A Wake-Up Call I Didn’t See Coming

For two decades, I obsessed over motherhood

and the fantasy of a stable family —unconsciously replaying the same dysfunctional patterns I grew up with.

At 39, a doctor looked at my swollen belly and said I looked seven months pregnant.

But there was no baby —

just a tumor the size of a watermelon.

Despite dozens of tests, no one could confirm whether it was benign or malignant.

One doctor even told me:

“People with tumors that size usually don’t survive long.”

 For an entire month, I lived with the fear that I might die.

I closed my business. Sold my belongings.

Downsized my life to a carry-on suitcase.

I even did an 18-day water fast, hoping the tumor would shrink.

I lost 15 kilos (33 pounds) —and yet my belly still looked eight months pregnant.

Eventually, the tumor — nearly 3 kg (6.6 lbs) — was found to be benign.

But it didn’t feel random.

It felt symbolic.

The same weight as a newborn.

A powerful example of psychosomatics:

When emotions have nowhere to go, they find a home in the body.

Later, a man I dated saw the scar and asked,

“I see you had a C-section. Did you have a child?”

That question hit hard.

It reminded me how deeply that longing for a child had lived in me —and how it had manifested as a massive intramural fibroid…

making me look visibly, painfully, pregnant with the life I never got to have.

Marriage in America

At 40, I met an American man in Paris.

We fell in love and shared a dream of building a future — and a family — together.

I moved to California believing I had finally found my “forever family.”

But reality hit hard. A new country. A new culture. A new climate. No network. No friends. I had to learn how to drive, get my first license, and start completely from scratch.

From the beginning, I sensed that his family didn’t like me. I found myself shrinking under their disapproving silence.

Less than a year in, it all exploded. I was harshly attacked by his mother in my own home.

She screamed at me repeatedly, with so much hate, that I broke down in tears:

“I hate you. You stole my son from me.

You forced him to marry you.

You are not my family. I hate you.

Don’t contact anyone.

My daughter hates you. My husband hates you.”

His father and sister rejected me, too.

It was brutal — and deeply traumatizing.

I had never experienced so much hatred directed at me — just for existing. 

I was paying the price for my husband’s unresolved trauma with his mother.

I was diagnosed with PTSD. It took three years of therapy just to begin healing. And it broke something fundamental in our marriage.

Still, we clung to the hope of having a child. I was almost 42. I prepared my body — underwent surgery, got vaccinated, and took supplements. I committed. Fully. 

And then, out of nowhere, he told me he no longer wanted children.

The heartbreak was unbearable.

I grieved the baby I had emotionally prepared for.

I returned to therapy — but this time, I was alone.

He pulled away. Emotionally shut down. Criticized me for not “getting over it fast enough.”

Contempt replaced connection. Silence replaced support.

I felt invisible. Unloved. Completely alone.

 He didn’t just stop loving me —

he erased me, one dismissive silence at a time.

The Pivotal Moment

I hit rock bottom.

I called a suicide hotline —

twice in one week.

On the second call, a man said something I’ll never forget:

“If you’re looking for permission to leave, this is it.

You deserve to feel loved and valued.”

That sentence cracked something open in me.

I filed for divorce.

I was alone in a foreign country.

No support. No income. Drowning in allergy hell. Heartbroken. Exhausted.

Still grieving the baby I had been preparing for — emotionally and physically.

But this time, I made a conscious decision:

I will never abandon myself again.

Rebirth

What followed was a full-on metamorphosis.

I didn’t just want to feel better — I wanted to change everything.

So I went all in.

I immersed myself in therapy, hypnotherapy, breakup recovery, and coaching.

I did spiritual work, inner child healing, grief rituals, shadow work, systemic family constellations, and reparenting.

I faced it all —

every unhealed childhood wound, every inherited pattern, every lie I believed about love.

I rebuilt myself from the inside out.

Not just from the divorce —

but from decades of believing I wasn’t enough.

I stopped performing for approval.

I stopped shrinking to be accepted.

Most importantly,

I stopped waiting to be chosen.

I chose myself.

And in that choice, something powerful happened:

 I became a certified divorce recovery coach — not just by training, but by transformation.

Where I Am Now

Today, I feel grounded.

At peace.

Whole.

I’ve let go of the longing for a “forever family" and become my own safe place.

My life is rooted in self-trust, emotional freedom, and quiet strength.

I made peace with not becoming a mother — and I am creating a life that’s still meaningful, vibrant, and mine.

I no longer chase love.

I cultivate it — within and around me.

I walk with my beloved dog, grow flowers and vegetables, paint, create, hold my boundaries, and nourish real friendships.

I know what I need — and I listen to myself. 

I truly love myself now, 

like I never could before. 

I’ve become the woman I always needed in my life.

And now —

I help other women rise, too.

Through heartbreak, through chaos, through the fire of reinvention.

If you’re still in the dark part of your story, trust me — there’s a brighter chapter ahead. You will get there.

With love,

Lina Jane