07/22/2026
Three months.
Three months since my hysterectomy.
Some days it feels like it happened yesterday, and other days it feels like I’ve lived an entirely different lifetime since April 21.
People see the healed incisions. They see me smiling, going back to work, losing weight, and moving forward.
I think it’s easy to assume that because life looks “normal” again, I’m okay.
The truth is… I’m not always okay.
I’m still grieving. More than most would realize.
I’m grieving the babies we never got to bring home. I’m grieving the dreams that ended in hospital rooms. I’m grieving the version of me who always believed that one day I’d get to announce a healthy pregnancy, decorate a nursery, feel little kicks, go into labor, and hear someone call me “Mama.”
After 12 years of infertility, seven miscarriages, and a hysterectomy at 31 years old… that’s a lot of heartbreak to carry.
There are days I feel strong, and there are days I barely recognize myself. Some mornings I wake up feeling hopeful, and other days the weight of everything hits me before my feet even touch the floor. A pregnancy announcement, a baby crying in the grocery store, or a child holding their mom’s hand can completely undo me.
Healing isn’t linear.
The surgery removed what was making me sick, but it couldn’t remove the grief.
These last three months have been some of the hardest of my life. I’ve had to increase my anxiety and depression medications because I simply wasn’t coping the way I wanted to or needed to. I started weekly therapy because I realized I couldn’t keep telling myself I just needed to “be stronger.” I can’t just push this one on the back burner and keep pushing forward like I’m used to doing for everything else.
For so long, I was the one everyone leaned on. The one who smiled through the pain. The one who kept saying, “I’m fine.”
The truth is… I wasn’t.
And for the first time, I’m learning that asking for help isn’t weakness. It’s survival.
I’m learning that grief and gratitude can exist in the same heart. I can be thankful that the surgery protected my health while still mourning everything it took from me. Those feelings don’t cancel each other out—they coexist every single day.
I still don’t know exactly what my future looks like, and that uncertainty is something I’m learning to live with and navigate very carefully.
But I’m trying—really trying—to trust that God isn’t finished with my story, even if it doesn’t look anything like I imagined.
If you’ve prayed for me, checked on me, sent a text, hugged me, or simply sat beside me while I cried… thank you. You have carried me through days when I honestly didn’t think I had anything left to give.
I’m still healing.
I’m still grieving.
I’m still figuring out who I am after all of this.
But I’m still here.
And maybe that’s enough for today. ❤️
