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The Question That Can Touch the Deepest Part of Someone’s Heart

“Do you have children?”
It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?

You’re happily married, nearing thirty… people just assume it’s the natural next step. A harmless question at a dinner party, a work event, a family gathering.
I’ve asked it myself so many times—never once imagining the story that might hide behind a quiet “No, I don’t.”

You see, I love everything about babies, pregnancy, and new life. It’s always been a part of me. I worked for years in maternity care, and even started my own business—TinyExpat.nl—to help others through one of life’s most beautiful (and vulnerable) chapters. But even with all that knowledge, even with all that love, my own journey to motherhood was far from easy.

Sometimes, what seems so simple for one person… is a mountain for someone else.

That innocent question—“Do you have kids?”—can feel like a knife to the heart when you’re secretly longing, waiting, hoping.
But we don’t often talk about that, do we?
We carry the weight of grief, shame, disappointment, and longing silently, because those feelings don’t quite fit into small talk or a casual chat with a new colleague.

Yes, I have children now—two incredible boys, full of life and laughter, aged 7 and 9.
But they didn’t arrive easily. And the road to them changed me forever.

My first pregnancy ended after six weeks.
We had already been trying for over a year. I had lost count of the number of ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, late-night tears, and quiet moments of despair.
My life became a cycle of hope and heartbreak. Hospital visits. Blood tests. Ultrasounds.
And then a doctor who gently said, “It could take time… and I can’t promise anything. But we’ll try.”

And somehow, I got pregnant again.
And somehow, it stayed.

But my third pregnancy? It was ectopic.
Suddenly, I was left with only one fallopian tube—and a thousand fears.
Did I have the strength to try again?
Could I face the unknown one more time?

With the support of specialists, and each other, we found the courage to keep going. And eventually, our family was complete.
We’re now that “perfect picture” from the outside.
But our story? It’s woven with pain, patience, and perseverance.

And not everyone gets their happy ending.

One of my dearest friends was walking her own path of silent heartbreak.
While my belly grew, so did the distance between us.
She couldn’t bear the sight of what she was still waiting for.
And I couldn’t stop being what I was becoming: a mother.
We drifted apart.
That loss still aches, even today.

Did you know the Netherlands is the only country in the world that collects the hCG hormone from urine to help women undergoing fertility treatments?
If I had known back then that I could’ve donated my urine to help someone like her—to maybe help her become a mother too—I would’ve done it without a second thought.

Not everyone can donate.
But maybe you can.
And if you could… who would you help?