This trying journey is harder than you ever imagined it would be. So much crushing hope only to be let down month after month. The hope that dares to rise up, whispering “it will happen next month.” Too delicate a thought to say out loud.

And then there’s the loss. The chemical pregnancy. The baby that was never to be. When that test flashed “pregnant” it was immediately real to you. He or she was instantly ours. Our baby. Finally. Running out to the book store to get parenting books! Feeling those first pregnancy symptoms! Giggling at the tiny secret we’re holding that no one else in the world knows! Wondering if it will be a boy or girl! Thinking through plans of a nursery, and childcare!

One week. That was all you had of dreaming, worrying if you’ll be a good Mom. And then the cramps started. “It’s fine,” you tell yourself. “This is normal.”

Until the cramps weren’t normal anymore.

And then the spotting started. And hours later thick, bright red blood.

With shaky hands calling your partner. Immediately sobbing over the loss of what could have been. The hope so pure, so vulnerable, now vanished. Gone in an instant.

Moving through the next few days feeling heartbroken and devastated. In a blur. Crying spontaneously when you remember what you’ve lost. The baby that was never to be. Your baby that was never to be. But it was still yours. For a moment.

But slowly, time starts to heal as the days tick by. Chatting with supportive and loving friends. You realize, this is normal! It’s even a good sign that we can get pregnant at all!

Thoughts of the lost potential and trying recede to the back of your mind for a few weeks.

That is, until it’s time to start testing ovulation again…

Because if anything, this loss has made you realize how achingly deep you want this. You want to be a Mother. Blindingly raw from the center of your soul.

So of course, we can’t let a month of trying go to waste. They say you’re more fertile after loss too! The first three months after a loss you’re more likely to conceive!

So you buy an at-home hormone tester that confirms ovulation. You do the planned sex. You feel positive – hopeful even – when your hormones rise to the “right” levels confirming ovulation. You even continue to test just to see if progesterone is rising like it should! It is!

Until one day the progesterone drops drastically. Drastically enough that you know. You know that you couldn’t possibly be pregnant.

And you realize all that delicate hope that sprouted its way through your skin, the very tips of your fingers and wounded heart, will be shattered once more.

And you wonder: what is wrong with us? Why isn’t this happening for us? It seemed so easy for everyone else, even though you know that’s not true.

A panic so real, so strong, wraps around your throat choking out any last threads of hope left.

But then you breathe. You remind yourself of next month’s fertility appointment! Getting evaluated will surely be a positive step in this journey. And they say it can take up to a year! So be patient!

You shove the panic away. Force yourself to stop Googling, scraping at every last drop of information that attempts to sooth your jagged mind. You step outside and glance up at the big, beautiful sky. You truly feel grateful for your life, and all you have. You remember that knowing deep in your weary bones that if this doesn’t happen, you will be okay. Happy even. Your life doesn’t start or end with this, even though the stakes somehow at times feel that way. You are whole as you are. You are love as you are. Your body is strong. You are boundless potential. You are exactly where you need to be.

So you pack up your fertility kit. Exit out of unwanted tabs, leaving no ghosts lingering behind. You look resentfully at your pads and tampons in the drawer, a reminder of what’s to come soon.

And then, somehow, you’ll do it all again. And you’ll realize how strong that actually makes you. Being unafraid to hope and to dream so hard for something. For pursuing something without abandon, even in the face of adversity. Your vulnerability no longer seeming like a gaping wound, but a shining sun. A beacon of light. Of love.

For no one can tell you what the future holds, as much as you want it. There’s no guarantee that this will happen. But you’ll keep going, keep trying, vulnerable open heart and all, and you’ll make a beautiful life for yourself along the way. One day at a time.