Three years ago today I lost a baby, and then this happened and a door opened up into what would become the worst year of my life. I stopped speaking to people. I ruined friendships. I stopped writing. I quit doing the things I loved. I became the Un-Me, someone I no longer recognized. I was living in grief 24/7, grief and failure. I was no longer the person I’d known all those years.

If you’ve suffered from infertility, you probably know what I’m talking about to some degree. If you haven’t, you probably think I sound dramatic. That’s OK. I probably would have agreed with you prior experiencing it firsthand.

Anyway, I’ve been meaning to write about 2009—about my infertility—for a long time. I should have written about the ordeal while it was happening. And I have a number of regrets for not doing so. But I was ashamed. I felt like a failure. I was broken. Writing about it meant having to publicly admit all of that. I was too ashamed (proud?) to do that. And I’m sorry about that. Because I think many of you could have helped me.

Anyway, now I know. So I plan on writing about my experience because it’s a huge part of who I am today. I’ve changed a great deal specifically because of my infertility. And I suffered silently and didn’t need to. I need to set that straight, come clean, and possibly help somebody else.

I wrote for a long time tonight and wanted to post my story, but I realized it needs more attention and so I’m going to wait. However, today is an anniversary, not necessarily a positive one, but an important one so I needed to write something. Consider this a promise and a space-holder.

And forgive me for my silence.