“It is what it is.”
That is all I could say as a lump formed in my throat and tears filled up my eyes. It was in response to her, “I’m sorry,” after telling my story and sharing with her my struggle to conceive. She was so compassionate to my losses. So sympathetic to my pain. So understanding of my disease (yes, infertility is a disease). And I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell her it was okay. Or, “don’t you worry about me.” Or even reassure her that I was going to make it through. Yet I couldn’t. And honestly? I didn’t think I needed to. Because whether she knew it or not, those five little words…it is what it is…said everything I was thinking. They spoke everything I was feeling. And everything I was experiencing. Because of my heartache? This struggle? The constant reminders of what I want but can’t seem to have? It is what it is…
It is heartbreaking. Dream shattering. And life-altering.
It is faith shaking. Fear raising. And soul-crushing.
It is praying…and praying until the words become nothing more than silence.
It’s attending a baby shower, sitting in the back, and feeling the sting in your heart and the ache in your womb as you want so desperately to be the one up front, opening the gifts and crying tears of joy. But instead, you are shedding tears of sorrow as you answer questions of when it will be your turn while also being forced to listen to advice on “how to” get pregnant faster.
It is tears. Followed by sobs. And continued with heavy groans.
It is making plans. Changing plans. Then surrendering all plans.
It is seeking answers but finding none.
It’s hearing the words, “Your pregnancy is no longer viable.”
It is walking down the baby aisles and touching the onesies, picking up the booties, and wondering when. And then asking why.
It is standing and shaking your angry fist to the heavens one minute, but on your knees praying for God’s mercy and crying out for His miracle-working power the next.
It is feeling like an outcast, a leper, that no one understands. Or even tries to.
It’s opening your Facebook and seeing a pregnancy announcement…and then another…and another. You feel jealous. You feel envious. And you feel bad for the crazy emotions that somehow overtake. But you can’t help but feel overlooked and abandoned. You can’t help but wonder if your prayers have gotten lost in the shuffle.
It is feeling as though the cause of your infertility is because you wouldn’t make a good mother. Or you aren’t a good enough person.
It is begging and pleading that this time, this month, everything changes.
It’s loving a child you have never even met. And missing them every day.
It is sometimes wondering when it’s time to stop trying and saying enough is enough.
It is running from room to room, holding up the pregnancy test strip in different lighting, just hoping the imaginary line you see is actually real. But it’s not. It never is.
It is waiting. Waiting for the appointment. For the phone call. For the two-week-wait to be over and the struggle to end. For prayers to be answered and miracles to come.
It is crippling—crippling of your strength, your marriage, your finances, and your joy.
It’s in moments of doubt and weakness that you, for a brief moment, question if you married the one God never intended for you to marry…
It is trying to remain hopeful yet realistic. And failing to find the balance.
It’s feeling unworthy. Because maybe your faith is too weak. Your prayers, not enough. Or your past too damning.
It’s having moments, even days, of anger, bitterness, and despair. Then feeling horrible for it.
It is frustrating. Because why can’t your body do what it was created to do? And why can’t your body accomplish what comes so naturally to others? But the body of the person not even hoping, praying, or even wanting a baby can.
But sweet friend, while my simple, five-word statement said all of that regarding my struggle with infertility…at least in my mind…do you know what else it said? It also said what infertility is not. And it is not going to win.
Because while I might bend, I won’t break. While I might fall, I will get back up. While I might lose my way for a bit, I’ll find it again. And while my wave of emotions might sometimes overwhelm me and take me under, I’ll always kick back up to the surface. Everything that infertility is has made me fight for what it is not. And it is not going to drag me down, beat me up, and leave me forever wounded. I am a Daughter of the Most High King, and through Him, by Him and with Him, I am more than a conqueror. Infertility is what it is. But I also know what it is not. And it is not going to win.
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