*I carried this post, written October 1st, 2014, over from our older blog to begin this very new blog. Learn more about us here! *
I have been absent from our blog for a while. Tonight as I walked the dog around the neighborhood, I felt such a strong tug on my heart to come here and share my most personal feelings. To talk about why I stopped going to baby showers a year ago. To talk about how, even though over the course of the past two years there has been a lot of good and COUNTLESS blessings, my heart has been aching. Maybe it is the recent email I sent out to loved ones and the incredible amount of support I received in response that has made me feel brave? Maybe it is the most recent baby shower, the first one in a year, that has triggered certain emotions and I am left feeling so tender? Maybe it is the date that marked another year and look back at where the journey has taken us? I don’t really have a perfect answer. Except here I am, infertile.
Part of me wants to write it all down so I don’t forget it. Not that I will ever forget, but the little details. The God moments. I want to make sure I hold onto those forever. I’m not sure I’ll write in chronological order. I can’t promise that things won’t get sad. In fact, I promise that they will. If medical terms like sperm, ultrasound, ovulation, and period offend you, stop reading. I get it, the word sperm can clear a room. But this is my everyday language. This is the pain that I identify myself with.
Tonight I want to talk about how I came to be a part of something that has saved my life, my support group. I honestly can’t begin to imagine where I would be without them. It wouldn’t be pretty friends. My support group has become such a huge part of my life that I think it is exactly where I should start. I am a part of this group because God put me there.
Last July marked one year we had been trying to get pregnant. I told myself I was okay. Everything was fine. All of the recent pregnancy announcements from Gymboree moms, who I would see every week throughout their pregnancy knowing they were having their second child when I didn’t even have my first, didn’t bother me at all. Who was I kidding?? I got into my car one day to head to a friend’s baby shower and was paralyzed. I couldn’t even turn the car on. I couldn’t stop crying. I had no idea what was happening to me except that I was supposed to be fine and I clearly wasn’t. I went inside, fixed my makeup, and got back in the car. I called a friend on the way to tell her the intense amount of sadness that just hit me. She didn’t answer, thankfully, because I was a hot mess. I made it to the street the shower was on and couldn’t get out of the car. I called Will, who was working out of town. He of course had no idea what to do with me. Guys handle infertility differently, I am slowly learning this. They react completely different. So expecting him to understand exactly what I was feeling was not fair. I can see it now, at the time he probably just made it worse. I had such a physical reaction on this day that I could no longer ignore all of my suppressed emotions. My body couldn’t remain in the denial that my head continuously tried to convince my heart. My inner monologue went from, “you’re fine. you’re fine. you’re fine.” to, “I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m not okay.”
My church, at the time, held Wednesday night services. I attended them regularly up until that summer because life just got busy and I couldn’t make them. One Wednesday, my schedule was free and I was able to attend. I’ll be honest, I kind of dragged my feet there though. I can’t even remember what the message was that night, or what worship music was played. I can however, tell you that during announcements, an infertility workshop being held in August was announced. My ears perked up. I wrote it in my calendar and smiled. Okay God, I get why I’m here tonight. I get that this is what I am supposed to receive. So I went. Very very anxiously. I didn’t ask Will to join me because I knew he would go with me but would be so uncomfortable. At that time we were also in different places of our infertility journey. I was already realizing and coming around to the fact that needing fertility treatment would potentially be a reality for us. Will wasn’t there yet, and that was okay. The workshop was amazing. I met two of the most important people that would play a large role in my sanity over the course of the next year, Beth and Melissa. Beth is the leader of my support group and that lady gets it. She speaks directly to my heart and soul. And she’s funny, I like me some funny. I told her how I learned about the workshop at a Wednesday night service I attended for the first time in a while. Do you know she told me the announcement wasn’t made at the Wednesday service the week before? This was such an affirmation to me. A divine intervention. He led me to these women, to join this involuntary sorority because nobody should walk through this journey alone. It is at these meetings that my pain, heartbreak, anger, and tears are not only understood but shared. It is at these meetings that I soak in the conversations and feel normal for a little while. And the most amazing part of all is that this safe haven lives right in my small town of Prairieville Louisiana. God knew what he was doing over two years ago when he whispered in our ears to move here. He knew what he was doing when a friend invited me to attend a service at what became my church eight months before the workshop. God found me broken and alone in my car and brought me right where I needed to be. I will forever be thankful.