Infertility Awareness Week

It’s the excitement that came over us when we learned we were expecting, 

followed by pain and loss when it was all ripped away from us.

It’s yearning for the honor of growing a life, carrying to term, 

the ability to adequately care for our babies, and tangibly love them. 

It’s feeling like a failure as a woman and a mother, 

because my body couldn’t do what it was designed to do.

It's obsessing over each cycle, our timing, every symptom, our diets, and our bodies, 

only to find that it's never enough.

It's appointment after appointment for blood work, empty ultrasounds, invasive tests and procedures, 

drug prescriptions, and anything we can do to move forward.

It’s seeing the world through a darker lens. 

Instead of being carefree and optimistic, I stress, strive, and feel the need to expect the worst. 

Bitterness and anger wage a war against my heart and my joy. I don't feel like myself.

I struggle to find the balance between remaining hopeful
and not setting myself up for disappointment.

It’s an emotional roller coaster,

on which I climb to high heights and plummet to low lows,
sometimes in a matter of moments.

It's falling apart, pulling myself back together,
and setting myself up to fall apart all over again,

month after month, after month, after month, after month, after month...

It’s missing our babies, despite the fact that I only carried them for weeks,

and longing to embrace them just like every other parent I see!

It’s the isolation of invisible motherhood.

It’s the unrelenting battle for my faith. 

I wonder why God would intentionally begin a life, only to let it dissipate. 

It's easy to distrust him and distance myself. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t let go.

It’s continually fighting off the lies that God doesn’t see us, 

doesn’t honor our marriage, or doesn’t see us as capable parents.

It’s stepping into social situations and wondering 

if the full arms and expectant bellies all around me will trigger me into tears. 

It's feeling like death incarnate 

while being caught up in a parade of fertility, bursting with life and music. 

It’s having to fight for my relationshipsbecause I feel the sting of loss and struggle when I see my pregnant friends
and friends who are young parents. 

It’s asking God “WHY ME?” 

and then feeling stupid when I end up asking myself 

“Why not me?”

It’s a battle that I’m kind of glad we’re fighting, 

because I know it's doing something aside from adding depth and beauty to our story.

1 in 8 couples deal with infertility. 

We aren't alone. 

It's someone else you know.