wave of light

Today is a tough day.  It’s National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.  And while my heart still hurts when I think about it, my heart is heavy for those that have recently, or are currently, experiencing it.  Tonight at 7pm begins the “Wave of Light.”  Whatever time zone you are in, light a candle and let it burn for one hour.  When that hour is up, someone in another time zone will be lighting their candle, and so on and so on.  A single act done by one that multiples and lights the world, if only for a short time.

My husband and I differ on whether we should participate in the sentiment of this day.  He feels that, while remembering is good, that we should move on and focus on the good that’s to come.  I FULLY appreciate where he is coming from, and agree even – to an extent.  To me, this day isn’t just about remembering what was lost, but remembering the hope for what was, and what’s yet to be.

I made it

Last week was rough for me.  Particularly Friday, yet if you asked me to give a concrete reason why, I couldn’t.  After a day filled with tension and frustration, I decided to walk to our local grocery store – I’d basically be killing two birds with one stone because I’d be getting exercise in and, I’d be getting wine!  Walking along the storefront, I passed this man pushing a cart with the most gorgeous, peaceful, sleeping, brand-new baby girl in her precious pink carrier – and I lost it.  In front of the grocery store.  In front of a bunch of people.  In the little town I live in.  I tried SO hard not to cry.  My lip started to quiver and the knot built in my throat, but I FORBID any tears from falling.  Apparently, they didn’t get the memo.  I’m learning to let myself feel my emotions in order to move past them, but I did NOT intend to feel those emotions at that particular time!

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines awareness as “knowing and understanding a lot about what is happening in the world or around you”.  I think that most women that have experienced or are experiencing infertility have realized that there is a SERIOUS lack of awareness.  People often think that we share what’s going on in our lives for sympathy or pity.  But rather, we do it because it’s a part of who we are – whether we want it to be or not.  Education is the only way to raise awareness.


I know I live in a very small part of the world, and no matter where I am, my part of the world stays as small as I make it.  But I’ve talked to some amazing people on this journey, and I’ve gotten a response that I didn’t expect.  Love.  Understanding.  Compassion. Prayer.  And hopefully, I’ve been able to touch just one person in this exploration of who *I* am through all of this.  But if not, I’ve learned a WHOLE lot about ME – and I kinda like me.


My Thoughts on Infertility

You know that feeling?  The one where you suddenly feel all alone in a sea of people?  Or that dream?  Where you scream and scream but no one hears you?  That’s KIND of how it feels sometimes…  This is a journey I’d NEVER expected to go on.  I certainly didn’t pack the right things.  You can NEVER find your unbreakable heart when you need it the most!!!

Infertility is a medical condition… much like cancer or heart disease.  A woman is only diagnosed “Infertile” after 1 year (12 months) of actively trying to get pregnant.  I know 4 months or 8 months is hard…  believe me, I know.  And I’m in no way saying you aren’t entitled to the sadness.  I’m just saying…  give it a year.  Then you’ll know if it was truly infertility, or just impatience.  Most Doctors wont do anything until you’ve been having unprotected intercourse with your partner for at least one year, but if you think you might truly, truly have something that will place you on this path I pray you’ll never understand, PLEASE don’t hesitate to tell your Dr.  Once you hit my age, time is no longer your friend.

I’ve met some new friends on this journey and I’ve reconnected with some old friends… A close, recently reconnected childhood friend, Brooke always tells me that it’s a “sacred, unique bond” that we share.  I can’t think of a better way to describe it.  She says it’s the sisterhood of infertility – it’s “not quite as sexy as travelling pants, but what can you do?” Of course, she’s ALWAYS been amazing with words, sometimes regardless of if you want to hear them or not!!  **I love you, friend!**

I’ve not shared this journey with many…  for many reasons.

  1. I’m scared. Plain and Simple.
  2. It’s raw & emotional.
  3. It’s uncomfortable for many.
  4. I don’t want to hear the “I have a friend that did this and then went on to have 2 children naturally” or “Just adopt, people always have kids after they adopt” or (my personal favorite [insert sarcastic tone] “Just relax!”
  5. I don’t want people to try and “Fix It”

So with all that being said….  I can explain it to you, but I can’t understand it for you.

Those of you that haven’t been there – GOOD. I hope and pray you never have to.  Those of you that are just starting this journey – Reach out.  SERIOUSLY.  It’s lonely enough without actually being lonely.  To those of you that have been travelling wearily – I may have only been on this path for 20 months, but here’s my hand.  Grab it, we’ll walk together a spell.

The best way I can think of to describe infertility (and marriage), as a journey, is like an onion…  I know, bear with me!  You get an onion.  It looks perfect from the outside.  Then you peel off that first layer.  Not quite what you expected, so you keep peeling.  As you peel, it makes you cry.  But you start to get to the good stuff – though not without more crying.  Then you throw it in the fire.  As it heats up, the aroma reaches you.  but it’s changed.  Still makes you cry, but now there a sweetness to it.  As it cooks, it becomes more transparent.  And the longer it cooks, the sweeter it gets.  How does that relate to infertility, you ask?  Let me try and explain how my brain processes that…  I found an onion… my husband.  He looks (almost) perfect from the outside.  The first layer peeled off rather quickly – not as expected.  It made me cry, but I kept peeling.  Then we were thrown in the fire.  It’s heated up and believe you me, it’s changed – I’ve changed.  There is a sweetness to it.  It’s a bitter sweetness.  Jon & I have grown closer.  We’ve been tested on levels I never even imagined exsisted.  Have I wanted to walk away?  ABSOLUTELY.  Would I?  NEVER.  I can’t imagine going through this journey with ANYONE else.  Even though he often doesn’t have the right words and doesn’t even begin to know what to do when I’m crying – once he’s softened – there’s no place I’d rather my tears land than on the soft, welcoming shoulder of my husband’s strong arms.

So there’s that.  The following blogs will be more about my personal journey, and possibly some of other’s journies that they will allow me to share.  If you love it, good.  If you don’t – oh well, start your own blog.  😉