Fatima
I wasn't alone. But I had been made to feel that way.
I've had four pregnancies, but only two sons here on earth with me. Our baby girl was stillborn, I carried her for seven months but never got to bring her home. After her, there was a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage, early and quietly.
I felt profoundly unsupported during my journey into pregnancy. I felt isolated and alienated in a system that didn't feel built for me, not clinically, not socially, not emotionally and certainly not culturally. What made it even harder was watching the father of my children grieve with nowhere to place that grief. That silence doesn't just sit between you, it stretches, erodes connection and deepens the wound.
After our daughter died, the world seemed to carry on and I was left suspended in a grief I couldn't name. Eventually I found my way back through story. I realised there were so many families, especially from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds, carrying similar pain in silence. I wasn't alone. But I had been made to feel that way.