I'm a Married Catholic. Here's My Honest Reaction To An Unexpected Pregnancy.

My husband and I were in the middle of our European honeymoon. We had just landed in Greece after spending a week exploring the streets of Rome. Based on my natural family planning (NFP) chart, I was expecting my period to arrive sometime during our Rome stay. I packed dozens of menstrual products, prepared for a week of bloating and cramping during our romantic getaway.

But by the time we arrived in Greece, my period was seven days late. Even during my most stressful months, my period had never been that delayed.

A Honeymoon Surprise

Something felt off. I sat at dinner with my husband, verbally processing the “what if”s over what would be my last glass of wine for a while. He insisted that I had nothing to worry about, that the travel likely impacted my cycle. But I couldn’t let it go. I peered over to the pharmacy next to the restaurant, got up from our table, and told my husband I was going to buy a pregnancy test. With a loving smirk, he responded, “If that’s what will give you peace of mind.”

After dinner, my husband and I returned to our hotel room, and I immediately went to the bathroom to settle the uncertainty once and for all.

I peed on the stick and placed it on the counter. The instructions on the package told us to wait three minutes for an accurate result. From the bedroom, my husband asked if he should start a timer on his phone. By the time he asked, there were two solid pink lines staring back at me.

“Yeah… start the timer…” I replied with a shaky voice. My husband rushed to the bathroom to witness the result with his own two eyes. We were both stunned. We had planned to wait two years before having children. Instead, we found ourselves staring back at a positive pregnancy test two months after our wedding.

There were two images that came to my mind in the minutes following that moment. The first was the Annunciation. I thought about Mary, who also received unexpected news that she would be bearing a child in her womb. I thought about her questions to the angel, followed by her acceptance of God’s will. I tried to identify with this willful submission, but shock and fear held me hostage. 

Then came the image of the Crucifixion. I more closely identified with this image of pain, torture, and suffering. I wondered why God would allow such a terrifying curveball to enter my life when I knew I wasn’t ready. I recalled the words from Saint Faustina’s diary: “I am already with You on Calvary . . .  I am stretched out on the cross” (§ 1580).

The rest of the night was a blur. It was just me, my husband, and a positive pregnancy test halfway across the world, far from anybody we knew. I wept for hours until I couldn’t anymore, and fell asleep weary with despair.

My Initial Response

For the rest of the honeymoon, nothing felt real. I woke up each morning and the weight of the grief immediately collapsed onto me. The grief was like the aftermath of a heartbreak or the death of a loved one, when your first waking thought is a heart-dropping Oh yeah, this is reality now. Except in this case, I grieved the loss of my life as I knew it.

I was seven weeks pregnant at my first OB appointment. Despite the two positive pregnancy tests, a part of me wasn’t expecting to see anything on the ultrasound.

Instead, I saw a tiny little baby the size of a blueberry, with a beating heart that flashed like a rapid blinking light. The sonographer described the baby as a “gummy bear,” having two small nubs for what would become their arms and legs.

People had told me that once you saw the ultrasound, the fears would go away. But while getting to see my child for the first time was novel and heartwarming, the image provided little reassurance about my situation. I was ashamed that I had gotten pregnant so early into my marriage. I spent over a year and hundreds of dollars learning how to chart my cycles specifically so my husband and I wouldn’t be one of those Catholic couples. I felt like a failure.

The few people who knew about my pregnancy at that point were overjoyed and excited for me. And while I was grateful for their support, the eagerness left little to no space for me to be candid about my grief and fears.

During the Annunciation, the angel told Mary “Do not be afraid”—but how could I not be? My entire idea of the future had shattered in one moment. How was I expected to give up the comfort of a child-free life? What about our plans to travel and buy a house? What about all the concerts I love going to? How will we access childcare? Will my employer treat me differently now that I’m a mom? Will my friends abandon me? Doubt and insecurity filled every vacant space in my mind. 

All of this combined gave me pretty intense anxiety throughout the following weeks. I felt trapped and betrayed by my own body. The reality of how parenthood would change my life and demand more than I thought I was capable of sent me into a state of panic. I couldn’t escape the sense of impending doom; it quite literally lived inside me. I didn’t feel connected to my child at all. All I could think about was how much I wish I could go back and make sure I didn’t get pregnant in the first place.

I’ve been Catholic my entire life, a pro-life activist since I was eighteen, and worked at a pregnancy resource center for almost three years. And still, nothing prepared me for how much getting pregnant would shake me to my core and test my faith in God.

I’m not like Mary, I thought to myself, pondering the seemingly unattainable nature of accepting God’s plan for my life. Identifying with Mary’s fiat felt like a romanticized and ambitious goal that was far from my reach. 

Transforming My Heart

As I write this, I am now thirty-four weeks along. Our son has been squirming and kicking for the last several minutes, and I couldn’t imagine life looking any other way right now.

To be honest, I don’t really know what changed my mindset. Maybe it was prayer. Maybe it was talking to my therapist. Maybe it was both. Nonetheless, I think time was a key factor. The more time I spent processing the situation and allowing myself to feel sad and angry, the closer I got to acceptance.

Conversations with friends also helped me realize that my shame about being a pregnant newlywed stemmed from the wounds of Original Sin. We live in a world with such a broken approach to human sexuality that many of us Catholics feel a need to prove the effectiveness of natural family planning over contraception in avoiding pregnancy. But the truth is, we don’t need to “prove” any of this to anyone. My husband and I are living out the vows we recited before God including to accept children, and this is more of a witness to the Sacrament of Marriage than any family-planning timeline. I stopped labeling myself as an “NFP failure” and started embracing my identity as a mother.

That doesn’t mean the grief has been completely resolved. I still have trouble picturing myself caring for a baby and wonder how I’m going to navigate the mental and emotional demands of motherhood. I don’t consider myself a very maternal person, and the last few months have been a crash course in parenting, from breastfeeding to car seat safety and everything in between. As I approach my due date, worries about labor and delivery have become more present. But every day, I’ve continued to say yes to the gift that is this child’s existence, even if doing so makes me nervous and the future is unclear to me. Mary’s fiat was not a one-time deal; it was a constant and daily “yes" to everything motherhood would entail, from Jesus’ conception to witnessing His death on the Cross. 

I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I became pregnant at the time I did for as long as I’m on this side of Heaven. What I do know is that God trusted me to be the mother of this child, and that the Crucifixion is followed by the Resurrection. My suffering has purpose, and this suffering is bringing forth new life—literally. I think this truth will gradually reveal itself throughout the rest of my life, unraveling towards the ultimate reality of God’s goodness. What a gift it is to be presented with an experience that leaves me no other choice but to surrender my life to Him.

Author Bio: Cassie Kohler is a graduate from The University of Texas with a degree in Marketing. She works full time as the Communications Director at a Catholic parish and enjoys drinking tea and singing karaoke in her free time. A fan of live music and spending time outdoors, Cassie resides in Austin, Texas with her husband, Alex.