The Night I Went Into Labor at 26 Weeks

There are moments in life when fear and strength sit side by side, and you don’t realize which one is carrying you until much later.
For me, that moment came the night I went into labor at just 26 weeks pregnant.

I was young, confused, and completely unaware that what I was feeling was labor. I just knew my back hurt. I kept trying to get comfortable. I walked. I paced. I soaked in a warm bath, not realizing it was actually speeding up the process. I kept trying to use the bathroom, thinking I needed to go — not knowing I was actually trying to push out a tiny baby fighting to enter the world.

Looking back, I wish I had someone in the room who recognized what was happening.
But at the time, I was alone.

By the next morning, the pain was undeniable. After talking with my doctor, I rushed to the hospital. They checked me, and the doctor walked in with a seriousness that made the room feel smaller.

His words are something I’ll never forget:

“We’re having a baby today.”

I remember saying, “No we’re not… it’s too soon.”
But there was no stopping what was already in motion.

Within two hours of arriving, I delivered a 2 pound 8 ounce baby girl — tiny, fragile, and fighting from the very first breath. I heard the faintest cry before they intubated her and placed her in an isolette for transport to a larger hospital.

The moment she left the room, everything inside me shifted.
I was a mother.
And I was terrified.

I spent that first night alone in the hospital, recovering physically but unable to rest emotionally. There is a specific kind of ache that comes from being separated from your newborn — an ache that reaches into a place you didn’t know existed.

When I was discharged after 24 hours, my stepmom picked me up. I packed my bags, got in my car, and drove myself to the hospital where my daughter had been transported. Nothing could keep me away from her.

She spent two months in the NICU.
Ventilated. Monitored. Protected by teams of nurses and doctors who became family.
I pumped every three hours — determined to give her the best start I could.

And she fought.
And she lived.
And she grew into the woman she is today.

That experience changed me forever.
It shaped my empathy as a nurse.
It shaped my strength as a woman.
It shaped my heart as a mother.
And it taught me that even in the moments when I felt the most alone, I was never truly without strength.

Sometimes the hardest beginnings make the strongest souls — for both mother and child.

If you’re walking through your own unexpected chapter — motherhood, caregiving, or navigating life alone — you don’t have to do it by yourself.
This is why I created Caring With Karen.

💛 Book a session: caringwithkaren.com

My Next Chapter: Choosing Myself at 47

There are moments in life when you feel the ground shift under your feet—not because something is falling apart, but because something inside you finally wakes up. That’s where I am right now.

My story has never been smooth. At 13 years old, childhood ended for me. My mother walked out of our home and disappeared from my life until the day I graduated. I didn’t get an explanation, a warning, or a goodbye. Suddenly, it was just me and my daddy, and I watched him break in ways a child should never have to witness.

I learned to cook, clean, work, and shoulder more responsibility than most teenagers can imagine. That was the beginning of my strength, even if I didn’t recognize it at the time.

Years later, life didn’t slow down—it intensified.

At 20, I became a mother under circumstances most people don’t live through. I went into labor at 26 weeks, alone, scared, and confused. I delivered a 2-pound baby girl who was rushed into the NICU before I even had time to process what had happened.

For weeks, I split myself between caring for my newborn and caring for my dying mother. And then, at 25, I lost my father—the one person who had always been steady, loving, and true.

And through all of it, I kept going. I kept choosing compassion.

I built a career in nursing rooted in empathy, kindness, and understanding. I built my coaching business from that same place—because I’ve lived through the kind of moments that change a person’s soul.

But there has always been a dream waiting quietly in the background:

finishing my RN.

I attempted it once in my early twenties, but that season of my life was stacked with too much grief, too much responsibility, and too many people who needed me. I didn’t fail—it wasn’t my time.

Now, at 47 years old, it finally is.

I’ve made the decision to return for my ASN first, take my boards, and become the RN I’ve always known I could be. And after that? UAB will pay for my BSN, and eventually, my master’s.

I’m not doing this to chase a title.

I’m doing this because I’ve outgrown the box I’ve been living in.

Because I’m meant to lead, teach, guide, and make a bigger impact.

Because my life experience makes me a stronger nurse, not a tired one.

And because somewhere in my heart, this feels like honoring my daddy—the man who believed in me long before I believed in myself.

Life didn’t give me an easy path.

But it gave me grit.

It gave me resilience.

It gave me a story worth sharing.

And it gave me a purpose I refuse to ignore.

So here I am, stepping into my next chapter with bravery, clarity, and a fire inside me that’s been building for years.

If you’re reading this, I hope you find a piece of your own strength in my story.

It’s never too late to become the woman you were meant to be. 💛

Every story has a turning point.

If you’re ready for yours, I’m here to walk with you.

I offer one-on-one coaching to help you find direction, balance, and confidence during life’s hardest seasons.

✨ Schedule your session at caringwithkaren.com

Transformation starts with one step.