Every month brought hope.
And every month brought disappointment.
For six years, my husband and I tried to conceive.
Friends who got married after us welcomed babies.
Family members began asking questions.
Some offered advice.
Others offered judgment.
The comments became increasingly painful.
"When are we coming for your own baby?"
"You need to pray harder."
"Maybe you waited too long."
Nobody knew how many tears I cried in private.
Nobody knew how many pregnancy tests I had taken.
Nobody knew how much I blamed myself.
After years of uncertainty, a specialist finally discovered the cause.
Endometriosis.
The disease had silently affected my reproductive organs and reduced my chances of conception.
I felt relieved to have answers, but I also grieved.
I grieved the years of confusion.
I grieved the guilt I had carried.
I grieved the silence surrounding women's reproductive health.
Today, I know infertility is not a punishment.
It is not proof of a lack of faith.
It is not something to be ashamed of.
Millions of women face fertility challenges, often because of underlying health conditions that deserve understanding, support, and treatment.
No woman should carry this burden alone.