When I first figured out I was pregnant I was ecstatic. I felt pregnant, I felt happy, and all my depression and anxiety faded away for a short time while I basked in the glow of knowing I was having a baby with the love of my life. I started to eat better, drink more water, go for walks more.

None of it mattered.

When I found out I was pregnant it was through faint pink lines and “are you sure?”

I was hoping for a boy. I already knew the name that he’d have. But he will never be known.

A few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I miscarried. It was my first pregnancy and I miscarried.

It’s been months and I’m still crying. I can’t get over it. I feel like a failure. I’m scared to try again but I know I have to. It’s a fear I must face even if it has the chance to only bring more pain.

I don’t feel the same, I don’t look at children the same. They’re blessings and mine was taken away. I’m reeling from this sense of emptiness and I truly wish it would go away.

I want a baby but pregnancy will never be the same.