Dedication: To my tiny ♥️
When I was 20 years old, I experienced an ectopic pregnancy—a traumatic event that nearly ended my life. At the time, I had no idea what it was, or how serious it could be. I ignored the signs, dismissed the warnings, and let my stubbornness get the best of me.
The pain started gradually. I brushed it off, convincing myself it would pass. People close to me noticed something was wrong and even took me to the hospital, but I refused to go in. I didn’t want to make a fuss. I didn’t want the drama. But deep down, I knew something was seriously wrong.
The pain worsened until it became unbearable. I was passing out from it, but still, I didn’t want to admit the severity. Finally, I went to my mom’s house to lie down, thinking maybe I could just sleep it off. That decision almost cost me my life.
When my mom came to check on me, she found my lips were blue. She immediately rushed me to the hospital. By the time I arrived, I had over a liter of blood pooling in my stomach. My fallopian tube had ruptured. I was 11 weeks along.
I’ll never forget waking up on the operating table, confused and terrified, not understanding what had happened. At 11 weeks, my baby had fingers and toes, tiny but perfectly formed. At that stage, a baby’s heart is fully developed and beating, they can move their arms and legs, and they’re starting to form facial features like ears and a nose. Knowing that, and knowing that I lost them, was devastating.
The physical pain was one thing, but the emotional pain was something I didn’t know how to handle. Instead of dealing with it, I buried it. I let the drama surrounding the situation drown out my voice. I didn’t talk about it because I didn’t know how.
It took years for me to confront the trauma and start healing. I’ve come to realize that ignoring the pain didn’t make it go away. 20 years later sharing my story is a part of that healing, but it’s also a way to raise awareness about ectopic pregnancies. They occur in about 1-2% of all pregnancies, and they can be life-threatening if not treated early.
To anyone who has gone through this or another way of losing a child: you’re not alone. Healing takes time, and it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel the weight of it all. Talking about it can be hard, but it’s a step toward understanding and healing.
Over the years, people have often told me I have an “old soul” or that I can handle anything with calmness, even in the most intense situations. They say I’m a backbone for others, someone they can rely on. The truth is, these qualities were shaped by the experiences I’ve lived through. I’ve learned to appreciate life in its entirety because it’s fragile—it can be taken from you in an instant. I don’t live in fear of what might happen because I believe there’s a plan, but I also know that life is unpredictable. It’s about taking what comes and finding strength, not just for yourself but for others around you. Life is short, and we don’t always get to control what happens, but we can control how we face it—and that’s what makes all the difference.