I originally wrote this a year ago, recounting an experience I had the year previous. It was brought to mind today as I thought through the grief surrounding infertility and how it strikes at different times and in different ways. I’ve since added to the original post. With all things, I hope this is encouraging.
I know my pain is grief,
I grieve the loss of what I expected,
And accept that I’m not on the trajectory
of what is accepted and supposed to be
Some days are painful,
Laughter turns to tears,
Other days are painless,
Laughter turns to tears,
And I’m left sitting in the present of what I experience,
Not knowing if it is valued,
But I know I feel,
And for that I can experience,
Even if I don’t want to,
Not some days-
Even if I don’t care to,
Or even know how to,
Some days I sit and wonder if it will ever be,
Or if it should ever be,
Or if it matters to be,
But then there are some days
when I’m reminded again
of the joy of the child’s laugh
and of the child’s tears,
And I hope that some days will turn to become today-
Around this time a couple years ago, I escaped to a bathroom, quietly crying to myself after my nephew said an innocent comment that pierced deep in my heart.
It’s amazing that children can state things so succinctly.
“There are three moms here,” he stated as he counted the four women in the room, excluding me from the count.
Excluding me, that’s what caught me off guard. He had reminded me I wasn’t his mother on several occasions prior, after I tried to enforce some rule or another. But excluding me from the group, without the intent to hurt, cut deeper than the intended wounds ever could. Because he succinctly stated the truth of the pain I was feeling: exclusion.
It wasn’t just that day, it never is. It was the reminder that I was excluded from the factually imaginary cool-kids club of motherhood. No child had graced my womb and my infertile status apparently didn’t allow me to fully experience what God has to give me as a woman. At least, that’s the lie that I believed.
And my nephew’s innocent words brought back the fears and lies that I thought I had mastered. That I am incomplete without bearing a child.
Now, as I look forward to the child growing inside of me, I’m reminded again that this experience of motherhood won’t initiate me into some mysterious group of superwomen, but will serve as another reminder of my need for grace. Just like my daily interactions with humans serves as a reminder of my need for grace. It’s another tool used and I’m grateful.