sad-505857_1280I was talking to a friend a while ago about the fact that when people ask me about infertility, my immediate response is “you don’t understand.” And while it is very true, people don’t understand, I do not think it is for lack of trying. I think it is because those of us who struggle with infertility find it very difficult to express all the many faces of what it means to us and how it is changing our entire world. So, I was asked , “You say I don’t understand, but can you try to help me understand?”

I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time, wondering how I could put into words the heartbreak and pain that is constantly etched upon my soul. It’s not easy, it’s not light and happy, it’s heavy. It’s a dark place of hurt, pain, crying out to God, and walking around with unanswered prayers.

Today is the day I finally let it out. Today is the day that I hope you understand. And even if this is not the end of my story, even if I do get answers someday, these are the thoughts that forever weigh across my heart.

 

Being A Mother

As a young girl you’re told that you’ll understand more when you finally become a mother. Society tells you that being a mother is the greatest job you’ll ever have, the most important thing you will ever do, and the most rewarding challenge you’ll ever face. It tells you that raising your child is your way of leaving an impression on this world, your way of continuing your family values, heritage, and legacy. So we grow up, expecting that one day we will know more things, have the greatest responsibility, achieve the greatest accomplishment. We grow up waiting for the day that we can leave an impression of us on this world by continuing the family values that our mother has taught us. We carry around baby dolls, take care of friends, animals, siblings, and more. It’s in our nature to nurture.

You become an adult and find the person you want to share these challenges and rewards with. You find the person you want to create a legacy with, leave an impression with, pass on a bit of yourselves to the future, with. Everyone asks you, “When are you going to have kids? How many kids do you want? Don’t wait too long,” as if those are the three most important questions the world must know about you.

The world tells you this is how it’s supposed to be, how you grow and change and give yourself value. This is how you make a difference. The world tells you that you’ll never know how much you can love someone until you have children, or how you’ll experience such a fierce devotion and connection that cannot be broken. Family is the bond, right? Blood before all others?

You walk into the store and see the aisles and aisles of baby items and clothing that gradually grows into bigger sizes and bigger toys. The life of a child can be summed up in one store.

It’s our purpose right? To continue on, To bear fruit, To plant your seed and watch it grow?

It’s your experience to have, right? To feel life being formed in your womb? To labor in pain for hours, bringing forth a tiny gift from heaven?

It’s what is purposed for you. It’s what is expected of you.

So, then what happens, when everything you’ve ever been told: experiences, knowledge, love, devotion, blood, legacy, just won’t happen for you. What happens when you’re broken. What happens when, no matter how many times you cry out to God, the answer is still no. What happens when you read stories of hope, how God came through for others like you, but has yet to do so for you.

What happens when you finally decide, it’s time to move on. When you have to settle for not understanding, not feeling fierce devotion, not having the ability to hold your life and blood in your hands, not leaving a legacy in this world, not fulfilling your purpose, not to have a forever connection.

What happens to that woman’s heart? What happens to her drive, her purpose, her desire? What happens to her cries of mercy, night after night, yearning for something she’s been told she would have for her entire life and wondering why it’s being withheld from her?

What happens.

To me.

Will I be forgotten?

 

 

Copyright 2015 Christina Simpson

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