When Life Applies Pressure

Why You Can’t Build in the Storm

We pulled into the dark, but familiar, parking lot in silence. Another week had passed. It was time to check in on our unborn daughter’s growth. Or so we hoped.

I don’t know if we can keep doing this.

The thought arose as I found a parking spot we had frequented and pulled our vehicle in. It had presented itself before. I knew it to be false that we would persevere and keep working through these moments.

I recognized it for what it was—fear. Fear gripped my stomach in a knot. I could sense the emotional tension rising up into my chest.

Putting the vehicle in park, I extended my hand to the seat next to me and turned to look at Alyssa. We had done this enough times that words did not need to be spoken. I saw fear in her eyes. I wondered what thoughts were running through her mind. Regardless of the cascade of thoughts and emotions, she firmly grasped my hand and we both took a breath.

“God, we selfishly want to hear Lucy’s heartbeat today. But, if that is not a part of your plan, please grant us the strength of acceptance and faith.”

Despite the number of times we had said that prayer together before each appointment, I still got choked up. Tears would be wiped away from both Alyssa and my eyes as we readied ourselves with one last kiss before stepping out of the car.

Then, with little else but faith and a willingness to do anything for our daughter who continued the fight for her life, we exited the vehicle for another visit to the specialist.

We were given fifty-seven days between leaving rehab and discovering Lucy’s health concerns. Fifty-seven days to better understand the pillars. Fifty-seven days to strengthen them, completely unaware of how much load they would have to bear once the discovery was made.

Fifty-seven days of deliberate preparation, challenged in an instant that changed the course of our lives forever.

We didn’t get to choose which pillars would be tested. All of them were subjected to the most intense pressure that I could have ever imagined.

Your body feels it, your mind almost constantly questions your limits.
Your emotions surge.
Your faith is put on trial every single day.

Through those moments, the pillars either hold or crumble. The pressure leaves no in-between.

Challenging ourselves physically, we had exposed ourselves to false limits our minds had set in an attempt to protect us. We had strengthened our ability to tolerate stress. By working through those limits, we had readied ourselves to keep showing up—to walk through doors that held answers we weren’t sure we wanted.

We routinely worked on acceptance. Emotions would hit seemingly out of nowhere, and instead of suppressing or isolating, we allowed them to run their course. We sought companionship in each other, growing in our ability to check in with ourselves and one another as we moved forward.

We prayed. We learned what it meant to bring our worries and fears to God during some of the darkest and most confusing moments of our lives. We found faith, trust, connection, and hope during a time when we could have felt chillingly abandoned. We recognized that our selfish desires might not be aligned with His plan for us. Yet we remained willing and ready to take action and walk through doors when He opened them for us.

We kept working, kept strengthening each pillar. Then came the moment where all of the unknowns, all of the questions, about Lucy’s potential life dropped away. A single door opened—one we didn’t want to walk through but knew we had no choice. A reality that every parent who has lost a child has faced and wanted to run from.

We found, once again, that we didn’t rise to any moment on this new journey of loss.
We simply stood on the foundation that we had been building.

In quiet moments, I considered a reality where I hadn’t found recovery. Where I hadn’t built the pillars. The cost would have extended far beyond my own grief.

Alyssa and I have spoken it plainly: she would have lost two family members during that season.

Instead, we steadied ourselves on the foundation that we had built. We talked, we listened, and we prayed. We found both joy and sorrow in moments that caught us off guard. We found forgiveness and grace.

You do not get to choose when life applies pressure. When the storm hits, you rarely have the space to build. Your foundation will either hold or crumble. What you practice in calm becomes what you stand on in hardship.

It requires the discipline to feel and experience without escaping.
It requires confronting limits and seeking truth beyond them.
It requires surrender to something greater than yourself.

Keep showing up.

Kyle Layne Zibrowski