How Grief and IVF Loss Led Me to Reclaim My Health Grief did not arrive in my life all at once. It came in waves. First, it came in 2015, when I was told I would never conceive naturally. The word infertility felt clinical, but to me it sounded like loss. Loss of expectation. Loss of certainty. Loss of the future I had always pictured. I didn’t sit with that grief. I fought it. I entered the world of IVF believing effort would equal outcome. If I endured enough procedures, enough injections, enough appointments — I would eventually hold my baby. What I didn’t realize was that IVF is more than a medical process. It is emotional warfare. Over the next several years, my life revolved around cycles and calendars. I went through more than 20 procedures, multiple surgeries, and countless hormone treatments. My body was no longer just mine — it became a project. A problem to solve. Every failed attempt chipped away at me. And then, in 2019, hope returned. I got pregnant. For a brief moment, the years of struggle felt worth it. I was told I was having a girl. I imagined her tiny hands. I imagined finally becoming “Mom.” Nine weeks later, during an ultrasound, the silence in the room said everything before the doctor did. There was no heartbeat. That loss broke something inside me. I had prepared myself for failed cycles. I had not prepared myself for losing a child I had already started loving. The grief was physical. It lived in my chest. It made breathing feel heavy. It made getting out of bed feel impossible. But even then, I didn’t stop. I continued IVF for three more years. I convinced myself that persistence meant strength. I thought if I just kept going, I could outrun the pain. Instead, I buried it. At the same time, I was carrying another devastating loss — my mother passed away from heart disease in 2017. Losing her while navigating infertility left me feeling untethered. She was the one person I wanted beside me through all of it. Two massive griefs. One heart. I didn’t process either of them. I functioned. I showed up. I smiled when expected. But inside, I was unraveling. Grief began to show up in my body. I gained weight. My sleep suffered. My anxiety intensified. My energy disappeared. Years of hormone medication only added to the physical toll. Eventually, my body reacted severely, and I ended up in the ER due to an allergic reaction. Sitting in that hospital bed, exhausted and emotionally drained, I realized something I had avoided for years: I had spent seven years fighting for motherhood — and completely abandoned myself in the process. I was grieving not just my baby. Not just my mother. But the version of life I thought I was supposed to have. And my body had been carrying all of it. On November 27, 2022, I made a decision that felt both terrifying and freeing. I chose to reclaim my health. Not because I felt motivated. Not because I was confident. But because I understood that if I didn’t change something, I would lose more than just a dream — I would lose myself. Reclaiming my health didn’t start with a gym membership. It started with honesty. I admitted I was depressed. I admitted I was angry. I admitted that food had become comfort and escape. I admitted that I had been punishing my body for something it could not control. I worked with a dietitian to repair my relationship with food. I committed to a 28-day medically monitored detox. I lost 15 pounds of inflammation, but more importantly, I felt clearer — mentally and physically. In January 2023, I joined a gym and began meeting with a personal trainer weekly. I didn’t love it at first. Some days, I didn’t even want to walk through the doors. But I did. In May 2023, I found Aquabike and something I didn’t know I was missing — community. Movement became less about weight loss and more about healing. After 90 days of consistency, my clothes fit differently. My sleep improved. My mood stabilized. For the first time in years, I felt strong. Not because I became a mother. But because I became accountable to myself. Over time, the physical changes reflected the internal shift. I went from 195 pounds to 125 pounds over three years. But the scale only tells part of the story. I didn’t just lose weight. I released self-blame. I released resentment toward my body. I released the belief that my worth was tied to motherhood. Grief did not disappear. I still miss my daughter. I still miss my mother. Those losses will always be part of me. But instead of letting grief destroy me, I allowed it to transform me. Reclaiming my health became my way of honoring both of them. Every workout became proof that I was still here. Every healthy meal became an act of self-respect. Every boundary I set became a declaration that my well-being matters. IVF loss broke my heart. Grief nearly broke my spirit. But healing rebuilt my body — and with it, my identity. Today, I am not defined by infertility. I am not defined by what I lost. I am defined by what I chose to do after losing it. And that choice — to reclaim my health — saved my life.