Breaking my silence

Forgive me followers.

It's been more than a month since my last post.

I have reasons, like everyone who gets caught up the daily doings of life. But I won't give excuses. Not when I could discuss something important — something on my heart.

This week, nationwide, is Infertility Awareness Week. I've not discussed this part of my life in depth, but I can tell you I've been dealt my own infertility cards.

When we first felt like it was our time to become parents, we approached the idea as any young couple does. There was no reason to think we'd not biologically create our own children.

A year passed.

Every close friend of mine (it seemed) was pregnant. At the highest count, I had thirteen pregnant friends at one time. Family members were also blessed with children (in some cases, twins). The lady in line at the bank — pregnant. I was trying not to be consumed by thoughts of my own fertility, but reminders of my infertility were everywhere.

Another year passed.

We enlisted a specialist, and were told the good news that nothing was medically present to explain our challenges. This was supposed to be the good news.

A plan was developed. Our privacy was invaded. My body was under a microscope, literally and figuratively. Month after month, things were failing. I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas mornings in a sterile doctor's office hoping for good news.

Failure. It faced us at each turn. And soon after, it was clear we weren't succeeding because it wasn't God's timing, or maybe it wasn't His path for us at all.

So we gave up, and gave it to God.

Another year passed, and by then our hearts had changed. Becoming parents was our priority, and if that meant other methods we were open to God's plan since ours had apparently not worked out.

Seven years since we started trying to become parents. One amazing child later, our life is blessed.

Still, the sting of infertility is there. I still see people who conceive easily and get a little jealous. But then I wonder what life would be like if God had answered our prayers for a baby when we first began the journey.

Infertility is hard. It affects about 1 in every 8 couples. It's more prevalent than you probably realize. It affects people physically, emotionally, and financially.

Most people were kind when we announced we were adopting a child, especially after we explained we could have our own children. Which was true in medical terms (suffering fom "unexplained infertility" as a diagnosis).

But most people didn't understand we had tried other avenues first, before it got to be too much for us physically, emotionally, and financially.

Would I go back and change anything? In our case, no, because we were led to our daughter, Life is one blessing after another.

Did infertility affect our path to parenthood. Of course. I'm 33 with a 13-year-old. That one's pretty obvious...

Did the pain of infertility shape my approach to motherhood? Absolutely. I cherish the good, bad, and ugly.

For others still struggling, my heart knows what you're going through. For those who also kept their struggles quiet — I understand that too.

Did becoming a mom cure my infertility heartache — no, not really.

In the end, is being a mom worth whatever path it took to get here — that's an easy one too ... Absolutely.