If you've been following my blog or Instagram (@jennyfromgeorgia), you've seen plenty of moments of simple joy in my life lately. This week, I decided to share something I wrote a few years ago at a time when my life was full of frustration and heartbreak. We’d been trying to start our family for a few years, trying all sorts of treatments and trying to find a doctor who could help us, and we’d also been through 2 miscarriages (I lost three babies before Caleb came along).
I felt strongly that one day I’d be a mother, which gave me hope, but I was grieving the loss of my babies, and I was struggling with the amount of effort required to keep trying and the toll it was taking on my body. I also came to realize that many (as in, most) people had no idea about the day-to-day struggles of infertility beyond the waiting and constant yearning for a child. Yes, I was yearning, and yes, I was trying to be patient, but there were also endless hours waiting on hold to speak to the insurance company (again) and medications that wreaked havoc on my hormones and expensive medical bills and countless blood draws and bad news (lots of bad news) and, well...I’ll just let you read it yourself.
Now my life is overflowing with joy even greater than my heartbreak, but I don’t ever want to forget the pain that has made motherhood so sweet, especially when I know that so many people are struggling with infertility now. Here’s the truth about their pain that you might not see.
The Hidden Truth
Get ready for an emotional post. What can I say? That's my life. Sometimes.
Sometimes, I physically ache for all the women facing infertility, pregnancy loss, infant loss, or the overwhelming obstacles of adoption.
Sometimes, I ache for myself...My first, my one-year-old. And my second, my little baby, due this fall. I think of them this way, maybe because I've had a while to think about them. It probably seems strange to other people, but it's natural for me. It brings me peace.
Sometimes it seems like everything I do every day reminds me that I've lost them. I can't help but think how different life would be if they were here now.
A stranger, Katie, who shared her story on www.facesofloss.com, wrote, "Miscarriage is death, yet there are no funerals, no sympathy cards, no bereavement time. Instead couples grieve in silence. You’ve just got to pick up the pieces, hold your head high, and go on with life as usual."
I’ve observed that some people believe that infertility or pregnancy loss is mostly longing for a baby, something like dreaming of a car or new furniture, only perhaps more intense.
They believe that you just have to be patient, because eventually you'll have a baby (when it's somehow magically "the right time"), and everything will be alright. And that you shouldn't worry so much, and try to be happy with what you already have. It's a matter of faith and patience.
This is true, because happiness is a choice, but it's only half of the truth, which makes it half a lie. The whole truth is that it's much more than waiting. It's more than what it seems.
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