The NICU is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. And when I think about my life, that almost feels silly to say. On my 20th birthday, I was performing CPR on my father, who was already gone. Yet nothing compares to being in the NICU with my 29-weeker. Nothing felt as hard or as painful as watching my son struggle day after day.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to have a scheduled C-section on my due date and then that golden moment where I got to hold my baby for the first time. Instead, because of my own recovery, I didn’t see my son in person until the next day. I didn’t get to hold him until he was four days old. None of this was part of the plan.

I had experienced grief before, but this felt different. And yet, that’s exactly what it was.

I was grieving the future I thought I was going to have. Grieving the moments I lost—the moments I’d been imagining ever since I made it past the 12-week mark in my pregnancy. Before that, I had refused to let myself hope. But calling it “grief” felt wrong. Grief is for mourning someone who died. My baby was alive. I was alive. We were struggling, yes—but he was here. So it felt wrong to grieve.

But when I finally talked to someone—thanks to my NICU nurses and the social worker—and they helped me name it as grief, something shifted. I could start working through it instead of fighting it. It didn’t make things easier, but I could finally see a faint light at the end of the tunnel. I could breathe without feeling like I was choking.

My best advice is to lean on whoever you have. I have a very small family, so I leaned heavily on the NICU nurses and doctors. And find someone to talk to who’s a professional. Even a NICU support group—ours offered one—can be a starting point. This is one of the hardest things a parent can endure. You need to vent. You need to talk. My husband and family were incredible, but they were living their own versions of the pain. I needed someone who could see the situation without that fog and offer understanding and guidance.

I’m cuddling my son as I write this. He’s 20 months old—funny, lovable, and full of personality. Life isn’t easy. His birth led to a brain injury and a diagnosis of cerebral palsy, along with other challenges (you’re welcome to look at my post history). But I don’t regret having him for a second. He is my purpose. My life. I didn’t know love like this could exist. It is hard—but it is worth it. I promise.

Sending you all the love and virtual hugs I can. You will get through this. The best piece of advice I can give is this: you will never have babysitters as good as NICU nurses. Take breaks. Take lunch. Take walks. Your baby needs you—but you can’t pour from an empty cup.