From Loss to Empowerment: How My Journey Shaped My Career as a Women’s Health Mentor
When I was 15 weeks pregnant, I experienced one of the deepest losses of my life. My son was stillborn.
It wasn’t my first loss. I had already endured four pregnancy losses — even with the support of specialists and IVF.
With each loss, something inside me froze.
I became hypervigilant. I scanned the horizon of my life constantly, terrified of “jinxing” things. Joy felt dangerous. Hope felt risky. I lived with the weight of protecting myself from potential devastation.
After four years, I conceived again — this time after shifting my focus toward my own health. I sought support from a herbalist, learned about metabolic health, and began turning inward, becoming aware of my internal narrative and the way fear had shaped my body.
But even then, I was living in survival mode.
Pregnancy was not peaceful. It was hyperemesis gravidarum. Multiple scans checking for amniotic bands. Complications. A breech baby. A C-section birth.
And even after safely holding my child, the fear did not disappear.
I had learned, through repeated loss, that life was not guaranteed. My mind defaulted to worst-case scenarios, even in ordinary moments. My world became smaller and smaller in an attempt to protect what I had fought so hard to have.
Only years later, as my children grew, did I truly begin healing.
I immersed myself in trauma-informed education and qualified as a Master Holistic Health Coach, Mental Health Coach, and Metabolic Nutrition Coach. Through both lived experience and evidence-based training, I learned that trauma is not just the event — it’s what happens inside the body afterward. The nervous system adapts. It protects. It stays alert.
I had to learn how to feel safe again.
To release control.
To soften hypervigilance.
To trust my body.
To expand my world.
Today, as a Women’s Health Mentor, I support women navigating infertility, IVF, recurrent miscarriage, PCOS, endometriosis, and the quiet anxiety that often accompanies these journeys.
I understand the late-night scrolling.
The fear of hoping.
The tension between gratitude and terror.
I’ve lived it.
And I’ve walked through it.
If you or someone you know is in the depths of infertility or loss, please share this with them — or reach out.
You do not have to navigate this alone.
Journal Prompts
1. What does safety feel like in my body — even for a few seconds?
This question invites you to notice moments, however small, where your nervous system isn’t bracing for impact. Safety might feel like a deeper breath, softened shoulders, a slower heartbeat, warmth in your chest, or a quiet mind. When you can recognise what safety feels like physically, you begin teaching your body that it doesn’t always have to live in fight-or-flight. Even a few seconds of awareness is a powerful place to begin.
2. If I wasn’t afraid of “jinxing” things, what would I allow myself to feel?
This question gently explores the fear that joy or hope might somehow invite disappointment. It creates space to notice what emotions you’ve been holding back to protect yourself — excitement, optimism, relief, gratitude. It’s not about forcing positivity. It’s about acknowledging that withholding hope is often a survival strategy. When you name what you’re afraid to feel, you begin loosening fear’s grip and allowing a fuller emotional experience, even in uncertainty.
3. When did I first learn that hope felt dangerous?
This question helps you trace the origin of your protective patterns. Often, hope only starts to feel risky after it’s been followed by disappointment, loss, or trauma. By identifying the moment — or season — where optimism began to feel unsafe, you can begin to separate past experiences from present reality. It’s not about reliving the pain, but about understanding how your nervous system learned to equate hope with threat. Awareness is the first step toward gently rewriting that belief.
4. What would it look like to protect myself without shrinking my life?
This question invites you to examine how fear may have quietly narrowed your world — limiting joy, connection, risk, or possibility in the name of safety. Protection doesn’t have to mean isolation, hyper-control, or bracing for worst-case scenarios. It can look like healthy boundaries, informed choices, emotional support, and self-compassion. This prompt encourages you to explore a version of safety that allows expansion, not contraction — where you can care for yourself without living small.
5. What evidence do I have that I am stronger than my fear?
This question gently shifts your focus from what could go wrong to what you’ve already survived. Fear can feel loud and convincing, but your history tells a fuller story. You’ve navigated appointments, uncertainty, grief, waiting, injections, conversations, heartbreak — and you’re still here. This prompt invites you to gather proof of your resilience. Not to dismiss your fear, but to remind yourself that strength has been present alongside it all along.
Hope may feel dangerous, but it is not the enemy. It is the quiet reminder that your story is still unfolding.
