A former colleague of mine recently let people know that she had suffered a miscarriage via Facebook, and wrote on her page that people shouldn’t suffer in silence.

It struck a cord with me.

By now, pretty much all of our friends and family know about our struggle with infertility, but it wasn’t always that way. Right up until we started seeing a fertility clinic, there were only about three people in the universe who knew.

Month after month, I suffered in silence, and felt so incredibly alone.

You might not want to tell me your name, because you don’t want crap advice from everyone who thinks they know better. You might not want people asking you every five seconds how the baby making is going, and for many of you, you don’t want your workplace to know for fear of the perception it might cause.  Or, you just might think it is nobody’s business.

You may want to be anonymous, and I dig that, but I don’t want you to feel alone, so while you might not want to tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine.

When you’re sitting on the edge of the toilet seat with a negative result, I’m patting you on the back, saying ‘chin up’.

When you’re lying there having an ultrasound or an HSG, I’m holding your hand.

When you’re sitting in the waiting room of the fertility clinic, I’m sitting on the seat next to you.

When you’re calling the clinic for your results, I’m waiting on hold behind you.

When you’re laying there with needles sticking out of you at the acupuncturists, I’m in the room next door.

When you’re trying to give yourself an injection, I’m helping to steady your hand.

You are not alone.

Whatever stage you’re at, I’m here for you I’m rooting for you. You are strong and child or no child, you will get through this.

My name is Robyn, pleased to meet you.