My soul aches within me.
My mind is dull with depression,
The numbness spreads to my heart; at least for this moment, I’ve lost the ability to hope.
I sit heavily and stare blankly.
My limbs feel detached and my face seems to sag.
There is no hope in my heart, no bounce in my step, no smile on my lips.
Infertility is a lonely journey. For most, it’s a quiet, private one and others never know. I look healthy, and successful. I’m helpful, and articulate. I’m young and in shape. People don’t see that I’m operating with a broken heart, that gets re broken every month. I run on forced energy with an often fake smile pasted on my face. A hug here and there, an email of encouragement, but basically, a lonely journey. People don’t rally, churches don’t pray, no one brings meals, they don’t lay hands. Because there are no symptoms. It’s not obvious. There’s no disease, no life-threatening illness, I’m not in the hospital. I appear just fine.
For almost three years now, I’ve been coping with trauma. It is life-threatening. Not physically, but mentally, emotionally, relationally … and definitely spiritually. The only symptoms for those who look closely are a new bitterness in my heart, deep pain in my eyes, two tattoos on my wrists, and the absence of a child who would now be two.
Happy Birthday, unknown, unseen but loved little baby. Mommy still grieves you … and always will.
Quietly, silently, with a smile on my face and loneliness in my soul. Because I’m not sick–just infertile.