Notes from Stillness

 When a woman sets out to conceive, she rarely imagines that the path might be long, uncertain, or painfully circular. Our culture frames fertility as something to plan, to manage, to achieve. When that plan falters, the experience can feel like exile. Exile from our bodies, from other women, from the life we thought we were supposed to have. And yet, through another lens, infertility can be seen not as exile but as initiation . Across history, cultures have marked the great transitions of life with rites of passage: separation from the old, descent into the unknown, and eventual return transformed. Infertility carries the same structure, though no one hands us the ritual map. We stumble into it, unprepared, and only later realise that something profound was being reshaped within us. 1. Separation The journey often begins with loss. Loss of certainty, of innocence, of belonging. Each cycle that passes can widen the distance between you and the world that seems to move easily ...

 We live in a paradigm that teaches us: you experience trauma → you are wounded → you must work very hard to heal. This narrative has been repeated so often that it feels like truth. Many women on the fertility path live inside it daily believing that if they could just try harder, think more positively, eat the perfect diet, do all the right protocols, then their bodies would finally cooperate. But what if there is another way? Think about a small cut on your skin. You don’t need to pray over it, eat the perfect food, or strive to control the process in order for it to close. Healing happens naturally. The body knows. The wound contains within it the blueprint for repair. Emotional wounds are no different. When you’ve been trying to conceive and each month ends with disappointment, it’s not just your body that feels heavy. It’s your heart, your nervous system, your sense of trust in life. The grief is real. The pain is real. But here’s the paradox: the more we fight against ...