To My Friends Struggling With Infertility

I'm not necessarily writing from the experience of infertility, although I am fairly certain I have lost a baby in the past. But some of my friends are struggling with it. I feel their hurts. Whether we understand from personal experience or not, we should always seek to stand in the shoes of others. And, for those not classified dealing with infertility but desiring a baby with all their hearts, this post is for you too. 

To my friends struggling with infertility.

My heart goes out to you. 

It's a struggle in many ways people don't often think of. I don't know all of the ways. But the struggles are there, each unique to you personally. 

It hurts when you're asked for the millionth time if you're expecting. The gazes of curious, yet well-meaning acquaintances travel your belly, scrutinizing every fluctuation of your weight during those delightful times of month when you're a little rounder, a little plumper than normal. They nod if satisfied that something really is going on--or shake their head in disappointment.

It hurts when a newborn near you in the store cries that delightful squall that kicks up a flutter of maternal instincts in your stomach--and heart. It hurts that you have to blink back tears as you race to another aisle, only to come face to face with those wee booties, diapers, and bow-trimmed socks.

It hurts when children innocently ask you when you're going to be a mother.

It hurts when you log into your social media, only to be bombarded with articles glorifying motherhood and placing it on a pedestal above wife, daughter, and beloved servant of the King. You know in your heart that the articles were well meant to encourage mothers who are struggling with their worth, but you wonder if people recognize your worth as just a wife faithfully serving her husband and her God.

It hurts when people tell you of all the emotions you cannot possible understand because you have never loved your own child or--worse--insinuate your selfishness in not having one, when they cannot begin to understand how desperately you want one. 

It hurts when infertility begins to affect your marriage, as oneness with your spouse begins to slip to the overwhelming powers of charting, temperature, and the right time of month.

It hurts when you're doubled over in cramps, each one reminding you that this is not the month, this is not the time. 

It hurts when you see the disappointment in your spouse's face when you tell him about yet another negative pregnancy test. You see the wheels working behind his eyes, wondering if it is somehow his fault. You see the way he looks at children at church, the way he talks about taking his future son fishing and of cuddling his baby daughter. 

It hurts when friends and acquaintances who did not want or were even trying for a baby announce their pregnancy. It hurts when they complain about the children they have.  

It hurts when you've lost a baby to miscarriage, but are brushed aside with comments of "maybe it was only the stomach flu", "there's always next time", and "at least you were not very far along."

It all hurts.

And I'm sorry. 

I'm sorry for all the pain. For all the prying into your personal life. For all the monthly hopes, the agonized waiting period, then the grieving stage. For all the hurtful comments, made whether purposefully or in innocence. For all the feeling that being a wife is not enough. For, in some circles, all the judgment. For all of the nursery themed Pinterest boards that just seem like a wasted dream. 

"The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart..." --Psalm 34:18

"Come unto me, all [ye] that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." --Matthew 11:28

 "Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved." --Psalm 55:22

It doesn't always feel like God is there. It doesn't always feel like He understands. It may not be until far, far down the road that you can look back and see that He was carrying you. 

But you will. Grace is best seen looking back. And He does give more grace. 

He does understand. 

And so do others. Maybe not perfectly, because no one can perfectly understand your unique set of trials, but others have walked this path before. It hurts. But you're not hurting alone. So often in our grief, we forget that others are walking through the storm too. 

If at all possible, find someone else struggling with infertility. Pray for them. Pray with them. Talk about your dreams together. Point each other to verses of healing. It may be that a little bit of healing, a little bit of hope, a little bit joy will surface from you helping someone else.

If nothing else, know that I am praying for you. My readers are always free to message or email me with their prayer requests. Your hurting heart is never alone. 

"And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new. And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful. And he said unto me, It is done. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely." --Revelation 21:3-6

How Can I Be Praying For You Today?