Pregnancy is often described as a time of pure joy and anticipation. But for some of us, the journey to parenthood isn’t straightforward. Sometimes, it’s riddled with heartbreak, fear, and moments that test every ounce of strength we possess. My story is one of loss, resilience, and eventual healing. It’s not easy to share, but it’s one I hope will bring comfort to others navigating similar paths.

It all began in 2018, with my first pregnancy. While it was an unplanned pregnancy, I was thrilled and hopeful, envisioning the beautiful future ahead. Then came the devastating news: an early miscarriage. My doctor reassured me this was a one-time occurrence, promising I’d go on to have a healthy pregnancy. I wanted to believe them, but that was far from the truth!

In 2020, I became pregnant with twins. My hope was renewed, but it was short-lived. At 13 weeks, I lost the first baby. Just two weeks later, I went to the bathroom and, to my horror, delivered the second baby into the toilet. I was shattered. Before the year was over, I suffered another early loss and was diagnosed with cervical insufficiency. The grief was overwhelming, compounded by the frustration of navigating a healthcare system where specialists weren’t easily accessible despite living in a major city, Atlanta.

Determined to find answers, I sought help from a hypnotherapist, reproductive endocrinologist, and geneticist in 2021. That year was marked by multiple early losses, a failed transvaginal cerclage, and an emergency trip to Dallas for a second surgical attempt to save my pregnancy at 20 weeks. While the surgery initially worked, preterm labor followed, and I delivered another baby too early to survive after 30 hours of intense labor.

The mental toll of these repeated losses was immense. I questioned my body, my faith, and my ability to continue fighting. The lack of access to the maternal health specialists I desperately needed made me feel helpless. I spent so much time advocating for procedures and care that should have been offered proactively. The emotional weight of feeling unseen by the system added to the grief I already carried.

In 2022, I faced yet another early miscarriage. Then, in May of that year, I became pregnant again. This time, I guarded my heart. I approached every milestone cautiously, terrified of another loss. When I finally delivered my son at just over 36 weeks, I felt a wave of relief, but the trauma lingered. My son spent three days in the NICU as he overcame breathing challenges and blood glucose issues.

For the first month, I struggled to bond with my son. My history of loss made it hard to trust that he was truly mine, that he was healthy, and that I could allow myself to love him fully. But healing isn’t immediate, and I had to learn to give myself grace. Slowly, day by day, I began to embrace the miracle he is.