I never imagined my path to motherhood would look like this: long months of waiting, doctors’ offices, heartbreak, and fear tangled with joy. I’ve lived through infertility, pregnancy loss, a high-risk twin pregnancy, 12 weeks in the NICU, and more losses after that. And somehow, through it all, I’ve also found my calling: walking alongside other parents in their hardest moments as a perinatal mental health therapist.

This is my story.

Infertility and My First Loss

We started trying to grow our family full of excitement and hope. Month after month passed, 15 in total, before we turned to a reproductive endocrinologist for help. By then it was 2020, and COVID slowed everything down even further.

We tried two IUIs without success. Our third IUI was different. My bloodwork came back positive; we were over the moon. But joy quickly gave way to uncertainty. My pregnancy was labeled a “pregnancy of unknown location,” and to be safe in case it was ectopic, I was treated with methotrexate. That one injection ended the pregnancy and forced us to wait before trying again.

I remember holding back tears at a family gathering when a cousin laughed and said, “I’m so fertile, if my husband looks at me, I’m pregnant.” In my head I was silently screaming, F** you. That’s the thing about infertility and loss, the world keeps making jokes while your heart quietly breaks.

Pregnancy After Loss

By November, we’d decided not to do a fourth IUI. The emotional and financial strain was too much. But then my in-laws offered to pay, and we gave it one last shot. I was certain it had failed… until my bloodwork came back positive.

At my first scan at 5.5 weeks, I learned we were having DiDi twins. Alongside the excitement came a flood of anxiety. I was now officially high risk. Every milestone brought new fears: a NIPT scare for a possible neural tube defect (thankfully not the case), and at 16 weeks, news that one of the boys wasn’t growing well.

By 23 weeks, doctors were preparing me for the possibility of letting Baby B pass in-utero to protect Baby A. We cried, we prayed, we toured the NICU. We hoped for more time.

At 29 weeks, after a battle with intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR) and a bout of food poisoning, my boys arrived. Looking back, I realize I only have three or four pictures of me pregnant. I avoided the camera; afraid I’d need to erase the evidence if things didn’t work out. Even buying cribs left me sobbing, I couldn’t shake the fear they’d never be used.

Our NICU Chapter

The NICU was overwhelming at first. The sounds, the beeps, the constant motion. My smaller twin was a micro preemie, fighting from his first breath.

Over 12 weeks, the NICU became a strange mix of trauma and gratitude. The nurses and doctors taught us how to care for our fragile babies, it felt at times like we had the world’s most expensive babysitters.

I’ll never forget walking in to find my son mid-bradycardia and apnea episode. His skin was gray. I picked him up, terrified he was gone. When his color returned, I stepped out so I wouldn’t throw up on the unit.

I kept asking my husband, “When will someone just tell us they’ll survive?” That reassurance never came, only incremental progress.

Bringing them home was both thrilling and terrifying. After months of constant monitoring, we were suddenly alone. I was petrified they’d choke while feeding, stop breathing overnight, or crash without warning. It took a long time to trust again. EMDR therapy played a big part in helping me heal.

More Losses

When the boys turned three, we decided to stop preventing pregnancy. My husband wasn’t ready for fertility treatments again, but to our shock, we conceived naturally. I was amazed.

At six weeks, spotting began. At ten weeks, during a visit to the high-risk office, I miscarried. The pain was excruciating, and I was sent to the ER for a D&E. Weeks later, the results confirmed a chromosomal issue and that we had lost a little girl. We named her Lucy. Knowing what motherhood feels like made losing her even more devastating.

Six months later, another positive test, followed by bleeding within days. It was a very early miscarriage. My reproductive endocrinologist told me my odds were now one in four for a successful pregnancy without IVF.

For each baby I’ve lost, I’ve bought a ring with their birthstone: emerald, ruby, amethyst. A friend calls them my “infinity rings.” They’re a small but tangible way of carrying my children with me always.

Finding My Purpose

During my high-risk pregnancy, I searched for a therapist who truly understood perinatal trauma and couldn’t find one. That felt unacceptable. I was a therapist myself, and even I couldn’t connect with the right help.

After my boys came home and I did my own EMDR work, I knew this was my calling. I wanted to be the therapist I needed back then. I never wanted another parent to feel lost in their search for understanding.

Now, as a perinatal mental health therapist, I have the privilege of walking with parents through infertility, pregnancy loss, pregnancy after loss, and NICU trauma. I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting, and grief can live alongside joy. The most important thing I can offer, and that we can offer each other, is validation.

If You’re in the Middle of It Right Now

To anyone going through infertility, perinatal loss, pregnancy after loss, or the NICU, please know you are not alone. I’ve been where you are. I know the loneliness, the fear, and the aching love that loss leaves behind.

Please reach out to someone. A friend, a therapist, a support group. You do not have to carry this alone, and you can feel better. Not overnight, not in a straight line, but better.

Our babies, here and gone, will always matter. And so do you.