Navigating Hyperemesis Gravidarum: My Journey and What Helped

Hyperemesis gravidarum isn’t “just morning sickness.”

It’s not throwing up a few times a day.

It’s not being a little queasy or needing crackers on the nightstand.

HG is something entirely different — heavy, relentless, all-consuming.

It takes over your body, your routines, your relationships, your sense of self.

And when you’re in it, it feels like you’re drowning quietly while people tell you you’re “supposed to be glowing.”

My journey with HG was one of the hardest parts of my pregnancy. I still feel pieces of it in my body when I think back on those days. I didn’t “soldier through” it because I was strong — I survived it because I didn’t have a choice. And even then, some days, survival felt questionable.

This is what that chapter looked like, and what helped me through it.

When the sickness didn’t stop, the fear started to creep in

At first, I kept telling myself it was normal.

Everyone gets sick in the first trimester… right?

But then the vomiting didn’t stop.

It didn’t lighten up.

It didn’t come in waves — it was constant.

Food came up.

Water came up.

My body felt hollow and heavy at the same time.

The dehydration headaches were brutal.

My muscles ached.

Even showers and baths — the things that are supposed to feel comforting — made me sick.

And emotionally, I felt like I was disappearing into my symptoms.

On top of all of that, I had twice-weekly progesterone injections.

Every shot reminded me how fragile my pregnancy felt, how much my body was fighting just to keep moving forward. The nausea and pain didn’t pause for appointments, and the injections didn’t make the HG easier — they just added another layer to an already overwhelming routine.

HG strips away your ability to function. It’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived it.

You’re not just sick — you’re incapacitated.

The isolation that comes with HG is real

People don’t always get it.

They think you’re exaggerating.

They think you’re being dramatic.

They say things like “try ginger” or “eat small meals” while you’re kneeling over a toilet, shaking and drained.

HG made me feel isolated in a way I didn’t expect.

I stopped going out.

I stopped answering calls.

I stopped pretending I was okay.

Most days, basic tasks were impossible.

It wasn’t just the physical symptoms — it was the emotional loneliness.

What actually helped (and what didn’t)

I wish I had a magical answer.

There isn’t one.

But there were things that helped me survive it.

Medical support

Not “tips,” not “home remedies,” — actual medical support.

IV fluids

medication

monitoring

resting without guilt

HG is not something you push through. It’s something you treat and manage the best you can.

Letting go of guilt

I wasn’t cooking.

I wasn’t cleaning.

I wasn’t social.

I wasn’t “productive.”

I wasn’t the version of pregnancy people expect.

And that had to be okay.

I had to stop apologizing for being sick — even though it felt like all I was doing was apologizing.

Staying hydrated, however, I could

Water was impossible most days, but:

ice chips

electrolyte drinks

popsicles

sipping tiny amounts throughout the day

…sometimes kept me from needing another IV.

Eating what I could, when I could

Even if it wasn’t “healthy.”

Even if it didn’t make sense.

Even if it came back up later.

Survival was the goal — not perfection.

Community support (even when small)

The people who checked in, or simply understood I wasn’t ignoring them… those small moments mattered more than they know.

Giving myself permission to rest

Rest wasn’t a luxury — it was the only way I made it through the worst days.

The emotional aftermath of HG is real, too

HG doesn’t end the day the vomiting stops.

It lingers.

I carried:

fear of getting sick again

guilt for not “enjoying” pregnancy

resentment toward my own body

anxiety that something was wrong with the baby

exhaustion that lasted far into postpartum

HG shapes how you enter birth and postpartum.

It drains your reserves long before labor begins. I had to rebuild slowly — physically and emotionally.

HG didn’t end with birth — it followed me into postpartum

People talk about HG like it magically disappears the moment the baby is born, but that wasn’t my reality. My symptoms didn’t just “lift.” They lingered — hard. For almost two years after having Meadow, I dealt with what can only be described as postpartum hyperemesis… or postpartum nausea and vomiting. There isn’t an official name for it, which somehow made it feel even more isolating. I kept waiting for my body to settle, for the nausea to ease, for things to feel “normal” again — but my system was still in survival mode long after pregnancy ended. Every wave of nausea sent me straight back into panic. My body remembered everything, and sometimes it felt like it was still trying to protect me from a threat that wasn’t there anymore.

The fear of another pregnancy

Because of that, the idea of having another child carries a fear that’s hard to put into words. It’s not fear of birth — it’s fear of returning to a body that betrayed me day after day. Fear of being that sick again. Fear of disappearing into symptoms the way I did before. Fear of not being able to care for Meadow while battling the level of sickness HG brought into my life. It’s a fear that sits quietly in the background, even when life feels stable. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t welcome another child with love — it just means the trauma of HG has a long shadow, and I’m honest about that. You can love your child deeply and still fear repeating the path that nearly broke you. Both things can exist at the same time.

How HG shaped the doula I became

My HG journey deepened my compassion in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

I learned that:

pregnancy can be beautiful and brutal

people deserve support without having to prove how sick they are

rest is not optional

nourishment is complicated

bodies need time to heal from more than birth

invisible struggles are still real

strength doesn’t always look like empowerment — sometimes it’s just enduring

When clients come to me with nausea, anxiety, fear, or exhaustion, I understand it intimately.

Not from textbooks — from experience.

HG taught me the importance of listening without minimizing.

Of believing people when they say they’re struggling.

Of seeing the whole human, not just the pregnancy.

I survived hyperemesis gravidarum — and it changed me

HG did not define my pregnancy, but it shaped parts of it.

It stretched me thin, humbled me, and forced me to rest in ways I wasn’t used to.

It taught me that surviving something doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard.

It taught me that healing takes time.

And it taught me that you can be grateful for your baby and still acknowledge how brutal the journey was.

Both things can be true.

And if you’re in the middle of HG right now — you’re not weak, and you’re not alone. What you’re going through is real, and surviving it is a kind of strength people rarely talk about.