I recently read a Buzzfeed article titled “23 Women Share What They Wish People Understood About Infertility.” Many of the things these women shared resonated with me, so I wanted to share some of the points that stood out to me in a few separate posts.
Post No. 3
“Opening up to friends and loved ones is hard, full of people offering unsolicited advice, and other trying not to bring it up because it’s too hard or awkward for them to talk about.”
“I wish people understood that infertility is a deeply personal issue and sometimes you don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t share with my family my infertility troubles until after I had finally become pregnant.”
Oftentimes, I don’t want to talk about our infertility issues. It feels like I am reiterating to people how my body failed again… and again… and again. I know that it may sound ridiculous, but it’s as if saying “It was negative” out loud is somehow damning and cursing my body over and over. Saying it out loud - hearing myself saying it - feels like pouring cement over the broken pieces of my heart such that they can never be put back together the same way again.
And no, having done this for seemingly endless cycles does NOT make it any easier.
Each time, I ask myself: “Why does it STILL hurt so much? How could it hurt just as much, IF NOT MORE, each time??? I put myself back together again. I told myself and Jin that it was okay… that I was okay.”
But it was a lie.
More often than not, I’m not okay. My heart is a jagged, broken mess. I am constantly conflicted by my head telling me that I should count my blessings and be grateful for the very air I breathe, as opposed to my heart telling me that God’s just not fair. In addition, reflecting on the past few years of us trying to have a child and finally starting fertility treatments, I realized that there were a LOT of people offering thoughts, prayers, and recommendations, but not a lot of people just sympathizing with us… Just a simple, “I’m so sorry that you’re going through this hardship” or even a “Man… that really sucks” would be a much better salve than any of the millions of recommendations, should’s, and could’s I’ve been given thus far. And while sharing with people can be healing, each time I talk about it, it feels like I’m tearing open my heart and exposing my wounds time and time again only to Scotch-tape it back together and pretend that I’m okay for the sake of the other’s comfort.
These days, my heart is heavy and crying out for healing and soothing. It cries out to God in both my silence and the screams and sobs I let out in my car during my commute home at the end of the day. I know that this too shall pass. I know that some time in the future, Jin and I will look back at this time and awe at how much we’ve grown through this pain… because of this pain.
But that future isn’t here yet.