We recently connected with Carrie Hauskens and have shared our conversation below.

Carrie , appreciate you joining us today. So let’s jump to your mission – what’s the backstory behind how you developed the mission that drives your brand?

Sharing my story is something I’ve always done. When struggling with infertility, I started my blog and disclosed every aspect on Instagram. I was saying what others were thinking. After five years of trying and two rounds of IVF, I became pregnant. And eight months into the pregnancy, our daughter Clementine died. The grief that followed somehow led me straight to love, and I began celebrating everything. I continued documenting my life after the loss and focused my writing around it. Today, I share my story first and foremost so others feel less alone. I also do it because I can. Telling my truth reminds me that I love my story simply because it’s mine… and that’s worth celebrating.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers

I started my blog thinking someone would read it and think, “Hey, me too!” At first, no one read it, and I liked it that way. It was safe. Putting your thoughts out there is frightening. No one knew about my story until I started to share it on Instagram. I engaged in discussions with others dealing with infertility and quickly found a much-needed community. Once I publicly shared my writing, things started to change.

I took a course from The School of American Thanatology, Writing: Death & Spirituality. I adored the teacher, Suzette Standring, and wanted to take anything she taught. The next class happened to be Writing For Death Educators. The focus here was on how to get published, and I ran with it. I submitted a work from the course, and a magazine accepted it. Readers felt seen by my words.

I write about grief, how it feels, how it changes your life, and how we’re all connected because of it. You could call it a gift that only grief could give. Happiness and grief coexist together; I am living proof of that. Grief showed me joy, and I’m the happiest ever. My unique perspective shows others that there is still life to live when something tragic happens. I won’t sugarcoat the problematic parts; they also get their time. I will lean into what feels good because that’s what matters most.

Most of my clients work in everyday capacities; teachers, app makers, fashion designers…They come from a variety of places. And everyone has dealt with grief in some sort of capacity. My writing focuses on how grievers, those dealing with infertility or losing a baby, must be seen, felt, and heard. Clients often want tips, strategies, and stories shared in this manner. What is it like to return to work after a loss? How can you support a friend that had a miscarriage? I am that voice. I’ve been a ghostwriter for those that didn’t have the words, and I filled in the blanks. I will say what many grievers feel and might not feel comfortable saying.

Every industry, story, and human encounters death. It’s one of the most unpleasant aspects of life, and it’s what I focus on. I take immense pride in my work. Creating pieces that acknowledge the darkest parts of humanity feels sacred. I once gave a speech called, “What Would Your Grief Say If It Could Speak For Itself?” Grief isn’t out to get you. I don’t believe grief wants to hurt anyone,; itsimply is a part of life that no one can escape. And I want to embrace that by sharing the stories that aren’t often said aloud.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

Motherhood felt like a club I couldn’t get into. I tried to become a parent for eight years. In my eyes, becoming a mother meant fulfilling my role as a female. I was so excited about this phase, and I imagined it would be enjoyable. Everyone around me became a “family,” while I was left cheering from the sidelines. People didn’t like hearing my version of trying to become a mother, and it quickly became apparent that society celebrates mothers, not childless people.

Dealing with infertility and/or not having children doesn’t make you less than others. A harsh life lesson and one that’s given me more reason to celebrate precisely where I’m at in life. I thought, “Once I become pregnant, my life will start… Once I become a mother, things will fall into place…” The “once I (fill in anything)” thinking took over and resulted in never living in the present moment. Thinking this led to depression and anxiety. I maintained by drinking too much alcohol to mask my intense emotions.

Unlearning that one’s worth isn’t wrapped up in having children is much easier said than done. Society continues to perpetuate this, and it’s tough to shake. Everywhere I go, I’m asked, “Do you have children?” Answering this question isn’t simple for me. “No, I don’t have kids” is usually my go-to. “My daughter died” usually ends the conversation quickly… and yet it’s my reality.

Learning to love your story, no matter what takes work. But what else are we left to do? I’m committed to having a fulfilling life, and to indulging in greatness whenever possible. Experiencing every mother’s greatest fear threw me into this life, and I have to say I love it. This is my story, for better or worse. I’m making it the best thing I could ask for.

What do you think is the goal or mission that drives your creative journey?

My first couple of years trying to become a parent were ghastly. Every month became a reminder of what I was incapable of doing. And I didn’t know anyone else in the same situation…. Well, that’s not true, I did know others dealing with infertility, but no one was talking about it. I didn’t feel seen. And once I started sharing my story, people saw me for who I truly am. Other infertility couples also felt my reality, and I never stopped discussing it.

Feeling seen and connected is essential for one’s mental well-being. We all want to belong, right? After eight years of watching my loved ones become parents, I couldn’t help but think something was wrong with me. It was easy to keep my struggles silent because telling others brought many other issues. Everyone has an opinion about why you can’t get pregnant. “It took me six months; it’ll happen.” or, “My sister’s neighbor got pregnant from drinking raspberry tea.” And the classic, “Just relax.” Those around you think they can fix you by giving tips, and when the tips fail, you start feeling broken. The cycle can be dreadful.

I can’t tell you how many DMs I read, texts I got, or even people pulling me aside at work saying they dealt with infertility. I remember thinking, “What? You never mentioned this?!? Why didn’t you say anything?”

So I’m here to say something. Not having children can mean multiple things. It could be a choice, but it might not be. Any way someone concludes that they won’t have children is valid. It’s as simple as that. My goal is to write about the grief this can bring. And to share that being childless doesn’t imply a life less lived.

Contact Info:

• Website: bloomingwithcare.com
• Instagram: @bloomingwithcare
• Linkedin: www.linkedin.com/in/carriehauskens
• Other: Medium – https://medium.com/@bloomingwithcare