A quiet reckoning before the consultation

There’s a question I try not to ask too often —

but it lives under everything right now:

What if I don’t get to be a mother?

That sentence is hard to even write.

It’s not what I believe — not what I want to believe.

But as our first consultation approaches, the fear is rising.

What if the doctor says it won’t be possible?

What if time has already run out?

What if the thing I’ve longed for more than anything… doesn’t happen?

It feels like standing at the edge of something —

a ledge between hope and heartbreak.

And I don’t know yet which way I’ll fall.

Sitting with the Ache

I’ve learned there’s a particular ache that comes with not knowing.

It’s not sharp or sudden — it’s the kind of ache that lingers quietly.

The kind you carry in your chest, behind your ribs, where all your deepest longings live.

Some days, it’s easy to stay busy — to tidy, to plan, to scroll, to pretend.

Other days, I feel the weight of it the moment I wake up.

That silent wondering: What if this isn’t the path that leads to a baby?

It hurts.

And still — I sit with it.

Not to dwell, but to make space for it.

To stop fighting what is, even if I wish it were different.

There’s no easy way to hold this ache.

But pretending it doesn’t exist doesn’t make it go away.

So I let it be here, in the quiet.

I breathe through it.

I whisper kind things to myself when the fear grows loud.

This ache isn’t weakness — it’s love, unspoken.

It’s hope with nowhere to land yet.

And even when I feel fragile, I remind myself:

I can be soft and strong at the same time.

To the One Who’s Wondering…

What if I don’t get to be a mother?

It’s a question I try not to say too loudly — even in my own mind.

I keep it tucked away, like something fragile. Or dangerous.

But it’s there. Especially now, before we’ve had our first consultation. Before anyone has said yes or no, maybe or we’ll see. It lingers quietly in the background.

What if this doesn’t end the way I hope?

What if my dream has a different shape than I imagined?

What if this longing stays… unanswered?

I don’t know how to hold those questions yet.

And maybe I don’t have to.

Maybe I’m not meant to.

Right now, it’s enough just to acknowledge the ache.

To say — even softly — that this is hard.

That the uncertainty is heavy.

That not knowing is its own kind of grief.

I don’t have answers.

I don’t know what the future holds.

But I do know this:

You are not alone if you’re asking this question too.

There’s space here for you.

For your fear.

For your aching hope.

For your wondering.

We can sit with the not-knowing together.

We don’t have to rush to a silver lining.

We don’t have to call this “meant to be.”

We can just be here — holding space for both the dream and the doubt.

Because both are real.

And both are allowed.

🌿 If this post resonated, I’ve been creating some quiet support for this part of the journey — gentle affirmations and journaling prompts for those tender, uncertain moments.

I’ll be sharing them first via my email list when it opens.

You’re so welcome to join when the time feels right.

Until then, take what you need, and carry it gently.