I just finished Kennedy Ryan’s Before I Let Go, which digs into postpartum depression after stillbirth. It landed next to my pages in I Feel Numb — my main character’s miscarriage and what follows — and reading it felt like someone else was bravely naming the quiet, painful pieces I’m trying to hold on the page. It reminded me I’m not alone in telling these stories, and that honesty gives permission to breathe into the mess.

There’s an arc on The Pit about a doctor who keeps miscarrying while trying IVF, then begins the slow, tender move toward adoption. I keep pausing on how the show doesn’t rush her grief into a tidy miracle, it sits with the ongoing ache. That’s the tone I want for I Feel Numb — patient, stubborn grief that doesn’t get erased by a plot twist.

I love Grey’s Anatomy because no matter how big the trauma gets, what keeps the characters moving is the brutal, messy loyalty of friendship. In I Feel Numb my protagonist survives most days thanks to a chosen family of friends, so Grey’s is feeding the way I write those relationships — messy, catalytic, and fiercely necessary.