Dear loved ones,

Lately the scarlet letter I has been weighing heavily on my chest. Infertility. That dark cloud hanging over my thoughts and emotions. That ticking clock in my chest reminding me of every unsuccessful month that goes by. The piece of my heart that remains empty and longing.

This month my husband and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary. It’s been three years since we got married outdoors on the hottest Ohio day of that summer. Three years since we carelessly danced surrounded by everyone we love. Three years since we vowed to love each other endlessly, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

I never would have predicted that we would walk this path. When we were first married people asked us about having children and we would just smile. We agreed that we wanted to start our family right away. And after being married for 6 months, we had a secret. The best kind of secret. We were going to have a baby. We bought our first home with plans of a growing family. I started reading pregnancy books and we talked about possible names. We dreamed and planned our lives with this child.

But our plans disappeared when we lost our baby.

Now we had the worst kind of secret. Everyone around us was congratulating us on owning our first home, but my husband and I were mourning what could have been. We didn’t tell anyone. I was ashamed that my body couldn’t provide for our growing child. I blamed myself. I didn’t understand why it happened. I still don’t. I was completely heartbroken.

After celebrating our first wedding anniversary, many couples begin trying for a child. So we started trying again. But it didn’t happen. It still isn’t happening two years later. Instead of questions about children, we get looks of pity. We stand out among our married friends as “that couple.” That couple who’s having difficulties. That couple that can’t have children. That couple no one knows how to be around or what to say when the topic of children comes up.

Not only do I feel the heartbreak of losing a child, I also feel the ache for a child that may never arrive. I feel the isolating sting of being left behind. We are bystanders as we watch people around us move forward into the next phase of life that is parenthood. I am doing anything I can to be there too.

I’m learning that as much as I don’t know how to navigate this uncertain, challenging time in our lives, neither do the people around us. I’ve slowly started to open up more about our experiences. I’m just tired of feeling so alone.

Of course, fertility treatments come with a wide range of physical side effects. But that is nothing compared to the emotional roller coaster of infertility. There is a constant monologue in my mind that ranges from self pity to self empowerment to self deprecating. I feel absolutely insane most days!

But worst of all, I feel so much shame in not being able to conceive a child. What’s wrong with me? Why did I lose my child? What am I doing wrong? Why is it so easy for everyone around me? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?! It’s a unique pain of being diagnosed with unexplained infertility. There is no reason behind my nonstop wondering of why.

This is just a snapshot into our life right now. Of course, I have my amazing husband, our dog, our home, our careers, etc. But infertility is in the forefront right now. It’s consuming me. And I’m terrified. I want to leave this awful place but then I’m right back where we started. Incomplete and wishing for more. Left behind. Broken. I’m learning that the process of conceiving and being a parent is an amazing, wonderful privilege. Not a certainty.

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9 thoughts on “Dear loved ones,

  1. I feel you pain as you write this. I really do.
    I don’t want to tell you are wrong to feel this way, but I do want to tell you that you aren’t alone. I also feel the need to tell you that you have no reason to feel shame. It helped me a lot to process similar emotions when someone told me that infertility is an illness, just like diabetes or a heart murmur. No illness is desirable, and no-one is to blame for the way their body works – there is no shame for that! You are doing nothing wrong, some thing are just out of your control. You are an amazing women, and the fact that your body isn’t doing what you want it to, doesn’t make you any less of an amazing women!
    I know the feelings you are dealing with right now, and I just wish I could wrap you up in a giant hug and we could cry together. Sending you love and wishing you peace. Try to be kind to yourself.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. ❤️ I wish I could meet every woman in our online community and give her a big hug too! I think we all have our bad days and I know the encouragement I get from my online friends lifts me back up when I’m feeling down. Thank you xo

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  2. I used to talk to my pastor’s wife about their early years of marriage. She finished her degree early so they could hurry up and get married; all she wanted was a child. For years and years, seven in fact, she prayed to God for her own little miracle. She couldn’t understand for the longest time why they weren’t conceiving. She said around year five she finally decided to “give it to God.” Their prayers were finally heard and they have three beautiful, grown children and six grandchildren. Now the circumstances are a bit different because this was before most fertility treatments existed and her husband wasn’t traveling like ours do. Just want you to know that I’m praying for you and your husband. I really feel like you’ll get your blessing this year!!!

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    1. Thank you! I pray about this a lot and I know we will have a family one day, I’m just not sure when or how. My experience with infertility relates a lot to the charter pilot lifestyle. It’s like when my husband is gone, I miss him but it feels that much sweeter when he returns. It’s taking us a while to have a family, but when we do it’s going to be so overwhelmingly amazing!

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  3. 😦 know that we are all with you going through these same feelings. Something will happen and when it does the timing and all of it will make sense(thAts what I keep saying to myself anyways)

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    1. I tell myself that too. I try to remind myself of how strong I am because of this experience. And all of these torture treatments will be worth it when I meet my baby.

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