You guys are no stranger to my half-marathon training posts & fitness instagram photos starting from last fall into this spring. But what you don't know is that in the early spring, Chris and I were pregnant. But shortly after sharing the news with our families, we had a miscarriage.

I struggled a lot throughout my first trimester--aside from what I was feeling emotionally, I was constantly fatigued. I had so little energy that many days vacuuming was the most physical exertion I found I could manage. This took a toll on me mentally, and I beat myself up about it. I felt my body was betraying me. All the pregnancy symptoms were hitting me, hard. And the only things I could seem to keep down was green beans and cheerios. I felt up to nothing and was flooded with guilt and anxiety about how my eating would affect the baby.

I had my mom and my older sister's comfort, support, and advice from their pregnancies as well as all the resources that the internet and books could offer. Though my pregnancy experience was, quite plainly, awful so far. They all encouraged that it would pass and some of the symptoms would ease considerably.

I had stopped blogging [and other social medias] during my pregnancy because I wasn't sure if I still wanted to continue to do it. Social media and internet has changed so much and I was trying to keep in mind our family's privacy and eventually the baby's. We were approaching my second trimester in June, the time we planned to announce it to everyone [we'd already shared with family and close friends], when we lost the baby.

I have only one photo of my pregnancy. It was within the first eight weeks, never posted anywhere or shared with anyone. And suddenly that photo--along with those baby books, stuffed toys for the nursery and pinterest boards filled with ideas, and hardest of all--a Christmas gift for my mom, a "Grandma's Little Gift" bib for our Christmas baby. It all haunted me. I had no idea what to do with it all and couldn't deal, so I completely shut off.

I avoided talking about it with my family, I ignored my friends' efforts & outreach and any type of communication with them/the world. I simply buried myself in books, reading one after the other. Filling my mind with anything else. I couldn't spend too much time thinking about our loss. My panic attacks returned. Chris was my rock, letting me take my time and allowing me to come to him when I needed to talk. But talking was hard--I would feel my lungs close up, I would cry and couldn't breath. How could you be something, and the next moment not? Physically and emotionally empty, I felt like I lost more than our baby, I lost myself too.

I felt like a shell and was experiencing some depression. We decided to spend some time away and stayed at my childhood home. It was comforting. Getting to feeling back to normal was slow but coping came, and taking steps forward began. More interaction, more laughs with Chris. Walks with the dogs around our land as the sun would go down. Getting dressed and looking at myself in the mirror again. Swims after fishing.-- It was the like air I was gasping for.

When we got back to our house I started walking, then jogging--then running. I felt a desperate need for accomplishment. Chris encouraged me to be active, to feel more like myself.

It's been a little over a month since I've recommitted myself to taking care of my body and realizing how strong it can be. Through every mess is a message and here is my journey to keep going. To keep taking care of myself in all aspects: mentally, physically and emotionally. #keepgoing

Keep up with more of my journey on instagram @ helloalissacummings