On January 7th, we evacuated with a small bag, thinking we’d be gone for just a few days. On January 8th, we found out that every single home in our neighborhood — including ours — was gone.

The weeks that followed were a blur. We moved to a new area. Both of our daughters started new schools and had to adjust. We went from a walkable, cozy life to one that now requires constant driving. When we moved into our new place, we had literally nothing. No coffee mugs, no towels, no plates, no sheets. We were starting from scratch.

But in the middle of all this difficulty, so much beauty, joy, and abundance showed up. The number of people who called, texted, dropped off food, gifts, or simply asked, “How can I help?” — it was overwhelming in the best way. We felt deeply held.

I’ve experienced two major losses before this: my pregnancy loss, which led me to start WeNatal (the biggest blessing of my life), and the sudden passing of my dad a year ago. Those experiences taught me that, even when it feels impossible, one day it will all make sense. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do believe there is infinite possibility ahead. Maybe this experience will make our kids more resilient. Maybe it happened to show us the immense goodness in the world — even when life feels unbearably dark. Maybe we’ll rebuild and return to an even better version of the Palisades. Who knows? But what I do know is: we’re okay. And one day, this chapter will reveal its purpose.

This experience has made me reflect on how loss and rebuilding often mirror the journey through fertility, pregnancy, or postpartum. If you’re in the thick of it, here are a few lessons from the fire that I hope bring you comfort or perspective.

1. Every day is a special occasion.

If I could go back and grab one thing from my freezer, it wouldn’t be anything expensive — it would be the dumplings my late dad made. We were saving them for a “special occasion,” but the truth is, every day is one. Don’t wait to celebrate life until you get the positive test, or until you're in the second trimester, or until the baby arrives. Celebrate now — even when it's hard.

2. Share your hard moments.

When I had a pregnancy loss, I didn’t tell anyone I was pregnant — because we’re taught not to. So when I miscarried, I grieved alone. But when we lost our home, it was on the news, and suddenly everyone knew. The love and support we received lifted us. It carried us. Let people in. You don’t have to do this alone.

3. Learn to receive.

I’ve always been someone who prides herself on doing it all. But after the fire, friends, family — even strangers — showed up for us and I had no choice but to receive. Someone offered us a duplex to live in indefinitely. People sent clothes, toys, furniture. I never imagined I’d be the person texting my sizes when someone asked what they could send. But I learned to receive — and in doing so, I now live in a home filled with reminders of love and community.

4. Community is everything.

I couldn’t have done this without Vida. She helped set up our new home, brought in a decorator, and sent an army of people to collect donations. Our extended family took us in, and our girls had the joy of being with their cousins while we figured everything out. While I was in bed crying, they were laughing and playing. Community carried us when we couldn’t carry ourselves.

And here’s the thing — community is just as essential when you're trying to conceive, pregnant, or navigating postpartum. It can feel isolating, especially when things aren’t going as planned. Find the places where people get it. Go to prenatal yoga. Join a mommy-and-me class. Attend a support circle. Even if it feels awkward at first, those connections can become lifelines. You don't have to do this alone.

5. Everyone is going through something.

Yes, our home burned down. But I have friends whose houses are still standing — yet they can’t live in them because of toxic ash, and nothing inside is salvageable. Even if a house looks untouched, no one is moving into a neighborhood where 70% of the homes are gone, and there’s no functioning school or market nearby.

It’s a reminder: just because someone’s pain doesn’t look like yours doesn’t mean it’s not real. We’re all carrying something. So if it feels like everyone else is getting pregnant easily, or you keep getting invited to baby showers that are hard to attend — know that no one has a perfect life. Everyone is navigating their own version of loss, struggle, or uncertainty, even if you can’t see it.

6. Grief looks different on everyone.

I went into action mode: insurance calls, logistics, rebuilding. My husband went numb. It created tension, but I reminded myself — we all grieve differently. The same is true when you're navigating fertility challenges or pregnancy loss. If your partner doesn’t seem sad or emotional, it doesn’t mean they don’t care. They might just be processing it in a way that’s different from you. Give each other space, grace, and the benefit of the doubt. Everyone carries pain differently.

7. During stressful times, double down on nourishment.

In the midst of the fire, my sister — who used to run a meal prep business — started prepping meals for me again to make sure I was staying healthy. I reordered WeNatal (my entire stash had been lost) and made a point to be religious about taking my supplements. It would have been easy to skip meals or forget, but proper nourishment is what kept me going. It helped me stay strong enough to support my family — physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And the same applies if you’re trying to conceive, pregnant, or postpartum. Stress can take over and make it easy to skip meals or supplements, but this is the exact moment when your body needs support the most. Prioritizing clean eating, rest, hydration, and nutrients isn’t just self-care — it’s the foundation for resilience, fertility, and recovery.

Whether you're navigating fertility, pregnancy loss, postpartum challenges, or just the heaviness of life — I hope these lessons remind you that beauty and resilience can grow out of ashes. One day, we will look back and understand why we had to walk through the fire.

With love,
Ronit