After Seven Miscarriages, I Followed One Quiet Instruction I Was Given, Today My Twins Call Me Mama
Seven. That was the number that haunted me every month, every hospital visit, every ultrasound that ended in disappointment. Seven times I had carried life inside me only to have it slip away, leaving a silence that echoed louder than any sound.
Each miscarriage was more than physical pain it was heartbreak that shook my marriage, my confidence, and my sense of self. I began to feel as though my body was betraying me, as though motherhood was a door permanently closed.
By the fourth miscarriage, people started whispering. Friends and relatives offered “advice” that only deepened my despair: “Maybe it’s not meant to be,” or “Try relaxing more.” I listened politely but their words cut deep, as though they were judging me for trying too hard.
The nights were the worst. I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining a tiny heartbeat that had already disappeared. My husband tried to comfort me, but even he seemed helpless, and the guilt weighed heavily on both of us.
