Ch. 12: Ties that Bind

The Roles We Play, a Serial Memoir

Please read before reading this chapter:

CW: The content of this chapter may be emotionally challenging for some. It contains themes, references, and allusions to: pregnancy loss (specifically, ectopic pregnancy), infertility, grief, unhealthy religious dynamics, and church hurt.

Please consider your own story and attend to your emotional state at the time of reading. It may be best to skip sections of this chapter, skip it altogether, or take breaks for yourself as needed.

Throughout the chapter, I’ve noted potentially triggering themes at the beginning of each new section. Thanks for taking your time with this part of my story; I’ve done my best to thoughtfully, selectively, and discreetly, yet honestly, tell it.

Blessed be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like that to that above.

Before our Father's throne
We pour our ardent prayers;
Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one
Our comforts and our cares.

We share each other's woes,
Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear.

When we asunder part,
It gives us inward pain;
But we shall still be joined in heart,
And hope to meet again.

This glorious hope revives
Our courage by the way;
While each in expectation lives,
And longs to see the day.

From sorrow, toil and pain,
And sin, we shall be free,
And perfect love and friendship reign
Through all eternity.

-Blessed Be the Tie that Binds by John Fawcett

I still remember the feeling of that jog like it was yesterday. The smile I wore as we got going. The sun’s surprising warmth on my skin on that mild November day. The air passing through my lungs, working wonders on my busied body. The concern I felt, when all that was calm quickly turned to confusion.

It was a Saturday in November. Evan was in grad school, teaching high school, coaching soccer, and eager for Thanksgiving Break. I was working toward therapy licensure and running my business as planned. With little time left in the week, we had errands to run that afternoon, but first, a beautiful day to enjoy.

We’d learned long ago (like, in high school) that trying to run together for exercise didn’t always lead to great things for our relationship. When I tried to keep up with him, I couldn’t; likewise, when he tried to slow down for me, it seemed to him like he was wasting a workout. Our acceptance of this dynamic led to an ever-present ritual of walking for connection, not exercise. So when I was the one to suggest a jog, Evan agreed, with realism: one lap down the road and around the block with markers to make it back to the house.

I measured my distance goals by reaching the houses of neighbors I knew. On the left lived a man named John. An army veteran who lived alone, John was working at the local veterans center while earning his Masters of Divinity in seminary. Ten houses or so down the street was Brandon and Tracy’s home, the biggest, happiest-looking house on the block with a fenced in front yard, pretty flowers, and a golden doodle taller than me. But it wasn’t just happy-looking; Brandon, Tracy, and kids lived in a color-filled home with joy and love that extended to all who were invited in.

Across the street, a few houses down to the right, was Mary and Lee J’s house, a couple we knew from church. They’d invited us into their life group, still my favorite one to this day. A few doors down from Mary and Lee J was Zack and Jenny’s house. They’d moved here from North Carolina for Zack to attend seminary as well, and Jenny had joined my friends and me for our Monday night Bachelor watch parties.

Still smiling, still enjoying the sensation of wind created by my body, I felt my lungs desiring to give in, way ahead of my legs.

Okay, I told myself, just make it up the hill past David and Sarah’s house.

I’d been on the tumbling team with David in college, and sweet Sarah had hosted a Mary Kay party for me because—oh, I tried that once, too. And as self-conscious as I may feel, sharing these parts of my past with you, I loved this part of small town life: being connected to each other’s histories through memory, stories, what-was-I-thinking seasons, and grace for each other’s growth.

I did it. Alongside Evan’s encouragement, I made it to the top of the hill. But as I did, I started to feel a bit dizzy, a little bit lightheaded. I slowed down just a smidge to try to get my bearings, but as I did, I felt a vague sense of pain radiating around my waist.

I need to sit down, I thought.

We made it back inside, through the living room and into the kitchen. Evan worked on getting us some water while I doubled over, touching the tips of my fingers to the kitchen floor.

“You okay?” He asked as he turned around. I bent down, then squatted back up, placing my hands on my knees.

“I don’t know. I feel really weird.“

I moved from the floor to the kitchen table Evan had built us, thinking if I could just get to a chair and get some water, I would feel better. But when that didn’t work, I hobbled through the kitchen and landed on the living room couch.

“I don’t think I can run errands with you this afternoon.”

Evan looked at me with concern. “That’s okay, babe. Can I get you anything?“

“Would you mind picking up a pregnancy test?”

It was a sentence neither he, nor I, expected to hear.

“You think you’re...pregnant?”

“I don’t know—but if I am, something is wrong.”

The words came out of my mouth quicker than my brain had time to process. I gave them a second thought.

“It’s probably nothing...but can you grab a test just to be sure?”

In the nine months we’d been trying to conceive and start a family, any possible sign or symptom of pregnancy had turned out to be nothing. So, I concluded—it was probably nothing.

“Sure, love. I’ll be back soon. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, curling up in a ball with my face toward the back of the couch.

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