Sab Mills

•APRIL DUMP•

Honestly this month has been uber hard and I shared all about that last week. Here is my dump of the happy parts and my sweet boy who just brightens my day🦋🤍

Friday 🦋

I’ve turned this page into a space where I share my fertility journey—as an outlet for me, and a place where others can feel a little less alone.

This post is to remind that people experiencing infertility are:

• more than someone struggling to build the family they’ve dreamed of
• more than a diagnosis, a number, or a timeline
• more than the stigma
• more than the “just relax” or “it’ll happen” comments
• more than doctor’s appointments, tests, and hard decisions
• more than the financial strain
• more than the grief of what should have been
• more than the jealousy they feel but don’t want to admit
• more than the announcements that quietly break them
• more than the strong face they put on for everyone else
• more than their hardest days

We are hopeful and heartbroken at the same time. We are strong, even when they feel like they’re falling apart.
We are showing up, loving deeply, and carrying more than most people see.

🤍🦋👼🏼

Wednesday.🧡

“Orange represents warmth, hope, and forward movement. On Wednesday, it represents visibility. Wear orange in any way that feels right to you and share your photo or video to help spark conversations about infertility.“ 🧡

Tuesday. 🤍

I am beyond grateful for the community I have—family, friends, providers, and people walking through this same journey alongside me. The love, support, and kind words they’ve shared have meant more than I can put into words.

During this time, having people who truly see you makes all the difference.

Monday. 🤍🦋

Infertility, loss—none of this is a straight line, and neither is my story.

After a season of trying, all the tests, all the waiting—we finally went to the fertility clinic. And just one month in, I was pregnant with my son. But this time, it took six months—and last week, we lost that baby.

I don’t get periods without medication. I don’t ovulate without injections. It’s constant monitoring—vaginal ultrasounds, tracking every step—and all of it comes with a cost. Making medical decisions in this grief—while balancing the financial strain, all the bills piling up, and knowing every choice matters—it’s a weight that’s hard to put into words.

Some days, it feels like too much—this swirl of loss, constant medical steps, and the financial burden weighing on us. But I’m still here—holding my son, even as I grieve the one I lost.

It’s a mess—this chaotic swirl of grief, gratitude, endless decisions, and financial strain all tangled up. This is my story right now. If you need someone to share your story to, you’re welcome to send it to me 🤍

Life lately: March edition 🤍