TheSilence

I don’t really know where to start.

Maybe with the fact that today is Saturday, and for a week now my life has taken a path I never expected. A path no woman would ever want to know.

Seven days ago, I found out that the baby I was expecting… was no longer there.

I still can’t say it out loud. I’m writing it here, in an anonymous space, because maybe it’s the only way I can give a name to this pain without having to meet anyone’s eyes. I don’t want explanations, I don’t want clichés, I don’t want “it will be okay.”

I just want to tell my story.

We were deep in our fertility treatment journey. Hope, injections, check-ups, a thousand fears and sacrifices. Time, money, energy—all thrown on the table like chips in a casino where you never know if you’ll walk away a winner or on your knees.

And me?

I ended up on my knees.

For a week now, I haven’t been able to leave the house. I feel trapped, clinging to this pain and emptiness, watching the world move on without me. I’ve lost a baby, I’ve lost my fertility as I knew it, I’ve lost a piece of my identity. And with it, I’ve lost the idea of the family that kept me alive these past months.

My partner suffers as much as I do. Sometimes we hold each other in the same pain, other times we cry alone, each in our own silence. Seeing someone you love suffer cuts through your heart twice. We try to be strong for each other, for ourselves, to be able to look ahead. But when the wave of grief hits, it spares no one, wherever you are.

I write all this because, even if we feel utterly alone right now, knowing that someone else out there is experiencing the same pain makes this silence feel a little less empty.

I don’t have conclusions. I don’t have a ready-made message of hope.

I only have a story that has just begun, even though I wish it had started differently.

Today, I start here.

With an anonymous post.