Until now I’ve resisted blogging about this. It seemed so deeply personal and private; not intended for the Internet. But meanwhile, I’ve been quietly reading the blogs of others who’ve been struggling through similar experiences and you’ve all made me feel less alone. Since this whole experience has been an isolating one, I’m very grateful for that. One of the things that took me by surprise about this bubble of infertility and miscarriage is how silent the world seems to be about it. I’m not participating in that silence anymore.

This blog will not contain my best writing. I’m imagining it more as a place to grieve, record, process, and hopefully grow. And a place to open my experience up to anyone who might find it helpful, find solidarity, or understanding. It will likely be messy and angry and dark and sometimes mean.

There are so many places our story could go from here. Lots of them are even more terrifying than where we’ve already been. Some of them are brighter, better, hopeful. Maybe the scariest thing is that we have no way of knowing. I’m trying to find peace within the not knowing, but it’s hard – probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s an overwhelmingly common statement in the infertility world, but I thrive on control. Control over tonight, tomorrow, next week, next year. But as this situation has forced me to give up all control, it has also made painfully clear the fact that the control was never mine to begin with. Anything can happen tomorrow, no matter how carefully I’ve planned.


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