Infertility Grief

I have tried literally for months to compose this post, and even saved it as a draft- later to delete all of it. There never seemed to be a good time. Today Billy said "the great thing about you, is you put yourself out there. You take the hits." The truth is more like I put "out there" what I am okay with. Alot I tuck deep inside. Well, I remembered this post waiting for me to complete, and maybe now I could do it. I thought this would be about loss associated with barrenness, then I wasn't sure how I even felt about that. Wasn't sure I had the courage to write about that. SO I'll just write and see what comes of it.


For 5 years, this month I have been barren. Do you know this was always my greatest fear growing up? I shamelessly admit I played with baby dolls way too late into childhood and used to stuff my shirt with a pillow and look at myself in the mirror. It wasn't just something I wanted to be one day, it was THE thing I wanted to be one day. Well, that and of course a mother. I used to lie awake at night as a teenager and think "God will you allow me to be pregnant?" This was a strange thought as I never knew anyone who couldn't get pregnant. But somehow I wondered about myself.

I knew when we pursued adoption that our children would not replace the children we couldn't have. I also knew they would feel and be my real children, just like any I gave birth to- because ultimately it doesn't matter how you become a mother or how a child comes into the world. What matters is that you are. And this all came true for me.

What I didn't expect was the feeling of grief and loss to stay with me for so long. At times the sadness threatens to choke me. Over the years I have dabbled in counseling and anti-depressants, never really achieving long term success with either. I recently made a call to a women's hospital that does weekly group counseling for Depression. They said one group was for general depression and the other for grief and loss. I said I'm not sure which one I would be in. She said "well the grief and loss one is right now women who have recently lossed a baby." I said, well that's not me. But I'm not so sure. Is it? I mean am I "generally depressed"...like with everyday happenings. No, not really. But often times I feel gloomy, my mind wanders, I feel stuck.I feel like I've lost something.

I haven't followed up with the clinic.

You see the thing is, I don't have a desire to have a biological child. Doesn't mean much to me now. But I am also not so sure I want to go my whole life without knowing what it feels like to have a life inside of me. To bring life into the world. I know it's not an easy road. My dear friend has had the worst pregnancy EVER! But in the end she still can say this child came from her. I think this may just be the stage I'm in now. Everyone continues to be pregnant. In 10 more years, my peers will have all had their children and we will all just be Moms. Most days I understand this is my calling, that I wouldn't have my son and daughter any other way. Some days, it doesn't feel as much like a calling as it does a curse, one that I do not understand.


I have asked the "why me" question over and over and recently I began to hear a gentle whisper of "why not me?" Why should I not suffer? Why should I not be afflicted? Everyone you meet has a heartache of some kind. And this just happens to be mine. I fear it will always be with me in some way. Pregnancy mystifies and perplexes me. It feels foreign. The Bible says that the Lord closed Hannah's womb. And He has chosen to close mine. Not because of anything I did or didn't do, but because He is sovereign over ALL creation.


Today at church, we looked over the verses in 2 Corinthians 1:3-9 where it says that the Lord "comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God." It goes on to say "but this happened so that we may not rely on ourselves but God." To humble us. It also says to bring about "patient endurance". Endurance in ALL suffering. The many blessings that have come of my infertility have been first and foremost my children. But also, the ability to mourn deeply for others. For those who have lost a child, or lost the ability to have a child. I don't want to hide from grief, in myself or others. I want to turn to it, to embrace it. To drink deeply of it. For I know that where there is grief, there is the Lord's comfort. And this is the place that the people of God should be. And maybe there someday, I too, will find healing for the broken pieces of my heart.