It’s been nearly eight months since I’ve started recording my infertility journey and each post I’ve written has taken me to a place of sorrow that I can no longer go.

I promise to someday comb back through the painful details of these last few months, but I cannot now. I’m holding tight to what little hope I have right now.

All I can say is that, to my fellow infertility warriors. I am sorry. I am so so sorry. Whether it’s been a year or five, this hurt isn’t something I would wish on any other being. It’s not something I would have ever imagined enduring.

To my fellow almost moms, my heart is with you. My heart breaks for every failed attempt at reaching toward that impossibly far away tiny hand. I know the desperation and helplessness that you feel, and I know it is your own. I do not pretend to own your pain; only you do. Your pain is yours and it strikes you in different and similar ways to mine. I don’t know your story; I don’t know what drives you to push so hard to be a parent. I don’t know if you are looking to heal or grow or love or change, but I applaud you none the less.

I know you’re losing hope. You’re losing sanity. You’re losing yourself. I know. I know some days it feels like the weight of it will tie you to your bed for eternity. I know that some days, you’ll have to let your grief win.

Rest easy, beautiful almost mama. Curl up in your sheets and shut out the world for now. Tomorrow, let’s try again. Tomorrow, you’ll test the warm water of a shower and try and put on something that makes you feel wonderful. Wear the necklace your husband gave to you. And then, maybe you’ll be ready to go outside again.

Until then, I am with you.