It has been awhile, friends! This has been a year of ups and downs and change and MOVING and backsteps and growth. I haven’t had two seconds to sit down and write or maybe I haven’t felt like I was ready quite yet to write again. Then I realized this week is National Infertility Awareness Week, and it was almost like God was saying okay, it’s time. It’s time to share again.
I have been so thankful to have people tell me that reading through my blog posts of our infertility journey has helped them through theirs. That’s all I can ask for, that our story, my words, can make someone feel a little less alone as they travel through the rocky roads of infertility. So even if it’s hard to share sometimes, even if it feels like I’m laying exposed on an operating table to be this vulnerable, I know I need to. I know I’m called to.
When we had Zeke, our amazing miracle IVF boy, I kept telling myself and believing that we would be the people that go through infertility, go through IVF, and then have a spontaneous pregnancy. That the next leg of the journey would not be so hard, that we had learned what we needed to learn. I believed it so deeply. So now, a year into naturally trying, like really trying (when you deal infertility, you don’t ever really NOT try) it feels confusing and harsh and like a road I still don’t really know how to navigate because I had told myself it wouldn’t be a road we would walk down again.
Infertility the second time around. Infertility after an IVF pregnancy. Secondary infertility. Whatever you want to call it. It is not easy to talk about. You feel this obligation to make sure everyone knows how thankful you are for your miracle child, for the baby that God blessed you with. You know the pain that it is to long for the feeling of a baby inside of you, just one time. So how can I be sad, how can I talk about this pain and not be neglecting all the woman who just want to make it to where I am?
I think I am slowly learning that everyone has their hard. That your hard does not take away from anyone else’s’ hard. That your pain and your story do not cover up or push away anyone else’s’ pain. I have realized that the pain of mourning the idea of what we thought our family was going to look like is just as real now as it was the first time around. I have realized that the desire of wanting a baby inside of me is just as real now as it was the first time around. I have realized that walking the road of infertility never gets easier, you never get good at it. I am re-learning everything again that I thought I already knew.
But, in the midst of it all, I hear God whispering to me. I see God sitting in a boat with me. I see a storm raging, and I see the peace on His face as I sit there across from Him. I feel a fear, a fear of knowing that this could last a long time. That I could be in this storm for a long time. A fear of having to feel this pain for a long time. I don’t want to feel this pain. But God still sits there, in that boat, in that storm, and looks at me and says, “I am here” in the middle of the chaos, in the middle of the pain, “I am here.” I am bigger than your fear. I am bigger than your pain. I am learning, slowly, but still learning that God wants to be with me in the middle of the storm. He doesn’t have an answer for me yet about when this pain will end or what our family will look like or how it will grow, but he knows He wants me to be with him in that boat in the middle of it all. I am learning that growth doesn’t just come at the end of the storm. Most of it, in fact, does not. It comes in the middle, in the pain, in the looking up and calling out. It comes in the sitting still and knowing that He is God and His plans are GOOD.
So I ask this, that you be with me in this storm too. I wasn’t so sure I wanted that. I really wasn’t. I wanted to keep it quiet, keep it just to a few people, but I think it’s because I didn’t want to speak it out, to write it out, because it feels real and that timeline feels endless and the outcome feels more unknown. BUT TRUST. With vulnerability comes trust in God and trust in something that I cannot control.
I also ask that if you are dealing with infertility after a baby that maybe you see that it’s okay to feel the pain, it’s okay to speak it out loud, it’s okay to ask for help and for prayers. I hope you feel not alone.
And if you are walking through any infertility or ANY storm, that you can close your eyes and see God in that boat with you. That you can decide day after day to be with Him in the midst of it all.
“When you pass through the water, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.”