Sponsored by Donor Egg Bank USA
There’s something about the end of a year that makes everything feel louder…the grief, the joy, the uncertainty, the hope. It’s like all the moments we’ve tried to keep ourselves busy enough to avoid suddenly catch up to us. And if this season feels heavier than you expected, you’re not alone.
This year asked more of me than I thought I could give. Maybe you feel that too.
I closed out the year navigating separation… a life I didn’t plan for… a version of motherhood that’s both deeply fulfilling and deeply different than what I imagined. I have two beautiful children who don’t share my genetics, and while my love for them is the truest, deepest thing I’ve ever known, there was a time when that reality brought a grief so heavy I didn’t know how to hold it.
Grieving genetics is one of those quiet heartbreaks.
The kind that sits in your chest, the kind you can’t quite explain unless you’ve lived it. It’s not a grief about the children you have; it’s a grief about the imagined child that never came to be. Both can exist at the same time.
And that’s something I want people to talk about more.
Because you’re not broken for feeling it.
You’re human.
The Year That Broke Me – and Built Me
This year, I walked through moments that should have taken me out.
Moments where I genuinely thought, “I will not survive this.”
But I did.
And so did you.
Every time you let yourself cry, every time you whispered, “just one more day,” every time you kept going when stopping felt easier, that was strength. Not the social media kind, not the shiny kind… the gritty, trembling, real kind.
And because of that, I’m stepping into the next year as someone who knows she can endure things she once believed would destroy her. You might be stepping into the new year that way too.
The Children Meant for Me
When I talk about donor conception, people sometimes assume it’s only a story about science or logistics or medical decisions. But for me, and for so many families like mine, it’s a story about destiny.
I fought for motherhood for more than a decade, through loss, through grief, through moments I didn’t think I’d get back up from. And at the end of that fight were the exact two children who were always meant for me.
A complete family: Me + them.
Loving children who don’t share my DNA hasn’t made motherhood any less profound. It’s made it fuller, richer, more intentional. But it doesn’t mean there wasn’t grief on the way here.
Which is why conversations about donor conception matter.
Not just the facts. But the emotions.
Not just the science. But the soul work.
The House That Held Us
I’m writing this from a home I’m not sure I’ll still be in next Christmas. A home I fought to keep. A home where both my babies took their first steps, steps I once wondered if I’d ever get to witness.
And even with all that uncertainty, I feel a sense of peace.
Not because everything is fine; it’s not.
But because I’ve seen what I can survive.
And because I know this: loss doesn’t always mean the end.
Sometimes it’s a redirect.
Sometimes it’s space being cleared for something breathtaking.
If You’re in That Place Too…
Do it scared.
Do it sad.
Do it anxious.
Do it angry.
Healing doesn’t arrive before the hurt.
Healing comes because of the hurt.
The only way out is through.
So if life is pushing you in a direction you didn’t choose, let it.
You might be walking toward something incredible…something you would’ve never known to dream of.
And until you get to the other side, I’ll be here.
We’ll walk it together.
A Thank You to Donor Egg Bank USA
I’m grateful to Donor Egg Bank USA kusa.com/for supporting conversations like this, the honest ones, the messy ones, the ones that go beyond highlight reels and talk about the real emotional landscape of donor conception.
If donor eggs are part of your journey in the coming year, know this:
You are supported.
You are informed.
And you are never walking this road alone.
Here’s to softer days ahead.
Here’s to resilience.
Here’s to families built through love, choice, and unbelievable courage. 🤍
