How Stella (Amrit) got her Groove (Period) Back

First, a disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, I do not have any TTC expertise.  All of these thoughts are my own personal trials, tribulations, and opinions. What I share is not advice, but perspective (from an unhinged person) so please, carry on at your own discretion. 

After our second trimester loss (and third miscarriage) last year, I became my own personal worst nightmare. As a type B person to my core, a.k.a. phone riding on yellow, packing the morning of a six a.m. flight type of girl—I did something truly out of character and tried to "get back on track" with my imaginary (self-created) timeline for baby #2. 

TLDR: it didn't work! Why would it? Who was I to think that I could micromanage the miracle of life. After my d&c, I went through all of the motions. Grief (martinis and multiple Chanel bag purchases), decided to wallpaper every room in our rental (in different styles), muted everyone  that was pregnant around the same time as me except very close friends. But most of all, I tried to find some kind of recalibration or even salvation with my hormones and body again. 

I did acupuncture and yoga. I saw multiple medical specialists out of pocket for second opinions that my insurance didn't cover, to ensure the D&C was complete and there wasn't leftover tissue. I did CT scans and saw fertility specialists. I met an incredible naturopathic doctor who put me on a smoothie cleanse that was laborious and quite frankly, disgusting (!) that helped me shed a lot of the miscarriage weight and inflammation. I did Mayan massage and downloaded all the cycle tracking apps but nothing, dear reader, would bring my period back. 

I tried to track my ovulation with at home test kits that devastated me every morning: LOW LOW LOW, for months on end. I drank fertility teas and castor oil. TTC became my full time job and persona. I took Chinese herbs. I uploaded every bloodwork chart I got back into ChatGPT. I became someone so far from the person I knew (and liked): uncharacteristically neurotic... forging ahead on a path to find a solution that didn't exist. I started throwing out Frankie's baby bottle and toddler dinnerware in defiance. Good bye plastic forks. To hell with you!!!! If the baby wasn't coming, I wasn't about to try squirrel away precious storage real estate in our small Brooklyn apartment on bottles and binkies I'd probably never use again. I rolled my eyes when people likened their first-time-six-week miscarriages to mine. (PS, that was an incredibly assholish thing to do and in no way do I feel any kind of moral superiority, to anyone going through loss at whatever stage it happens) 

I started responding with "I'm on strike three so I really don't know anymore or maybe I'm barren”  when well-intentioned friends and family dared to ask if we would try again. I made imaginary deadlines for IVF and egg freezing to myself and continued to see medical professionals who told me at month six, seven, eight...that this was "normal" that there was "no timeline" and to "just relax"—which IMO, felt like a triple homicide. I finally got insight into what it felt like to be a worrisome and anxious person. To  my anxiety queens, I take my hat off to you. This really is debilitating.

After nine months of this, I decided that I would "take a break" with no real plan on what the next steps would look like (a small glimmer of the carefree Pisces that I used to be)—and for the first time in the 13 years I've lived in NYC, I took a real summer break. 

Now I need to preface what I'm about to say next by noting, it's taken me almost two decades to feel emotionally and financially secure enough to take a break like this. I flew to Mexico City with girlfriends to see Bad Bunny and to Ibiza and Mallorca...and dared to stay a few extra days alone following brand trips (yes, I did take on a few jobs but nowhere near my usual sicko mode.) I went to every Brimfield Antique market alone, with no one to ask "where would one put that." I danced in a bikini to Sean Paul under the desert stars with my best friend at a three day music festival in a scene I can only imagine an onlooker would describe as a 38 year old woman, going through a case of perimenopause meets mid life crisis.

I took off to our place in Connecticut, a home I usually spent long weekends before getting a strong case of cabin fever and committed to spending 3 months there. I found Frankie a camp spot at the local child center and decided to commute back for STJ meetings and VIP jobs (aka only when the money presented itself as a no brainer) I said no to A LOT.

I said no to gigs. No to shows. Passed on screenings of movies I actually wanted to see and social jobs (very rare for me, just ask my manager) and made myself unavailable for in-person meetings and events. I read voraciously. I ignored every single invite to the Hampton's. I read multiple books a week. I cooked many of our meals from physical cookbooks that were left by the previous owner of the house, instead of apps and digital recipes. I picked Frankie up early from school and swam with her at the lake. 

I stopped trying to forecast family planning and savored the one I had. I would wake up every morning (I'm always the first to rise) and would watch Jon and Frankie sleeping soundly we don't actively co-sleep but most nights she'll crawl in, and I do not care to stop her and tears of gratitude would stream down my face. I would whisper to myself,  "how lucky are we" to have one another, in this magical place that we built a home and why had I not appreciated it, in its richness until this summer.

I'd drive The Gator (subtle place to mention that my 2026 goal is a John Deere partnership) around with no destination but simply to check the river water levels. I took a deep interest in the wildflowers of the region and the deer family who started to make them themselves comfortable in our backyard. I envisioned where I wanted our brands, both personal and STJ, to be in the next few years without feeling the need to make every moment a strategic one. And for inquiring minds...both businesses are thriving—and I thank god every day that I get to wake up and do what I love, but that's not what this newsletter is about :)

I started each day with a run. I switched back to whole milk. I made coffee every morning with cream and wondered why I had subjected myself to non dairy alternatives for such a long time. I cooked steaks in butter and made myself cheese platters with fresh tomatoes for lunch. I participated in solo happy hours, pouring myself a generous glass of wine at sunset, which my sweet, sober husband, did not partake in but did provide splendid company at. I made MYSELF (not Frankie) pancakes for breakfast. I took the local community yoga, which by NYC standards was really more of a stretching class for seniors, but really made me fall in love with my mat and practice again. When I did go back into the city for the occasional job, I'd stay an extra day or so instead of rushing back. I went to midday movies with friends and enjoyed the serenity of our city apartment in its peak, child-free abundance. 

And last week, dear reader. When I least expected it. After months of incredible reads: Margo's Got Money Troubles, The Correspondent, Heart The Lover, Yesteryear, Famesick, The Plunge, My Beautiful Friend—to name a few of the faves! She returned.

My sweet, precious period found her way back. The one I had spent the majority of my life trying to avoid. I wept so many tears of joy that a mutual friend asked me if a bug had hit me in the eye. I fought the urge to make a joke of it and send a "I guess I'm not barren text" to a friend. Okay fine, I DID send it to a couple of group chats. 

But for the most part, I thanked my body for healing itself. This is not a how-to guide of any sorts. It could be a "how to not lose your mind" guide but in no way is it any kind of fertility advice. I still don't have any future concrete plans with an IVF journey aside from being open to it. I will after this hiatus, return to the city full time with CT weekend dalliances. This is not a forever life plan but right now, it's working. If you feel inclined to share where you're at on your journey, I'd love to hear from you. What's made you feel good lately? 

I'd like to reassure you with less of a sporadic writing cadence but I couldn't truthfully do so. So I'll leave it on this note: Until the next time, something is worth writing home about. 

I love you all, so very much.