I always wanted a natural birth.
From the moment we decided to start trying all those years ago, I had a plan. It would go such and such a way, because that’s the mode life works, you know?
A natural birth, an opportunity to demonstrate my strength, a metaphor for the transition from girl to woman, from caterpillar to butterfly.
So we began to try, and oh, did we try. And when each try ended in failure, our hearts broke a little more and we rested our weary head on wet pillows, sometimes together, sometimes not.
To describe this time of pain is difficult, because it’s so completely personal and most people only half-listen but are fully ready to answer with an optimistic solution that only amplifies the loneliness of this journey.
It can’t fully be understood by those who don’t know it for themselves.
Two people in love, too much love for one another that they urge to let it spill over onto something they’ve created together, something pink and wrinkly that smells of heaven. And they can’t do it…
A pain so life changing.
However, while this journey does not define us entirely, it has changed us, me, so much I hardly recognize the person before. It has changed me for the good, and that was a daily choice, oftentimes a battle.
The reason I share this is because someone reading might need this, and because infertility is a condition with no need of shame.
And if I want to keep this blog going, I have to be willing to share the unpleasantness. A year of vulnerability, perhaps.
If you know someone going through this, they need your listening ear, kind heart, and empathy… no pity, no advice. That’s what everyone needs, I’ve come to realize.
Thanks for reading! And Happy New Year. May it bring renewed hope and wonder.