I had a secret hope that this Easter would bring new little life of our own. I’m not sure why I was so hopeful for this particular cycle. We weren’t doing any interventions. We weren’t ‘trying’, technically. Maybe this time I whispered to myself.
But while the life was not there, the Easter symbolism was. The womb was as empty as the tomb. I just had to wait two weeks longer than the apostles to find out.
Another month has passed by empty.
I am terribly sick of caring so much, even when we’ve technically agreed that we won’t care and we won’t worry about it. But how can you not care about whether or not you’ll ever have a baby? When can I really just stop?
Maybe. Not yet. When?
Patience. Acceptance. Peace. I’ve got a lot of work to do to achieve those. It probably doesn’t help that I am not by nature a patient, peaceful or accepting person. Impatient, over-thinking and stubborn are better adjectives. Honestly, I just don’t want to do the work, some days. When the disappointment is fresh, I just want a good cry. I want to rage against how unfair this all feels. Childish, I know. No one is owed a child.
That knowledge doesn’t stop me wanting to curl into a little ball to hide for a week. Work feels harder to be motivated for, at least for a little while. It will pass, as it has done for 30 months in a row. Perhaps I’ll feel completely fine tomorrow. Perhaps it will take a tad longer, because this time I really hoped.
I know this is far from edifying. Certainly not an inspiring article to get you past hump-day! Amid all the busyness, I’ve found this weighing on me. I wanted to write it out, so it’s not all sitting sadly in my head. Maybe for some of you, hearing this is helpful? Perhaps you want to know you’re not alone in these crazy emotions that fill your waiting. I can tell you that you’re not alone. I don’t know anyone who’s on this journey who doesn’t feel these same emotions, along with many others.
