, writing, and the soul work I was shaped to do long before I understood its purpose.

You are not alone in this unfolding, friend.
You are becoming.

Hugs Elise