Believe it or not, I used to be a very private person. So much so, that even my closest family and friends didn’t know about the extent of my miscarriages, until I started my blog. Crazy right?⁣
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But when I gave birth to Jiya, something changed. Something shifted in me. The voice of my miscarriages that I had kept silent for years was raging to be heard.⁣
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And after giving birth to Jiya, I no longer cared what people would think. I no longer cared whether it was the ‘done’ thing. I no longer cared if people were uncomfortable hearing my truth.⁣
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Because I HAD been pregnant.⁣
I HAD birthed a child.⁣
I HAD held my perfect daughter in my arms.⁣
My daughter had a name – JIYA.⁣
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I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know about her. I wanted people to acknowledge her existence. I wanted people to say her name. I didn’t want her existence to be buried under the carpet like a dirty secret. I wanted to honour my baby girl. Remember her. Touch other people’s lives, because she’d touched mine so deeply.⁣
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So in giving birth to my sleeping baby, it’s as though I also gave birth to my voice.⁣
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Six miscarriages. One stillbirth. Four years. ⁣
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That’s what it took for me to find my voice and finally share my story. And that’s when A Drug Named Hope was born.⁣
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My journey is my journey. I can’t change it. But I can change what I choose to do with it. ⁣
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And I choose to:⁣
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❤ Help people feel less alone on this journey of baby loss⁣
❤ Be the voice for women who are yet to find their own⁣
❤ Make it ok to talk about baby loss⁣
❤ Change the narrative and show how to support one another⁣
❤ Be a symbol of hope and show that you can grow through adversity⁣
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That’s what I’m here to do…⁣
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If you know anyone who needs to hear any of this, please let them know I’m here 🙏⁣