Where Heartbreak Meets Redemption: A Story of Miscarriage, Faith, and Sobriety
Today’s blog entry is from Hali Morehouse. Hali is a member of Café RE.
Where Heartbreak Meets Redemption: A Story of Miscarriage, Faith, and Sobriety
By: Hali Morehouse
There I am—sitting in the brown chair, awaiting the doctor’s arrival, unaware that this moment would mark the beginning of a journey through miscarriage and sobriety. From the outside, one might see the image of a young woman who appears calm, confident, healthy, and mentally stable—never realizing that the upcoming conversation is about to crack her soul wide open and leave her heart broken, crumbled, and lost in the wilderness of the unknown.
I could see it in the doctor’s eyes—in her posture, her tone of voice, and in the way she carried the information throughout our conversation. Contained within the questions, concerns, and curiosity she expressed, the word miscarriage was the boulder that became the riverblock in my never-ending flow of life.
As that ten-letter word found its place inside my ears, the beats within my chest began to pound. Louder and louder—like a drum set being played inside a closed room. For a brief moment, my world began to spin. I could feel sweat forming in my palms as I nervously played with the rings on my fingers.
There it goes.
No pause. Only raw, deep, unfiltered tears. The internal dam burst wide open—broken into the smallest particles of rubble. Eyes red. Mildly bloodshot. My heart still pounding.
The Waiting, the Body, and Miscarriage and Sobriety
Gathering my personal items with all the strength I could muster, I walked down two flights of stairs to my next destination—the laboratory for a blood test. After placing my belongings in their designated spots, I sat once again in a thick, brown chair.
The internal waterfall, deep in the crevice of my soul, cried out to be released. It took every ounce of energy to pull back—to contain what felt like an ever-lasting flow—to place that dreadful STOP sign in front of my heart.
For the first time I can remember, my veins were visible—for the world to see, or in this case, for the nurses to see. A storm building. Bubbling violently.
Time slowed once that small yet powerful needle entered my arm. I tried—oh, how I tried—to engage in active conversation. But uncertainty filled the space. The unknown lingered. My vision and thoughts grew cloudy, as if I had entered a temporary black cloud.
Then, just as quickly, the needle was removed. A Band-Aid placed over the spot where my world shifted.
When Loss Becomes Real
That dreadful period—the waiting game from hell—where your heart pounds harder and harder, like sitting in the front row of a rock concert. External vibrations paired with internal panic, enough to bring a person to their knees. Unable to breathe. Unable to see clearly.
Oh, the dread. The devastating, anxiety-inducing dread.
My insides twisted into an absolute knot. I felt nauseous, though vomiting never came. As moments passed, my self-awareness heightened.
After the appointment, my fiancé and I headed home. Suddenly, my body felt different. A pinching—almost poking—sensation below my abdomen, deep within my pelvic region. Not painful, just noticeable. Stirring.
Once home, I went to the restroom.
And then it happened.
Blood—about the size of a small lemon—had left my body.
In that instant, my physical body entered a different realm. Where firmness and fullness had existed only moments before, there was now softness. Emptiness. Pure emptiness.
The Confirmation
The emptiness was indescribable.
Then—ding.
A notification from MyChart appeared on my phone. I opened the app and saw that my test results had arrived. Dread and panic returned instantly.
Based on my symptoms and the bleeding, a super-early miscarriage had either taken place or was coming to an end. The early signs of pregnancy I once felt had disappeared.
It was like watching a magician pull a rabbit from a hat—except there was no applause. No fascination. No joy.
Only fog.
My mind clouded with confusion, frustration, and deep sadness.
Faith in the Midst of Grief
In my 33 years of lived experience, I’ve learned there is no way to prepare for the tragedies, tribulations, trials, devastation, and loss that exist in this lifetime—the suffering that comes with living on this side of Heaven.
I am not promised an easy life.
But I am promised that I am never alone.
Through the darkest valleys, the highest mountaintops, the deepest oceans, and the strongest storms—I have remained, and will continue to remain, anchored to the foundation of my faith.
Miscarriage and Sobriety Are Not a Straight Line
Two days have passed since receiving the heartbreaking news of our miscarriage. In recovery, it is often said that miscarriage and sobriety are both non-linear journeys—and this truth deserves the highest regard.
Whether navigating recovery, returning to faith, or searching for light while walking through loss, a straight and narrow line is nowhere to be found. Expecting linearity to appear like a bright, flashing sign only creates roadblocks—or gravel roads—toward self-detriment.
Healing Through Community
One truth remains: when navigating miscarriage and sobriety, we cannot walk this path alone.
We were not created to journey in isolation. We are meant to embrace the gift—the blessing—the sacred gem of community.
The opposite of addiction is connection.
That connection arrived in my life through a global tribe: Café RE. As a fellow warrior within this community, I have laid my soul bare. I have shared from the darkest places of my heart. I have exposed my vulnerability completely—and in return, I have received unconditional love, compassion, grace, empathy, encouragement, and support from others who have faced their own battlefields and demons.
Choosing Belonging Over Fitting In
When we choose to stop trying to fit in with the outside world and instead discover the beauty of belonging, the right people will find us.
All we must do is remain still.
Honest.
Transparent.
Open-minded.
Willing to be vulnerable.
This is the magic of community.
“Sharing your story isn’t just a nice idea. It’s a neural intervention.”
