Today’s post is by Lauren @ A Cup of Bliss. She also writes a blog about trying to conceive @ Tear Drops Falling. This isn’t a story of dreams fulfilled, but rather a story of life in the midst of infertility. It is so important to take time to recognize the sorrows that so often accompany this journey.
Some days there aren’t words. Other times they won’t stop coming. Gushing. Pouring forth. Like a swollen creek, gurgling and tumbling free.
Sometimes, the heart is too full for what the page can hold.
Even as a writer. A chronic journal-keeper. A Christian woman. A wife. Sometimes, there just aren’t words.
Such as the day that a doctor brazenly comments that God must not be a woman because He wouldn’t allow infertility to happen “to one of His own.”’
Or the day that a nutritionist explains that you may never have children without miraculous intervention.
Or the days you see bleeding red despite invasive, painful medical treatments.
Or the nights of grief that mix in congruently with mornings of hope.
That is what infertility can do.
It renders a once-full woman empty or transforms a tranquil peace into gripping longing.
Like Hannah, I pour out my soul with bitter weeping. Like Sarah, I laugh at the promise of miracles. Like Elizabeth, I shelter myself away until that same promise of miracles comes to pass. Like countless women around me, I yearn to hear the words “Mama” from a toddler’s lisping babblings.
This week, after a failed IVF, the cramps still double me over in pain. The heartache of my lost three-week-old embryo causes me to weep. This week there aren’t words, so I choose to share with you a blog post from my anonymous infertility blog, Tear Drops Falling that I wrote at the beginning of 2012 when my TTC (trying to conceive) journey was just beginning. I pray that my transparency and my journey blesses you, even as I admit to my own brokenness by simply sharing a patchwork of posts.
And, so my journey continues. A hallow of dawn rises to meet my gaze outside my cold classroom window. Sitting at my desk with a tall carafe of coffee, I muse over where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going. Perusing the comments left on my blog, I am in awe of the support and community already drawing together to stand firm, to be weak, to rejoice, and to weep together. Thank you for rallying around me. Thank you for being honest. Thank you for joining me down this road of infertility.
I pray that the sweet peace of Christ envelopes you today. May you be wrapped in His outstretched arms. Sit and rock in His lap. Come to Him like a child. Maybe listen to worship music or just ponder in silence. Know that you are loved by the King of Kings.
Let me share with you another piece, another day, from my past. Posted in Fall 2011, this was only the second time that I had publicly written about infertility. Let the grief and hope resonate in your heart this morning, as I know these emotions often wrack your own hearts . . .
Instead of being outstretched in worship during chapel, I found my arms wrapped around my body and the empty feelings resonating inside my core again. Empty, so empty. Tears coursed down my cheeks, as a fellow teacher moved over to embrace me. She held my hand in an acknowledgement of shared pain.
“You’re not in a good place, are you?” she queried, not expecting an answer. “I know my Lauren. When she is not just about floating on the ceiling while singing, something is not right.”
No, I’m not in a good place. I had hoped to keep this painful part of my life from coloring the published entries in this blog. When I created “A Cup of Bliss,” coffee and cafe reviews seemed like a reasonable subject to write about. Teaching also fit the bill as an educational topic full of funny anecdotes. Reflections on grad school even seemed like a more productive, uplifting area of my life to discuss versus this shadow of disappointment clouding my vision. My prayer journal is filled with enough of my agonizing cries.
To no avail. Today, I want answers. Tomorrow, I might be okay. But, tonight, I want to stop wishing, hoping, and fearing. In my efforts to distract myself and give my sorrow to Christ, I am finding time-consuming activities, but not healing.
Sometimes it is okay to not be okay. As I continue to wrestle with infertility and God’s timing, I find myself doing more research on treatment alternatives yet unexplored. The search is exhausting. Possibilities are endless, but finding a solution is like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. Nutritionists, doctor, and now chiropractor have all offered remedies that so far have fallen flat. Most have made me more sick and miserable than I felt before attempting the recommended regimen. It seems that I find the courage to hope just to have my dreams dashed again and again and again.
Usually, I’ve hidden the description of my symptoms and negative reactions from the outside world. I’m good at faking it. Trying to get pregnant is supposed to be a private, wondrous affair. It is not supposed to be a public debacle. This empty, empty road was not one that I wanted to walk. But, walking it I am.
Walk with me if you dare. I know that I’m not alone. My body aches with the desire to curl up in a ball and sob. Till there are no more tears. Till hope is restored. Till a miracle happens. Tonight, I am anything but brave and courageous. Tonight, emptiness echoes off the confines of my barren body and lonely arms.
Tonight, a year and a half after these blog posts, emptiness once again threatens to consume. However, my heart is more and more surrendered to the plans of my Savior. I will continue to step out in faith and walk on water with Christ until hope is fully realized.
It is okay to be a Christian woman and not understand. Even three years into this journey, it is still okay to not be okay.
Author Bio: Lauren is a teacher, writer and wife. In her words, “My journey has in no way been straight nor easy, marred as it has been by anorexia, perfectionism, the rape of a dear friend, depression, and, now, infertility. Still, I press on. I dance with no rhythm. I cry with abandon. I love wholeheartedly. I sing with no tune. I write passionately. I love the students and the friends that Christ has blessed me with. I am becoming whole.”
Friends, would you take a moment to write a prayer for Lauren in the comments?
As she has so graciously opened her heart to us, let’s bless her in return, hmm?