Death of a Dream

In May of 2019 my wife Samantha and I had a miscarriage. A few short months later in October, we miscarried again.

The first miscarriage was incredibly difficult. The grieving process was sharp and we felt many powerful emotions flowing through us. The pain of loss was indescribable. We are blessed to have a strong network of family and friends who were able to share with us in that time and since. If you’re reading this, you are likely a part of that special group. Thank you.

The hardest part of the experience was the changing of expectations. We had been imagining playing with a new one, going through feeding rituals, seeing her smile for the first time, and picturing a future with a family of four. None of that was going to happen. Perhaps it would some day with another child, but not this one. 

We worked through our grief and put our focus on the future. And we tried again. The positive pregnancy test seemed like the answer to our prayers. We felt relief, joy, and jubilation. Surely this time was going to be different. Because of our recent miscarriage we were under closer medical survelience. At first the numbers looked good. Samantha’s body was responding the way it was supposed to and we were on track through the first month. 

At our first ultrasound, which came much earlier than normal this time around, we had our first major cloud of doubt cast over the pregnancy. The ensuing weeks were full of worry and anxiety. Finally our fears were confirmed when we saw an ultrasound with no heartbeat. 

I felt like a prize fighter, duking and dodging the punches life continued to throw. I’d dodged many tough ones in a row and found myself clocked square in the face with the first miscarriage. It sent me reeling. Fortunately I was able to recover and shake off the feelings of tweety-birds flying around my head. That first miscarriage was just the beginnning. It was the start of a one-two combo. The follow up punch knocked me flat.

There was a marked difference between the way I felt after the first miscarriage and after the second. After the first I was hurt, but felt inner strength and resilience. After the second, I felt empty. It was the death of another dream. And with the death of that dream came the death of all dreams. I lost my fascination with business and personal growth. I managed to give my all when my clients came in for workouts. After they left, and the loud music was turned off, the thousands of square feet of the empty studio seemed to echo how I felt on the inside: formerly occupied, but currently vacant.

I found myself wasting time on things that didn’t matter, from video games to tabloid news stories. I felt entitled to take care of myself, to the detriment of my other responsibilities. My relationship with Samantha grew strained and I found myself growing increasingly impatient with her. 

Samantha and I sat down and talked for a good long while. We both wanted, needed, things to be better. Towards the end of the conversation we started talking about our future and the way things would be.

Overnight my attitude seemed to change. I was more patient with Samantha. I felt like I had more energy in my interactions with my daughter, Rosabelle. I found I wanted to do more than ‘just enough’ at work. I started thinking about ways to make things better. The truest sign for me was that I wanted to write again.  

I was dreaming again, and it truly made all the difference. 

I started to think about how short, in the grand scheme of things, this season of troubled waters had been. I also thought about how it was entirely possible that I never started dreaming again. How if I got punched a third and fourth time that maybe all that bitterness and resentment would become a part of me, instead of a part to be processed through. 

It is a sure thing that I’ll take more brutal blows in the future. I am still processessing a lot of the hurt I’ve just gone through. I give myself permission to turtle up for a season. 

But no matter what, I need to keep dreaming.

Your Coach and Trainer,

Andrew Biernat

PS I’m sharing this story with you so that if you ever feel this way or are currently in a spot like this, you can know you’re not alone. Bad times happen to everybody, and not always in equal measure. Most people assume that I have boundless energy, positivity, and enthusiasm. While I consider myself blessed in all of those respects, I am not always “on.”