A New Year, A Familiar Dream
As the calendar flips to 2026, the world shimmers with fresh starts and lofty resolutions. People all around us are setting goals, new jobs, new habits, new routines. But for you, for many of us in this community, the new year isn’t about a trend or a to-do list. It’s about something far deeper and more enduring: becoming a parent.
Maybe this dream has been with you for months, maybe for years. And while the world celebrates with confetti and countdowns, you carry a quieter, weightier hope, the kind that doesn’t reset every January but deepens with time. If you’re reading this, you’ve held on. Through delays, doubt, disappointments, and detours, you’re still here. That, in itself, is extraordinary.
It’s Been a Hell of a Ride, Let’s Be Honest
I want to start this year off by saying something real: this isn’t easy. In fact, it’s exhausting.
I think of my friends, two incredible intended parents who have been on this path for what feels like forever. Every time I talk to them, I hear the hope in their words, but I also hear the weight behind them. They’ve never said, “We’re done,” but I’ve heard the tiredness in their voices. The moments they almost sound like they’re ready to give up, but never quite say it.
They’ve faced hurdle after hurdle. One thing gets resolved, another pops up. Matching, medical screening, legal paperwork delays. Embryo complications. Clinic hiccups, more and more, pops up… And through all of that, it’s not just the process that takes a toll, it’s what it costs: the time, the finances, the emotional stamina. It adds up.
But they’ve stayed in it. And that’s what’s made them not just parents-in-waiting, but warriors. That’s the kind of strength I see in so many of you.
This Isn’t Just Business, It’s Deeply Personal
That’s one of the things people don’t always get about this journey. They think it’s all about contracts, labs, and legal boxes to check. But it’s not. It’s about connection.
Those friends I mentioned? They’ve become more than clients, they’re friends. We’ve laughed together, vented together, sat in silence on days when words weren’t enough. That’s the beauty of this path. It doesn’t just build families, it builds bonds.
This process brings strangers together who become chosen family. You cry on Zoom calls, celebrate tiny victories over WhatsApp, and hold each other’s fears like glass, carefully and with care. It’s human. It’s raw. It’s not just an agreement or a job. It’s love in motion.
To the Ones Who Keep Showing Up
To the ones still waiting for the right match…
To those navigating complicated medical results…
To those starting over after a failed transfer…
You are not alone.
I know the moments you’ve whispered to yourself, “Why is this so hard?” I know the pang you feel when someone else shares a baby announcement. I know the guilt that follows the jealousy. The shame that follows the fatigue. And I want to tell you: all of that is valid.
You’re allowed to feel it all. You’re human. This path asks for everything, and you’ve given so much already. And still, you keep showing up. Even when you’re unsure, even when the light feels dim, you stay. That’s parenthood in its earliest form: persistence in love.
Let’s Talk About 2026, A Year of Hope, Yes, But Also Real Talk
It would be easy to make this blog about shiny optimism. “2026 will be your year!” But that’s not always what you need to hear.
You need to hear this: 2026 might still be hard. Things might not go as planned. But you will be here for it, and that’s what makes all the difference.
So yes, make this your year. Not because everything will magically align, but because, you’re walking in with more knowledge, more clarity, more connections than ever before.
You’ve learned how to advocate for yourself. You’ve learned who you trust. You’ve learned what matters most. And that wisdom? It’s gold.
A Message for My Friends, and for You
To my friends: I’m with you. Always. I’ve seen you at your best and at your most broken. And both have been beautiful. Your child is waiting for you, and I know with every fiber of my being that they will come. I wish I could speed it all up. I wish I could remove every obstacle. But until then, I’ll keep walking beside you.
To every intended parent reading this: This dream you’re chasing is one of the most courageous acts of love I’ve ever witnessed. You are building a family not just with biology or logistics, but with faith, with grit, with unwavering commitment.
Don’t let anyone minimize what that means. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re being too emotional or taking too long. This is YOUR journey. And it’s unfolding in its own time. The setbacks do not define the outcome.
You do.
Let 2026 Be the Year You…
- Trust your gut more than your fear.
- Ask the questions you were afraid to ask.
- Say yes to things that scare you.
- Say no when it’s not right.
- Reach out when you feel alone.
- Let people in when it’s hard.
- And most of all, love yourself through every stage.
Because whether your child arrives this year or next, you are already doing the work of a parent. Loving fiercely. Enduring faithfully. Holding space for someone you haven’t met yet, but who will change everything.
This is the year you stop doubting if it will ever happen.
This is the year you remember that it already is.
And I know they’re not the only ones. If you’re reading this and you feel like the world keeps placing roadblocks in your path, please hear me: you are not alone. You’re not invisible. And even when your voice is quiet, even when it’s shaky, it’s still strong. You’re still here.
To my friends, and to every Intended Parent who is fighting for their future family, know that I see you. I hear you. And I believe in you. This isn’t just a process. It’s a deeply human experience. This isn’t just an agreement or paperwork, it’s about love, persistence, and the quiet courage it takes to keep showing up.
You’re not doing this alone. We’re in this together. And your dream is still valid, still worthy, still possible.
The Quiet Work of Becoming a Parent
Parenthood doesn’t start with a birth certificate or a bassinet. It starts here, in the quiet moments: the nights you cry after a disappointing call with your clinic, or with your agency, the mornings you drag yourself out of bed to send another email, the afternoons you try to hold it together when someone asks, “Do you have kids?” The invisible work you’re doing, grieving, hoping, planning, is the very foundation of the life you’re building.
Some of the most powerful parts of this journey are unseen by others. The budgeting spreadsheets that don’t balance, the calendar reminders that sting, waiting for that one update that feels forever. This invisible labor deserves recognition. It deserves rest. And it deserves community.
How We Can Show Up For Each Other in 2026
If you’re not currently on this path but love someone who is, this is your moment to show up. Ask how they’re doing and stay to really hear the answer. Offer your time, your encouragement, or just your presence. Don’t offer advice unless they ask for it. Don’t compare it to your journey unless it helps them feel less alone. And if you don’t know what to say, say that. Your honesty will be appreciated more than platitudes ever could be.
A Personal Wish List, for My Friends and For You
- I wish for more soft landings, for transfers, for conversations, for hearts that need rest.
- I wish for less bureaucracy and more humanity in every clinic, agency, and office we walk through.
- I wish for belly laughs amid the paperwork.
- I wish for space to grieve the expectations that didn’t go to plan.
- I wish for one moment this year where it all feels real, and right.
And if nothing else, I wish for time, time that feels generous instead of punishing. Time to feel what you feel. Time to regroup. Time to remember why you started.
A Letter to the Dreamers
To those who have felt like a number in a system that forgot how to feel.
To those who still get excited when they see a baby stroller, even if it aches a bit.
To those who are holding their partner’s hand tighter this year, praying it will finally be different…
You are doing the bravest thing I know: loving someone who isn’t here yet. Speaking their name without knowing it. Preparing a place in your life without knowing when, or how, they’ll arrive. This is love, in one of its rarest, rawest forms. And even if the world doesn’t always understand it, I do.
And I’ll say it again:
You are not behind. You are on your way.