In 2018, I began praying very specifically about becoming a biological mom. I was single, but I wanted to pursue this dream in a way that honored God—not one that sinned against Him. After much prayer and consideration, I chose to try artificial insemination.

There are several options for how to go about this, but I decided to use a cryobank and do the process myself. That began the long, emotional journey of reading through donor profiles to choose the right one. A few stood out, but one in particular felt right. After doing all the research and purchasing the supplies I needed, it was time to take that next big step.

I was nervous the first time I performed an intrauterine insemination (IUI). But I was also full of hope.

Two weeks later, I started feeling nauseous every morning. Certain smells turned my stomach. I began craving milk and red velvet cake—two things I never usually liked. My heart soared with hope.

But not long after, I began cramping—worse than I ever had in my life—and the bleeding came heavy. I went to the ER, then followed up with my OBGYN. The ultrasound confirmed what I already feared: I had experienced an early miscarriage.

Even though I lost that baby early on, my body continued to respond as if I were still pregnant. For the next nine months, I had strong cravings, emotional swings, even a small weight gain. Toward the end, I even lactated. My OBGYN assured me it was all normal—but that didn’t make it any less heartbreaking.

It took time to grieve that loss, and even longer to find the courage to try again. I even experienced postpartum depression, but that’s a story for another day.

My second attempt resulted in a chemical pregnancy—where the egg is fertilized but doesn’t implant in the uterus. I tried again a few more times, but those attempts were unsuccessful.

Years into this journey, I decided to give it one final try—and this time, I let the doctor do the insemination. After fertility treatments, an ultrasound showed that I had two eggs ready to ovulate. I prayed hard. But that attempt also ended in another chemical pregnancy. Based on my levels, it’s believed that both eggs were fertilized.

Four children. Four little lives I never got to hold in my arms—but I carry them in my heart every day. I don’t hide that I have four babies in heaven. I miss them more than words can say. I often wonder what they’d be like now—what their personalities would’ve been, how it would’ve felt to hear them laugh.

To anyone who’s walked the road of infertility, miscarriage, or infant loss—please know my heart is with you. You are not alone. Your grief is real. Your story matters. And so do your babies.