The thing about having a blog, for me, is always how much to share.
So here’s the thing…If you just like to read my blog for silly pet stories or to get a chuckle about funny family situations then be all means, please ignore this post and check in next time. If though, you would like to know a little more about my family and our story, then I am happy to share this with you.
I have been reluctant to share my experience with infertility for a couple of reasons. First of all, it was extremely painful. Dwelling on it goes against my personal credo to focus on and celebrate what is good about my life. And second, I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. Whatever my suffering may have been, it pales in comparison to that of my family and friends who have lost loved ones to illness or other tragic accidents. Ultimately though, I decided that it was important to share this part of my story because keeping it locked up in the closet has only made it scream louder to be heard. And the strange thing is, when I finally confronted it, I was able to put my present-day, empty-nest anxiety into some kind of perspective. Which has been profoundly healing.
In a way, the past year or so feels like I have been in some kind of maternal twilight-zone. In a cruel twist of fate, not only I am faced with my only child leaving for college, I am also near the end of my journey towards menopause. And this double whammy has been tough enough. But lately I’ve been plagued with memories and emotions of the difficult years of trying to have another child. And this reproductive synchronicity has wreaked havoc on my emotional well-being.
I wanted to have another child so badly. We tried for years. I prayed and prayed – and not just for myself, but so that Kelsey would have a sibling. When Tripp and I finally got confirmation that it would be next to impossible to conceive without some serious medical intervention, it was devastating. I was heart broken. I realize there is a lot of “me” and “I” going on here and that’s because Tripp was always fine with just having one child. I think he was sad because I was sad, but I don’t think he ever quite understood how hurt I really was. The truth is that I felt completely alone and abandoned by God.
It took a little while, but eventually I came to terms with my wound. After I washed it clean with tears from the faucet of acceptance, I applied a generous amount of spiritual Neosporin and wrapped it in a Kelsey shaped Band-aid. Then I did the only thing I knew how to do – what the previous generations of women in my family did when faced with difficult circumstances – I put on my big girl panties and went on about the business of taking care of my family.
Fast forward ten years.
The wound has long been healed thanks to the healing power of The Good Doctor. What I have finally come to realize is that this year has been like gradually peeling off the Band-aid. And now that the Band-aid is off, for the first time I am looking at the scar left behind. The past couple of weeks I’ve been rubbing my finger over the raised white area where injury took place. To be honest, I am a little surprised at how tender it is and I hope you’ll forgive me if I favor it once in a while.
The thing is…I am proud of my scar and this part of my journey that seems to have come full circle. And I am proud that I am not defined by my wound; but rather by the scar that speaks to my fundamental belief in a good and loving God. And my faith that all things work for good in those who love Him.
We are well aware that God works with those who love him, those who have been called in accordance with his purpose, and turns everything to their good. Roman 8:28