They’re like ghosts.
One of my favorite follows (@lizmoody), also the author of one of the most helpful books I’ve read recently, asked her audience about having children. The slide carousel on Instagram was raw and real—every emotion poured out. It was brave. It was beautiful.
And then I got to this slide.
They’re like ghosts.
At first, I bristled. No, we aren’t. We are here.
And then I had to be honest.
Because many women with a story like mine—the ones who wanted kids and didn’t get them, whether they tried infertility treatments or not—don’t tell their stories. And those of us who do? We are not the stories that get shared often. We don’t go viral.
We didn’t get what we hoped for, dreamed of, planned for, prayed for, or maybe even paid for. Society often tells us we gave up too soon. Or that our stories are too sad, too tragic, too uncomfortable to even try to understand.
And so, I suppose, it can look like we are ghosts.
Except, I promise you—we are here.
At nearly every speaking engagement, I share some part of my story: We tried to have kids. We lost three. And we live, creating and finding other ways to parent and leave a legacy.
At least every other time, someone comes up to me afterward, tears in their eyes, thanking me for telling that part of my story. Because they, too, know what it is to suffer devastating loss. To endure painful and expensive treatments. To carry grief that others don’t see or acknowledge.
I tell my story because it honors my three.
I tell my story because I know it serves.
I tell my story because I am not a fucking ghost.
The story of my life?
I am a woman who dared to dream of becoming a mother. Who fought like hell to make it happen. Who lost her three forever wonders. Who chose to let go before it destroyed everything good. Who refuses to let those losses define her.
Who does the healing work every day to live with both grief and joy.
Who has built an incredible life that she loves.
Who mothers in ways she may never see the impact of, yet that reach far beyond what she can imagine.
I am not a ghost.
We are not ghosts.
