I carry a pain with me that I haven’t shared here before. It’s private, it’s been a personal struggle for me and my family. It has caused many tears. Many tears. My heart aches and yearns. Several OBs, a midwife, an acupuncturist, friends, family have been through this trial with us.
It’s the trial of infertility.
We’ve been trying to grow our family for over three years now. I had a dream of having three children, each two to three years apart. We have one child who will be turning six soon. She is beautiful and precious and truly a gift. My heart aches for another.
When I hear people complaining about their children, my heart breaks. It breaks because of my longing and because these others in those moments are unable to see the beauty they have.
It can be hard to be joyful when yet another friend becomes pregnant with her second, third or fourth child. It can be hard not to grieve for myself and for the loss of the life I had envisioned.
I’ve heard stories of women who tried for ten years to conceive and then finally did. I’ve heard stories of families who gave up and adopted and while in the adoption process became pregnant.
These stories do not bring me solace or hope. They bring up more pain and more questions of Why Me? I look at people on the street screaming at their children or at the library when I father tells his son he can’t play on *that* computer because it’s too “girlie” and I wonder why the Universe has deemed them fortunate to have that child, but not me.
Not me who puts all my heart and soul into being the best mama I possibly can. Me who every day searches for opportunities to grow, to become a better person – all so that my child will have a healthy family, a healthy childhood.
Why me?
I had an ultrasound last week to look at my uterus and to see if the surgery I had in September and the hormone treatments I’ve been doing since then have shrunk it enough so that an egg could implant.
The answer was yes. My uterus is back to a “normal” size. My body has healed this part, and now to move on to step two of what feels like a million step process to get us to the point to make a decision about conceiving.
I’ll turn 42 at the end of this year. Statistically this is not a great age to be birthing healthy babies. I know the odds are not in my favor. I know I have other health issues that may play a role in making it even more not in my favor.
And yet.
I have hope. It’s hard to surrender to this hope. It’s hard to dive into it and open my heart to the possibility of even more loss, even more heartache. I don’t know if I can manage to tell my daughter again that her baby brother or sister has died inside mommy. I don’t know if I can explain again how I don’t know why the babies keep dying. I don’t know if my heart can take the pain of losing another child.
And yet.
Today I looked at due date calculators and thought about baby names, even though the “trying” process hasn’t even started. I have hope.
I’m scared. Scared to release my fears. Scared to dive into Hope. Terrified to surrender to Trust and Faith. Knowing it will all be okay.
Knowing our family will expand. As it is meant to. In it’s own time.
Letting go of the illusion of control. The tears flow. My body shakes.
I can breathe deeply into my pelvis now. This is something I couldn’t do a year ago. I can live in my body. I am able to focus on my present moments more and more. I see the beauty that is my life and sometimes, for a moment or two, I feel at peace with the way our life is, with no longing or yearning for what it isn’t.
And yet.
I had a vision over a year ago of our second child. Beautiful little toddler, standing next to my daughter. I hold that vision in my heart. I hold it knowing that other child is meant to be with us.
I’m in this process of surrendering to Hope. To Faith. To Trust.
A practice. It is all a practice.
And when our second (and third?) child comes to us, it will be in her or his own time. A lesson taught to me by our daughter, that I didn’t quite learn.
So beautiful Gwynn, so beautiful ♥
Thank you, Brandi. I needed to get back to why I write: to Heal. <3
Dear Gwynn,
You are very brave articulating this pain (trust me, I can relate). I wish it will bring you healing and hope an more than anything I hope the dream of another child will come true for you!
Love,
Suzanne
Suzanne, Thank you. It is the path I have chosen – to speak my truth, to heal through my writing, hoping others can find healing in my words also, or at the least, know they are not alone. <3
Knowing when to let go of a dream and when to invite it in can be so fraught. Sending you peace as you move through this process. Wanting it to unfold in the best way, whatever that may be.
Flo, (ha! just automatically put that w at the end! 😉 It will unfold as it is meant to, and I can’t control that. We will have another child (or two) it’s a matter of how and when. Opening to the hope that the how is through my body and the when is soon is a very vulnerable place to be – and of course wondering if I am still trying to control, should I simply let it go and have us move on to plan B (adoption). It’s balancing and juggling and processing and a lot of going back and forth and not knowing how much my heart can take in either scenario. And of course, remembering to breathe. 😉
You words are so tender and vulnerable. They’re beautiful to read.
My husband and I have been struggling to conceive for over a year. It has been such an emotional struggle for me as a am a holistic health coach, yoga teacher and doula that works mainly with preconception, prenatal and postnatal women. So hard that I took a full time job in my old profession. I haven’t talked about it. I don’t talk about it. I am here to surrender with you. <3
Oh Terra, It is such a hard thing to talk about. I’ve purposefully kept our struggles out of my blog because I have this idea that I’m supposed to only show how grateful I am about the life I have (I am) or that it should only be about being present in this moment and not worrying about the past or future.
The truth is, these feelings are my present moment. And I am grateful for the life I have. Both are true. And knowing they are true for me, knowing I’m not a special snowflake, tells me they are true for others and maybe there is some solace in that – in that not being alone. <3 Surrendering to Hope, you and I and anyone who is ready. Together. <3 <3 <3
You are an inspirational truth speaker. Thank you for being so brave and for continuing to choose love, every day.
Thank you, Melissa. <3 Truly and deeply. <3 Lots of love flowing out to you. <3