Earlier this month we finally shared the happy news that we’re expecting. Saying it out loud and declaring it publicly felt like releasing a breath I’ve been holding not just for the 11 weeks since finding out, but for the past 2 1/2 years we’ve been trying to conceive while navigating the pain of 2 miscarriages. In the minutes after the announcement went live, as I sat on the couch watching the messages pour in, I burst into tears. The love and support from friends and family washed over me all at once. The tremendous weight of holding onto this secret felt like it had been lifted from my chest, as though I’d finally been granted permission to turn what was once an elusive dream into something real.
While the news is incredibly exciting and brings me so much joy as I enter my second trimester, I want to acknowledge the fact that pregnancy is not an effortless sequence of happy milestones for everyone. Experiencing pregnancy loss and the recovery that follows is a uniquely personal journey for each woman and each couple. Loss at any stage grants you membership to a club no one asks to join. Somewhere between learning about a confirmed pregnancy and the devastating news of its end, we’ve already imagined a new life with our baby in it. We fast-forward to the day we hold our baby in our arms. We wonder whose eyes they’ll have, whose nose, what kind of person they’ll grow up to be. The grief isn’t only for what was – it’s for what had already begun to take shape in our hearts.
On most days, I was able to avoid dwelling on the past and focus on the possibilities still in front of me. But on the rare days when doubt crept in, the loneliness could feel sharp and isolating. You hear a lot of, “Everything will work out in the end,” “Your time will come,” “Try not to stress too much,” “I have a friend who experienced [X], and now she has [X]!”. While I am deeply grateful for the incredible support system around me, these reassurances can feel hollow when they come from someone who hasn’t sat with the same emptiness. Infertility and unexplained infertility can carry heaviness layered with feelings of failure. They come with many nuances that make each situation uniquely challenging, and so it can feel frustrating to have your story compared to someone else’s. Though I can’t fault anyone for offering positivity and optimism, you simply cannot help someone spontaneously grow hope in a dark tunnel.
Over the past 15 years, I’ve had the privilege of watching many of my closest friends become moms. Even in the midst of my own waiting, it never dimmed my ability or desire to celebrate them fully. Being the best auntie I could be wasn’t a consolation prize. Showing up for their milestones kept me tethered to something steady and good. It reminded me that motherhood isn’t only biological – it’s also relational. Their kids became part of my story long before I knew how mine would unfold, and the joy I got from watching them grow carried me through the seasons when my own progress felt stalled.
After two back-to-back miscarriages in a 6-month span beginning in 2023, we sought a referral to a fertility clinic to get initial diagnostic testing done in 2024, then tried for another 8 months on our own before starting the IVF process in 2025.
Now here we are – 15 weeks pregnant. Reaching this milestone after loss and months that turned into years of fertility treatments has given me an immeasurable sense of awe and gratitude for the small, mighty, growing life inside me – and for everything and everyone it took to get us here.