“I can’t find a heartbeat,” the ultrasound technician said in a whisper, as if hoping the fact was just fiction. I knew something was wrong prior to her announcement. There had been no jubilant pointing out of a baby on the black and white screen. Just silence. And it was silence that came after the unfortunate news was delivered, as those around me waited to see how I would react and what they needed to offer me in consolation. But I, too, was silent.

I have been pregnant four times, but I only have two children. Both of my miscarriages were early on. Early enough that I only had to tell a few close family members and friends that they even happened. A blessing, I assured myself as I sent the heartbreaking text to my best friend. It’s easier this way. No one has to know.

Suffering in silence is a hallmark of womanhood. And I’m not just referring to pregnancy loss.

So much of women’s health is taboo. Period products are hidden in the back of pharmacies. Women are instructed to tell as few people as possible about their pregnancies until after several months, as if loss is best experienced alone. And aging? Through the process of pulling together this magazine, I have learned that the trials that women face as they get older aren’t just not spoken about; they’re largely not even taught in medical school. Talk about silence.

As I sat in the doctor’s office listening to next steps and the options moving forward, I was quietly cancelling calendar events in my mind. Milestones that I—and my baby—would never reach. I was marking through the names I had bookmarked in my mind, deleting imaginary to-do lists, and hitting backspace on the nursery themes that had already been floating around in my head. No big deal, I said to myself, senselessly hoping the lie would trick my own brain.

This lie, though, triggered something in my mind—albeit not the contentment I was hoping for. I realized that it is these fibs we convince ourselves of—the ridiculous lie that we are always “just fine”—that are the root of the problem.

I have learned from the women featured in this month’s issue that being loud might be the remedy. Making noise is the only way to find answers, solutions and, most importantly, community. As nurse practitioner and co-founder of The Menopause Clinic Crystal Burke notes, “No trophies for suffering in silence.”

We need each other. No one was meant to go through any challenge, big or small, alone.

The women in this month’s issue are making known the trials and tribulations of perimenopause. They’re uplifting breast cancer survivors. They’re helping single mothers get back on their feet. They’re giving grieving moms resources. And they’re working together to create a better world for the next generation of girls.

I will say, talking about this did make me feel better. Thank you all for reading if you made it this far. And if you think something similar would be healing for you, you’re always welcome to reach out to me. I may not have answers, but we can work together to make some noise. And I have hope that such a gesture will make a difference.