AND
A simple word. A word often ignored. Through grief, I have learned the tremendous power this basic little word has. This word offers validation, clarity, and a sense of accuracy to the ever-changing and impossible to capture emotions of the human heart.
This is an important word because grief invites duality. Conflicting emotions exist side by side. The further I come in my grief, the more I rely on this word to accurately capture the state of my heart, in simple terms and complex. I love working from home, and I miss the sense of companionship and community I used to feel at school. I adore who Reed is in our lives, and I long to know who he might have been. There are days in my life that invite pure delight, and there is a sense of loss and sorrow that exists in every moment, as well.
For a long time, I didn’t understand how to hold both sides at once. Now, balancing those conflicting emotions is just a part of every day. I am not simple. My heart is complex - the word and helps me understand and validate that complexity, rather than denying or dismissing one half of what I feel in any given moment.
As I reflect on the year’s National Infertility Awareness Week theme, What I Want You To Know, I realize that the word and helps me capture that, as well. You see, infertility is not one thing. It is not simple, not for one moment. I am shocked, six years into my infertility journey, to realize I no longer see infertility as only a bad thing. It is complex - good and bad, neither outweighing the other.
The bad is easy to understand. It is a disease, plain and simple. In my case, one without a cure. We are fortunate to be in a place of privilege where we can afford the treatment and standard of care that, frankly, should be available to all but sadly isn’t. Dealing with my diagnosis has shaken my sense of self, rewritten my vision of the future, led to feelings of resentment, anxiety, and jealousy that I am not proud of but cannot deny. While it does not define who I am, it has undoubtedly shaped who I have become and been the basis of many decisions over the years. It has invited challenge, heartbreak, and profound loss into my life. In short, infertility sucks.
...and.
I am starting to realize just how much infertility has given me. It has challenged our marriage, certainly, but also strengthened it. It has taught me how to advocate for myself and for others. It has instilled in me a sense of compassion for anyone who desperately wants something they simply have no control over. It has given me a voice.
The most beautiful gift infertility has given me, though, is Reed. Yes, infertility gave me my son. That sounds counterintuitive, but it is fact. Had I been able to conceive my own biological children, I never would have met the little boy who made me a mom. You could argue I’d have met a different child, one I would certainly have loved just as dearly. But that child isn’t real - Reed is.
This is one way my views have changed over the past six years - I no longer feel only anger and sadness about my infertility. I also am not trying to see a silver lining, or make lemonade out of lemons. It doesn’t have to be one or the other - I can hate the fact that I am infertile, and be grateful for how it has changed my life.
What I want you to know is that both sorrow and gratitude can be held at the same time, for the same thing, whether that is infertility or something else entirely.
What I want you to know is that infertility sucks, and it gave me my son, and made me who I am today. I would never have chosen it, and I cannot imagine my life without it. In fact, I would go through it all again. Every moment - every heartbreaking conversation with doctors, every invasive procedure, every one of the hundreds of shots it took. I would choose this path over an easier one, because without it...Reed wouldn’t exist. Four days with him was worth all of it. And it also wasn’t enough.
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