My life revolved around one singular dream for 20 years: becoming a parent. It wasn’t just a hope — it was a goal I poured my heart, soul, time and savings into achieving. I did everything you could imagine — divorced my ex-husband when he decided he no longer wanted children, met my new husband, Michel, after five years, went through fertility treatments with my eggs, then donor eggs, faced implantation failure, a miscarriage and a chemical pregnancy. We tried adopting internationally and then fostering. Every attempt failed. My days were filled with anxiety, and my nights were plagued by questions about why it wasn’t happening for me.
Parenthood wasn’t just something I wanted — it became the definition of who I thought I was supposed to be. And yet, year after year, the dream slipped further and further away, forcing me to face a painful question I never thought I’d have to answer: What if this never happens for me?
At the end of last year, I finally stopped chasing the dream of becoming a parent. Letting go was the hardest — and, ultimately, the most healing — decision of my life.
If you’ve ever struggled with infertility or adoption, you know the routine: hope, heartbreak, repeat. For me, this cycle spanned two decades.
