My Body Had Betrayed Me, My Family Had Given Up, and Every Month Brought New Heartbreak — Yet I Clung to the Fragile Hope That Motherhood Could Still Be Mine

  

For years, I carried two heavy things in my heart the longing to become a mother and the painful voices of my own family telling me it would never happen. Every family gathering felt like a courtroom. The whispers were subtle at first, then bold. “Maybe it’s not for everyone.”

“Have you thought of accepting your situation?” Some even suggested my husband should consider “other options.” What hurt the most was not strangers. It was blood. I had conceived before twice but both pregnancies ended before I could even announce them properly.

The second loss broke something inside me. I remember lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what my body had done wrong. I blamed myself. I questioned my faith. I avoided mirrors because I felt like my reflection was a failure.

Doctor visits became routine. Tests. Medications. Timetables. Hope rising and crashing like waves. Every month became a countdown of anxiety. When nothing happened, I would cry silently in the bathroom so my husband would not see how much I was breaking.

The pressure from family only made it worse. At one point, I truly began to believe them. Maybe motherhood was not written in my story. But deep inside, something refused to surrender.read more...https://drkashiririka.com