Kaamala Neupane's Blog

 Pregnancy is often described as a season of joy and anticipation, and rightly so. Yet for me, it has also been a sacred season of vulnerability, a time when I have walked through both wonder and weakness, strength and surrender. It is a holy calling for my life, not a test of my endurance. In this season, I do not need demands for toughness; I need coverings of grace. To carry life within me is to participate in something divinely entrusted. Every change in my body, every quiet fear, and every whispered prayer has become part of a sacred exchange between the Creator and me. Too often, though, the words spoken to me as an expectant mother have forgotten their weight. Opinions, advice, and judgments have come freely, as if my heart and body were public ground. Yet as I nurture this life, I am carrying not only a child; I am carrying the invisible labor of faith, patience, and trust. Each tiny heartbeat within me is a divine declaration that God is still creating, still breathing purpose into the world through willing vessels. In that truth, I know that I deserve gentleness, honor, and grace spoken over me because I am carrying far more than the eye can see.

People spoke freely, often unaware of how deeply their words cut. Some comments were wrapped in laughter, others slipped out casually, yet each one sank into my heart and stayed with me in a painful, lasting way.

Wow, you’re huge.
They laughed. I smiled. That’s what we’re taught to do. But inside, I was already struggling to recognize myself. My clothes didn’t fit, my reflection felt unfamiliar, and I was exhausted. I wasn’t “huge”; I was carrying life. My body was doing holy work, yet somehow, it became a punchline.

Are you sure there’s only one baby in there?
That comment took something miraculous and made it a joke. My body was protecting my baby, working harder than ever before. I wasn’t a spectacle. I was a mother in progress.

You’ve gained so much weight.
No one asked how my baby was or how I was truly feeling. They only noticed the surface. That weight wasn’t shame; it was love turning into flesh and heartbeat.

You don’t even look pregnant.
People thought it was a compliment, but it sparked worry. Is my baby okay? Is my body doing enough? Pregnancy already comes with its own set of quiet fears. Thoughtless comments only feed them.

You’ll never sleep again, or just wait until it only gets worse.
Why do we hand fear to expectant mothers as if it’s advice? I was already anxious about motherhood and the unknown. I didn’t need dread; I needed reassurance. Motherhood is challenging, yes, but it’s also full of joy, grace, and purpose. A pregnant woman does not need to be hardened for what lies ahead. She needs to be supported so she can meet it with confidence. Grace reminds her that she is not failing because she feels overwhelmed. It reminds her that uncertainty does not disqualify her; it prepares her. It reminds her that asking for gentleness is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of wisdom.

You’re too emotional.
My tears weren’t weak. They were honest. They were love in motion. My emotions didn’t make me fragile; they made me human. When a pregnant woman says she is tired, she does not need to be told that motherhood will exhaust her further. When she admits fear, she does not need reminders of worst-case scenarios. When she cries, she does not need correction. What she needs is to be believed, respected, and met with compassion. Grace does not deny reality; it acknowledges difficulty while offering reassurance instead of fear.

Was it planned?
Some questions are too personal to ask. Pregnancy is sacred and private. No woman owes anyone her story.

You should do it this way.
Advice poured in from every direction. But what I needed most wasn’t correction; it was compassion. I didn’t need someone to lead me. I needed someone to stand beside me.

Pregnancy is not an open forum. It’s a sacred, transformative seasonal time that shapes a woman’s heart and body in ways the world may never see. Behind every calm smile is a woman who’s exhausted, hopeful, and silently doing her best for the life she carries. Words matter. They can comfort or cut. Heal or humiliate. If you don’t know what to say, choose kindness. If you can’t encourage, choose silence. Pregnant women don’t need commentary. They need gentleness, respect, and love. The next time you see a pregnant woman, pause. Before you comment on her size, her choices, or her emotions, remember this: she’s carrying more than one heartbeat. She’s carrying hope, fear, wonder, and faith all at once. You don’t need the perfect words to comfort her; you just need kind ones. Speak life. Offer grace. Let your words be the kind she remembers for the right reasons. Because every expecting mother deserves to feel seen, not judged; supported, not spoken over; and loved, not laughed at.