Ant hills to mountains

An 11-Year Update: Rediscovering Myself After a Life of Fertility, Family, and Fighting Through It’s been 11 years since Gabriel was born—and today, I’m finally sitting down to write something just for me. Not a to-do list, not another doctor’s note, not a reminder for one of the kids’ activities… just me, checking in with me. This journey has been long, beautiful, painful, messy, and meaningful. But if I’m honest, it’s taken its toll—on my body, my mental health, my physical health, and my marriage. I became pregnant at 16. That experience shaped the trajectory of my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then. My world quickly became about fertility, pregnancy, and motherhood. I became fluent in charting my cycles and listening to my body in ways that most people never need to. It became who I was. Over the years, I had 8 beautiful children of my own and carried 2 more as a surrogate. Ten children. Ten stories. Ten miracles. For so long, my identity was deeply rooted in the ability to bring life into the world. I was my fertility. Then came Gabriel. I knew he would be my last. I knew I’d be having a cesarean hysterectomy—and I also knew that meant my whole world, the version I had known for nearly two decades, was coming to an abrupt and emotional end. That first year postpartum was one of survival. But I made a New Year's resolution that would become a turning point: I pulled out of all kids’ sports and activities and decided to focus on me. I joined the gym and started working out 5 to 7 times a week. In four months, I lost 35 pounds and felt physically stronger than I had in years. But that was also the moment where the cracks in my marriage started to deepen. I went back to counseling again and after in 17 years of marriage, my husband and I separated. We continued to co-inhabit for the sake of our children, and we both worked on ourselves. After six long and challenging years, we came back together. And we’re better than we’ve ever been. Truly. Our marriage today is one of understanding, growth, and respect. We are a success story—but that story is a whole other blog post. (And if you want to hear it, I’m more than willing to share—how we survived, how the kids coped, and how healing was possible.) Right now, I’m navigating yet another chapter. After 10 children and a lifetime of sacrifice, I found out I have a vaginal and bladder prolapse, along with a rectocele—where the colon pushes into the vaginal wall. All of these require surgery. Living in Houston, you’d think it would be easy to find a great specialist, but it’s been surprisingly hard. The search continues, and I’ll definitely be back with updates once surgery is behind me. Mentally, the past decade has been a rollercoaster. But after finally being diagnosed with ADD/ADHD and starting medication for that and depression, I feel more grounded than I have in years. It’s made a massive difference in my day-to-day life—and, frankly, it saved my marriage. One of the hardest pieces I still carry is my experience with Gabriel’s birth. I’ve been active in Accreta support groups, and while they’ve helped me feel less alone, I’ve also had to step away at times. The stories, the fears, the trauma—it can be overwhelming and triggering. But supporting women who are going through it is something I care deeply about. There are women out there—right now—lying in a hospital bed, waiting for their Accreta surgery, terrified. What should be the happiest day of their life is instead filled with fear and the unknown. I see you. I was you. You are my passion, and I’m searching for more ways to support you beyond the online groups. So this is my update—raw, unfiltered, and real. Eleven years, ten children, one body, one heart that’s been broken and rebuilt, and a spirit that refuses to quit. If you’re still reading, thank you. I’ll be back with updates—on surgery, on life, on whatever comes next. And if there’s a part of my journey you’d like to know more about—fertility, Accreta, marriage after separation, mental health, mothering through it all—please reach out. We’re never alone, not really. And if I can help even one person feel seen, then every word is worth it. With love, Dawn