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At 27, I carried a secret that weighed heavily on my heart—four abortions, each one a painful chapter in my life that I rarely spoke of, even to myself. The first came when I was young and caught in a relationship with a married man. When I told him about the pregnancy, instead of support, I faced threats and fear. I felt trapped and alone, forced to make a decision no woman should have to face. The other three happened later, each time because I wasn’t ready to be a mother. Life felt overwhelming, uncertain, and I kept telling myself that it wasn’t the right time. Yet, every choice left a small fracture inside me, a silent ache I buried deep.

When I met my husband, everything felt different. Our connection was real—filled with love, trust, and passion. We had a strong, intimate relationship, and our physical closeness was something…

Story by: Alethia Lewis-Brown

At 35 years old, I had never experienced the joy of pregnancy. For years, I lived with the heavy burden of fibroids that seemed to control every part of my life. The largest one measured a staggering 11.4 cm, pressing against my body and causing severe pain every month during my cycle. Some days, the pain was so intense I could barely get out of bed. The constant discomfort and the visible bulge made me feel self-conscious and trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine. I lost confidence, and with every painful cycle, a part of my hope faded away.

One quiet evening, while scrolling through Instagram, I came across an ad for DONMama. I paused. Something about the way the ad was relatable and the message spoke to me. I was skeptical but desperate for change, so I reached out and sent them…

I was 31 when I found love again—real love. The kind that didn’t come with lies or manipulation or fear. The kind that made you dream about white picket fences, baby bottles on kitchen counters, and little feet running around the living room.

But I carried a heavy secret. It was so heavy I fought long and hard to tell myself that I was ok.

Before I met my husband, I had been in a long, toxic relationship. One where I loved more than I was ever loved back. A man who never truly saw me, yet controlled every part of me. I got pregnant four times by him, and each time, the answer was the same: get rid of it. I wasn’t ready, he wasn’t willing, and I was too emotionally weak to say no.

After the fourth abortion, my body started changing. I began having recurring infections—strange discharges,…

I am Alessandra— and for years, my name sounded more like an unanswered question than a promise.

At thirty-one, the first doctor leaned back in his swivel chair, sighed, and said, “Your ovaries look… shrivelled.” The word clanged in my ears like a bell announcing last call. At thirty-four, the ultrasound tech frowned at the blank screen. “I’m not even seeing a womb,” she whispered, as if sparing me would soften the blow. By thirty-nine, every specialist, herb, prayer chain, and hormone injection felt like another scratch on the inside of a glass jar—something I could see through but never escape.

I blamed it on the unseen. My grandmother used to warn me about night spirits, and I began to believe her. Night after night I dreamt of a faceless stranger claiming my body—sensations so real I woke damp with shame. Other nights I wandered endless corridors, calling for someone…

For nine long years, I wore a silent badge of shame. Not because I was barren—because the world said I was.

I was a wife. A good wife. I cooked, I cleaned, I supported my husband through every storm. But the one thing I couldn’t do, the one thing that haunted me every single day… was give him a child.

The whispers started after year two. By year five, they weren’t whispers anymore. They were Facebook comments. Backhanded statements at family gatherings. Women offering themselves like sacrificial lambs.

“If it were me, I’d give him a baby.”

“You sure your womb even working?”

“You better hurry before someone else gives him what you can’t.”

I am Shelika and this is my story. First of all, thank you so much my doctor for providing a space where we can share our stories about you and about our struggles. I never found the light until I found you my Queen and ever since then I have not been the same.

For a long time, I believed I was broken.

I was 26 when a doctor first told me I had PCOS. I left that clinic with a pamphlet and a hollow feeling in my chest. But it wasn’t just PCOS. Later came the diagnosis of endometriosis, and then a hormonal imbalance that no one seemed to understand fully. My periods were irregular, my body felt like a stranger, and every month I carried the silent grief of not being able to do what I thought should come naturally — conceive.

My first real relationship didn’t survive…

Women

Promised the girls that if she is really pregnant we’re going for lunch today. Wonder if they realized it’s passed lunch time and wan change dem mind? 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Jah Jah. I am going to share this baby mama’s message she sent not too long ago. If this is not encouraging I don’t know what is.

Just waiting on my 49yr old baby mama to go to a specific gynecologist I sent her to today. Once she’s in the clear, a pure noise me love! 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

Also, I usually tell my baby mamas over 40, always ensure you have a visa to go overseas and have your child because the discrimination here in Jamaica is SAD but it can lead to negligence and that we do not want.

#donbaby