The Secret Season: My First Trimester Story
They say the first trimester is the hardest — but no one tells you how quiet it feels.
There I was, carrying the biggest secret of my life, while the world kept moving like nothing had changed. But everything had.
Some mornings, I woke up bursting with joy, whispering “Hi baby” to the ceiling before even getting out of bed. Other days, I could barely open my eyes, overwhelmed by nausea, exhaustion, and the surreal weight of what was happening inside me.
It was strange — feeling so different, yet looking exactly the same. No one could see the changes, but I could feel them: a flutter of emotion, a sudden wave of tiredness, the gentle tug of something shifting inside.
One afternoon, I sat on the bathroom floor, holding my knees, tears streaming down for no clear reason. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t even scared. I think I was just… becoming.
A few things that made those quiet weeks easier:
Small comforts became big lifelines.
I kept a basket by my bed — stocked with lemon ginger candies, a water bottle with time markers (because I forgot to drink), and a mist spray that smelled like orange blossoms. It wasn’t fancy, but it helped me feel human when nothing else did.
I started writing letters.
Not blog posts. Not updates. Just tiny, scribbled letters to this little life inside me. “Today, I found out you’re the size of a blueberry.” “I threw up in the sink, and somehow still smiled.” Those letters became anchors — tiny reminders that all of this was for something.
Naps were not lazy — they were sacred.
There were days I napped three times. I stopped fighting it. I bought a cozy oversized cardigan (not maternity, just comfort), and a pillow that supported my hips when everything felt sore. I created a rule: when the body whispers, I listen.
No one prepares you for how invisible this trimester can feel — how you’re carrying a miracle, yet also carrying doubt, fear, discomfort… and hope.
If you’re in it now: be gentle with yourself.
You don’t have to glow. You don’t have to be productive.
You just have to be.
Because your body is doing something extraordinary — even when you’re just lying there, breathing, in stretchy pants, watching the same show for the third time.
This is the beginning of motherhood: raw, quiet, unseen — and absolutely powerful.