Never Be the Same

I remember the exact moment it hit me. I was standing in the middle of my kitchen, staring at the pile of dishes in the sink, when the weight of it all came crashing down. After seven years of fertility treatments—seven years of hope, heartbreak, procedures, medications, and waiting—the reality I had been avoiding was now undeniable: I was never going to be a mom.

I thought I had prepared myself for this. I told myself I would be okay. That I could handle it. But as I stood there, frozen in place, I felt an emptiness I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t just about motherhood. It was about everything I had built my identity around—the future I had envisioned, the role I thought I was meant to play, the version of myself I had spent a lifetime constructing. It all felt like it had shattered in an instant.

In the months that followed, loneliness wrapped itself around me like an old, heavy coat. Social gatherings became unbearable. I couldn't sit through another conversation about kids’ soccer games or first-day-of-school jitters. It wasn’t that I resented my friends for having what I didn’t—it was that I no longer knew where I belonged. I felt like an outsider in a world I had always expected to be part of.

Then came the self-judgment. The late nights replaying every decision, every dollar spent, every time I told myself, just one more round. I wondered if I had been foolish, if I had wasted years of my life chasing something that was never meant to be. And if I wasn’t going to be a mother, then who was I? What was my purpose now?

People love to say, “Everything happens for a reason,” but I found no comfort in those words. The truth is, some things just happen. Some dreams don’t come true. And sometimes, life takes a turn we never saw coming. But does that mean we’re destined to live a mediocre life? To settle for a version of ourselves that feels lesser than?

No. Absolutely not.

What I’ve come to realize is that losing one dream doesn’t mean losing myself. That grief and joy can coexist. That even though life looks different than I ever imagined, it can still be full—full of purpose, adventure, and moments that take my breath away.

I won’t sugarcoat it: the road to acceptance isn’t easy. But I’ve learned that it’s possible to rebuild, to find beauty in what remains, and to create a life that is meaningful—on my terms.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the biggest lesson of all.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.