I am currently sitting down in my bed, coffee in hand.

A few days after the New Moon, and I am writing because honestly, I am led to.

The last few days have been a whirlwind, so where do we begin?

Why I'm Sharing This

About 10 percent of women in the United States ages 15-44 experience difficulty getting pregnant or staying pregnant. This translates to approximately 6.1 million women. 6.1 MILLION WOMEN, and yet we hear nothing, most of the time. Maybe I am called to share because my ancestors had to stay quiet and hidden. Maybe this baby wants me to go back to my roots and start womb healing again. But every time I try to stay quiet about this, to keep it to myself like I always do, I find myself blabbing out my story and this journey to the women I come into contact with. So despite wanting to keep this hidden, to stay quiet, to hide my own feelings of shame, sadness, and the mix of emotions that come with it — this is my beginning. And maybe along the way, it will reach the right people in the right places and uplift the right women. Maybe after this baby comes earth side, I will get to see how it all was the perfect places, and the perfect timing. Maybe I will get to witness the perfection of Goddess at work in my life and the blessings that have made their way into it as a result of this journey.

Our First Consult

Well, first things first — my husband and I have been trying to conceive a child for the last year, to grow our family from a blended family of 4 to a family of 5, and haven't been able to. After ten long months of trying, I finally said enough and decided to book a fertility consult with a company near our home to see what could be found. We both feel like we could conceive naturally on our own, but for some reason it wasn't happening. I am 36 and have no desire to be much older when I give birth, as someone whose entire life has revolved around children. We've both been feeling a child around us for the last three years, hearing them tell us they were ready to come in, and with a few years into our marriage, we decided it was the right time, together.

The Diagnosis

At our first consult, our amazing doctor asked us some basic health questions, then went down a checklist of procedures for me to go through, as well as my husband, with the idea that at the end of the data collection we would form a plan to align with our next course of action on this journey to conception.

Before I go any further, I have to lead with this: I have always had normal, predictable menstrual and ovulatory cycles. My. I have been an athlete most of my life, and I live a relatively healthy lifestyle rooted in the holistic arts, living close to the Earth and within the cycles of her rhythms. So this journey, in itself, has been more surprising and challenging than I expected it to be — which I believe is why my experience of shock has been so immense. None of this feels aligned for me. The word "infertility," and everything associated with it, doesn't feel resonant. And while I know that's true for everyone who walks through this, I believe it's also a reflection of something much greater — a misalignment in our human relationship to the planet itself.

But medicine doesn't run on alignment. It runs on tests. So that's where we started.

The first round of tests was blood work, followed by a check on my ovaries and how many follicles I was producing — having just started my cycle, or getting ready to start it, meant we got in for these appointments within a few days of our initial consult, which was so lucky. After my first series of tests, I discovered I had adenomyosis, which my doctor then shared as endometriosis. This hit like a ton of bricks. I was surprised, shocked, and yes, devastated, as I looked at the Swiss cheese holes in my womb on my left ovary, compared to the very normal, usual, healthy menstrual cycles I was used to having. Having absolutely no symptoms left me reeling with shock, confusion, and a huge mix of emotions as I walked out of the appointment with my mother-in-law, in tears once I was far enough away from the door. It was official — I was one of the 10% of women with endometriosis and infertility.

A Dark Room, Alone

I had to go back to work and tell my husband, who was out of town for the entire week. In the next few hours, I would go to another appointment — a diagnostic mammogram for abnormalities in my breasts that I'd found and called my doctor about only a few weeks prior. I would again sit in a dark room, by myself, and pray to the Lord above to be healthy, while also speaking Glennon Doyle's famous line, "I can do hard things" — trying not to go too far into the future about what this would mean for my children, my family, and this future baby I was trying so hard to conceive. The woman who prepped me for my diagnostic mammogram shared her own story of infertility — her journey conceiving her four beautiful children through IVF, the miscarriages, the ups and downs, the unknown, a journey she wouldn't wish on anyone but that was totally worth it. She told me to have hope, because it all works out, and it's worth it in the end. She didn't know it, but she was exactly what I needed to hear on a day like that.

Waiting on Answers

Results came back positive — thankfully, my breasts were not cancerous — but the next test was scheduled for the very next day. This was a check of my fallopian tubes to see if there were any blocks, what the pathways looked like, and whether, once again, any surprises were lurking, literally blocking my body from conception. A cat-and-mouse game that feels very unlucky and very far away.

The Procedure

The very next day, I would leave work early — needing a doctor's note to make the appointment since it was last-minute and I was out of PTO — to get a tube placed up through my cervix, feet wide open in purple foam-covered stirrups with buckle restraints, with another doctor and her student also there to witness my every nook and cranny so they could light up my uterus and check for blocks. I was told to take 1200 mg of pain relief and expect cramping through a 5-minute procedure — more cramping if there were any blocks. My anxiety skyrocketed to 1000, despite the incredible care of my patient, female doctors all around me.

Within seconds, the saline was placed, and I furiously talked about my day and squeezed a foam heart stress ball to try and distract myself from the cramping and the fear of what-ifs surrounding this procedure. What if there was another thing I didn't know about? What would this mean for my next steps? Would this saline flush it out, or would it hurt like hell while I sat there, legs wide open, unable to close or tense them?

I Can Do Hard Things

I repeated to myself, before I undressed and again on the table: "I can do hard things. I can do hard things." No matter what, I would be okay, and this was part of the story I never thought I would write, yet here I was, living it.

Relief

The test itself turned out to be a lot less painful than expected, and thankfully I got good answers from the doctor — she said my fertility doctor would speak with me about it in more detail, but overall, everything looked healthy. I tried not to cry with relief right there in front of her, while the student looked at me with kindness and confusion. To them, this must be everyday; to me, it was somewhere I never thought I'd be, with a lot of unknowns laid out before me, especially with my husband so far away.

Where I Am Now

So where does that leave me now... Finishing my fertility checklist with blood work and genetic testing. Finally caving and writing this blog. Reaching out and asking for help more than I ever have in my life. Reconnecting with my womb again, with new eyes.Who knows? Maybe this will be what my body needed to finally conceive this month; maybe the words IUI, IVF won’t have to come into my orbit. Maybe it won't. It's an open, tender, vulnerable place to be right now and I am sitting in the middle of it with my heart open wide.

This Journey Feels Like a Lot, And This Week, It is.

This baby feels close, and is my greatest teacher yet. Tears have been shed, and every possible feeling has been felt. And I am taking this one day at a time, with my incredible village that I once only dreamed of having. Womaning is hard work. Healing and Priestessing are too. I still have a ton of thoughts in my head, my Advil is wearing off, and I'm cramping a little as I write this. I don't have an easy transition sentence, as writing this down feels like I'm skipping so much, yet there would be too much to share.

I keep wondering if this is too much to share, if I really want everyone and their mother invited into this energy, if it's even for them, if I want to be the topic of dinner or phone "Guess What" conversations. But it doesn't quite feel like it's just for me or even about me really, and that's what is giving me the courage to hit publish.

To Anyone Walking This Path

If you are walking this path, alone or known, just know I am with you for it all — with light, love, strength, and hope, if you want to share your story or just listen to mine I am more than happy to invite you in.