Anna is newly pregnant for the first time when she learns that her sister just miscarried her second child. A rift is created in an already strained relationship, but is quickly filled with stories of motherhood from other women she meets along the way. There is, if not diverse, a variety of experiences portrayed in this book, all which feel genuine to the author and her writing.

For me, this focused and compelling portrait on fertility, pregnancy, and the pursuit of motherhood was full of triggers. I don’t have many, but the triggers I have consume parts of me that I’ve buried. So, I usually avoid books with them. But, as distressed as I was while reading this, I couldn’t put the book down. And despite feeling exposed and unsettled, especially since a good portion of the book takes place in the “movie set”-like city I currently live in (and have lived in previously when I was much younger), I found myself entranced by Hogeland’s writing.

Usually when you read a book or consume any type of content, our instinct is to seek similarities. And yes, I found many. Even though the color of my skin, my upbringing, and my socio-economic status differed from the women in this book, which should and does color my experience of motherhood; what struck me was the intimacy of the grief we all shared.

I debated how much of myself I would share in this review. Instinctively, I wanted to share everything, as a means of healing for myself and others who need to hear it. But, as cathartic as this reading experience was, today, in this moment, I still feel like a ghost. I am both haunted by and haunting parts of myself, drifting through motherhood feeling like a fraud, feeling like I don’t deserve it. The honesty in Hogeland’s writing allowed me to confront my ghosts. I confronted them, but haven’t excised them. And that makes it difficult for me to give more of myself in this review, in this space.

But I did want to share, for those of you who need to hear it, that the road to motherhood and motherhood itself are extremely complicated and it’s okay if you feel defeated, afraid, and even angry. This book didn’t heal me. But it did open the door and let the light in.

I think this was a case of the right book, wrong reader. I know lots of folks who liked this one, but it wasn't for me and that's because my hopes were misaligned. I wanted a book about motherhood that included perspectives of those without kids, and this was more focused on those who are or are trying to become mothers. So if motherhood is an identity you have or want to have, or who have struggled to get to, this might be for you. Trigger warnings, so look those up if this could be something hard for you.