I am struggling.

I haven’t known what to say in the month that has passed since my last post, To my almost baby, . I have been struggling and I haven’t wanted it to show, because who does?

Maybe it’s my pride or maybe it’s my fear that has pushed me to quiet, but I’ve told myself it’s pain, and I think that they can all be equally true.

The journey of infertility has left me broken in ways that I never thought possible. Even just the term, “infertility” still makes me cringe. It feels so…definite.

I didn’t want to write something that wasn’t encouraging. I share my opinions and my life to build, not break. But I’m not sure that I even have the right materials for it. All I can do is try and be brave enough to be honest about this trial. So, I want to tell you the reality of this particular situation.

I have been unemployed for the last two months after one of the most difficult, unhealthy, and damaging professional and personal experiences I’ve ever had. The time has been good in many ways, and not so good in others. Not having something to fill my time leaves more time to think. For me, this is usually not a good thing.

Anthony and I were blessed to be able to have both of us unemployed for about a month and a half of that together. Many people thought we were crazy to voluntarily cut our income to a grand total of $0 because of the conflicts we were facing at work, but we came to the conclusion that most people are either too sane or too afraid to–sometimes money costs too much.

During the time we’ve had together, we’ve been equally blessed to have time to mourn, something that I neither wanted nor realized I needed.

Life becomes so fast, so busy, so involved that you can sometimes get by not feeling the pain at all. At one point we were so busy between our personal hobbies (Anthony with hockey and me with music), our attempts to become stronger, better Christians, school, work, family, and personal health that we didn’t have a single night of the week that wasn’t spoken for.

The reality of our infertility was one that we only had to face once a month before being propelled forward by the pace of our schedule.

Then unemployment came, and there was nothing to distract either of us. In the silence, I had no choice but to let the last two years sink in. After I published the last post, I said I was fine and, by all appearences, I was. Then a friend of mine shared that she was pregnant, something that she had been hoping for for some time. It didn’t even really register with me initially. I was happy. I should have been happy. What kind of person isn’t happy when something wonderful happens in someone they care about’s life?

I wanted to be happy. But then I wasn’t. I was devestated. It wasn’t the fact that she was pregnant that made me feel this way, I really was happy for her and her husband. It was the fact that I wasn’t pregnant that was hard to swallow.

The months of negative pregnancy tests, the late but still present periods, the prayers, the pleads, the threats, piled up and I crumbled under them. I spent the next 24 hours mourning not just for that moment, but for all of the ones before that had come and passed without me processing them.

I wanted to lock everyone out, so I did. I turned off my phone and I told Anthony to just let me cry. I told him not to try and fix it, not to try and comfort me. I told him to hold me and let me feel it all. And he did. And I did.

I don’t know that I can really recommend this as a way to grieve. I think everyone grieves differently. It didn’t make me feel better, in particular. It didn’t take away the pain. It didn’t make finding out that I still am not pregnant any easier. I just think it was just something that needed to happen.

The truth of my situation is that I haven’t figured it out. I haven’t healed. Because at the end of the day, regardless of how life goes on and how we pick ourselves up, once you’ve felt that love for your almost baby, you can’t ever really get over it.

Amanda Conquers of a Christian blog I stumbled on, For Every Mom, wrote this in her post When My Daughter Questioned Her Faith, I Knew It Was Time to Tell Her My Story,

I remember wanting to take the whole lot of it and tie up my tubes so I could never ever lose again—maybe I desired another baby, but I desired control too.

Now, this was certainly not the point of the post, but it resonated with me all the same. Amanda experience 4 miscarriages within 14 months, a pain that I cannot even begin to try to comprehend. Still, through her pain she reached someone who is as angry and frustrated as me.

One of the hardest things about infertility is that you are not in control. Not even a little. You are at the mercy of your abundant or lacking faith, and you will often come up short regardless of what you came with.

I cannot in good consience to tell you how to keep hoping and to keep having faith when I can’t even seem to pull myself out of bed from my heartbreak some days. All I can say is that this journey…I believe there is a reason for it. Maybe it’s because, for me to survive, I have to believe that some day it will all make sense. I’m not owed an explaination, but it doesn’t keep me from wanting one. Infertility is not a path I would’ve chosen, not even for the most necessary, important lesson out there, but that’s why it’s not my decision.

One thing that has been repeating in my head since the last post is this: only God can make something beautiful from something ugly.

I know not all of you are Christians and not all of you believe in God, but the reality of my situation is that I couldn’t get through it without my faith, regardless of how weak it is at times. I hope anyone who feels all of the ugliness that comes from trekking through infertility has something that keeps them afloat, regardless of what that is, because I would’ve drown by now without mine.

I’ll leave you with something as sunny as I can come up with on this topic.

When I was going through my 24 hours of grief with Anthony, on hour 23 or so, I told him one of my lighter theories on why we hadn’t yet gotten pregnant. I should preface this by saying that I’m not particularly good at being prompt to…well, anything. THINGS HAPPEN, OKAY??

So, I said that our almost baby must take after me. She got turned around on her way here. Headed in the wrong direction for too long without recalculating directions. He meant to call us, but his phone was dead or he forgot it somewhere in his messy room. She spent too much time getting ready or he hit snooze on his alarm too many times. She stayed up binge watching Downton Abbey or he lost track of time while he was painting. He got stuck in traffic. Her spedomiter was broken.

“They’re just running a little late,” I said  from the crook of Anthony’s arms with my first smile of the day. He smiled back. “It’s time for them to come home now though,” I said in my best Mom voice. He nodded and squeezed me tighter.

For whatever reason, our almost baby is running behind, but he or she is coming. They’re getting here as fast as they can.