The most challenging time of anyone trying to conceive probably has to be the “two-week wait”: that space between ovulation and finding out whether pregnancy has happened. For me, it became a now-all-too-familiar, heartbreaking cycle over the course of ten years. I had spent nearly five of those actively trying to conceive, and as time went on, I began to sense when something inside of me felt different. My heightened sense of smell, waves of nausea, and sudden anxiety told me that something was happening, but often my body rejected implantation. It felt like my dreams were constantly within reach and then snatched away.
When my husband, Mattias, and I started trying to get pregnant, all those same old symptoms came back. But instead of sharing them, I shut down. My past experiences had taught me to keep my hope hidden too many doctors and even my former partner had dismissed my intuition before. When Mattias noticed my silence and asked what was wrong, I burst into tears. I told him that I felt pregnant but had been terrified to believe it.
He didn’t question me; he just gently said, “I believe you. Whatever happens, we’re in this together.” For the first time, I felt truly seen. That moment reminded me of the first time we met years earlier-a night that unexpectedly changed my life.
It was summer 2010, and I had just finalized my divorce after years of infertility and miscarriage. I was 37, living near Seattle, and trying to find myself again. My deepest wish was to become a mother, whether through adoption or pregnancy. I had always taken care of kids as a teacher and an aunt, but I wanted one of my own. Dancing became my therapy. It freed my spirit, and through dance I met Mattias for the first time.
We met at a swing dance in Stockholm while I was visiting family. He was kind, soft-spoken, and had the gentlest touch when we danced. We kept in touch via Facebook, but life went on. The subsequent years were filled with my search for meaning. In 2013, I took a leap: moving to India to teach orchestra. Perhaps, I mused, a new culture would bring clarity. By 2014, I decided to stop waiting for that “perfect” partner and be a mother on my own.
Then, out of the blue, Mattias reached out. When I told him my plan about becoming a single mom, he didn’t judge me but just simply understood. Our friendship deepened fast, turning into something more. Within months, we were talking every day, and when he asked if I’d ever consider moving to Stockholm and dating him, my heart said yes.
I moved to Sweden in 2015, full of hope but also facing the shock of a new culture, a new language, and the challenge of building a life together. To me, every passing month without getting pregnant was like a lifetime. For Mattias, it was only the beginning. He kept me calm through my doubts and fears, and we explored every option together-from fertility clinics to adoption.
Then, one January morning, just as I was gearing up for yet another round of testing, the doctor smiled and said those words I’d waited years to hear: “You’re pregnant.”
That pregnancy changed everything. Mattias celebrated every symptom, every milestone. Around Easter, he proposed during a swing dance event-the same place where we first met years before. Of course, I said yes. After a complicated delivery, our baby finally arrived in 2016, but seeing Mattias hold our child for the very first time made every struggle worth it. The years of loss, waiting, and heartbreak all led to that moment. We married the next summer, on 7-7-17 — a date that to this day feels so magical. We now share our love and life lessons with others as we help individuals cope with infertility and heal through music and storytelling. What I’ve learned in all of this is simple yet powerful: love does not erase pain it transforms it. Through patience, faith, and compassion, even the most fragile dreams can finally come true.
