Despair, Hope, and Waiting
First of all I just want to say wow. Thank you. I am overwhelmed by the kindness, love, and encouragement that I was met with when I shared my first post.
I don't think I fully explained how terrified I was to click "post". I shared my first post at 9 PM at night hoping everyone was asleep (we are old folks and go to bed early!). I posted it and basically hid under my covers, trying not to puke, and listened to Leslie Knope run on my television as I tried to calm down.
Thank you. For all those who sent messages, left kind words, shared your stories and struggles with me, thank you. My heart is overwhelmed and my little love tank is full to the brim. You all are good people.
I have been reading through my journals and trying to find a good place to start with a deeper explanation of infertility, and what I noticed was this thread of sorrow, grief, and loss that ran through most of my journal entries. Some are marked with anger and bitterness. Some are truly a deep, painful sadness. Some posts teeter on the edge of being checked into some type of institution.
However, what I noticed was this thing called grieving. It is an art, a mystery.
I took a class while I was at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary called Death, Loss, and Grief. It was easily one of the most influential classes I've ever taken. As amazing as it was, I don't think at the time I fully understood grief because for the most part, I had lived a trauma-free life.
I am thankful for my upbringing and for the ways the hardships of the world have not rained down upon me. My precious grandfather passed away when I was in college, and that is the only brush with deep grief I have ever had.
However, this left me not knowing how to grieve. I had no idea how to accept loss. I had no concept of deep, painful sorrow and how life must continue. I had no clue how to endure.
When I got married and moved to Jackson, Tennessee, I walked through a lot of loss. I was in a new city, with no friends, no job, a new church, a new role as wife, AND we began to address our fertility struggles from the get-go. I almost crumbled initially from all of the loss and grief.
Some of you may be thinking, why is she so grieved? She has not lost a child. No one has died. How is infertility counted as a loss when you don't really lose anything tangibly?
Infertility is complex, unique, and in a bizarre category of its own.
One of the things that makes infertility so complicated is that it is very difficult to get closure, because it is continually ongoing. Every single month brings new waves of grief, because you have to relive the continuous cycle over and over again. It's not a one time event. Every month you are re-traumatized to a sense. Maybe that word is too strong, but it's the closest word I can find right now.
Here's a glimpse of the emotional calendar for someone suffering from infertility:
Then it starts all over again.
Despair, hope, waiting. Despair, hope, waiting. Despair, hope, waiting.
Every single month. Over and over. You endure a mini grief cycle every 28-30 days.
Those moments don't care what day they fall on either. A day of deep despair can fall on a busy and important day at work and you just can't seem to dry the tears up no matter how hard you try. A day of anger may fall on Sunday and you just don't want to go to church. A day of waiting may fall on the day your friend goes into labor. A day of hope may fall on a terrible day at work that crushes your short lived hopefulness.
A real life example: A few months ago, I started my cycle on the exact same night and almost the exact hour that a friend birthed her child into the world. It was overwhelming to think that the same God that brought forth life in my friend saw fit for me to taste death once again. That was a bad night in our house...
It can take a long time to get to a place where you can start to see past the overwhelming pain. It probably took at least a solid year for me to begin to be in a place to possibly see anything other than pain or to receive anything. When you are so sad and wounded you feel raw and like your only goal is survival. You don't have goals of reframing or trying to find deeper purpose. You are just broken, raw, and hurting.
I read recently that the first 12-18 months are the most difficult emotionally for most women and men walking through infertility. I am not sure why this is, maybe the shock and hurt still feel so fresh. This time frame seemed true in my life as well. It's still hard, but those months were some of the most difficult times I have ever walked through.
It has taken me such a long time in my grieving to get to a place where I can start to see more than what meets the eye. If you are not here yet, please do not be discouraged. We all greet and move through grief differently. Sometimes it is pretty annoying to hear someone point out purpose or "good" in your suffering. It can feel somewhat insensitive.
By the grace of God, I have moved to a place where I can (usually) see more than just pain. I can understand that the Lord has plans and purpose in all things, and His plans are not to crush me.
I have arrived at this place in general terms. I know these things to be true, but there are still moments where I am consumed with grief and doubt the Lord's goodness. I am still learning so much. I was so terribly anxious this week that posting this seems almost fake, but I am learning. I have nothing mastered.
What I have been working really hard on is reframing all of these negative thoughts and emotions that stem from infertility. Reframing is a cute therapy word that basically means seeing things from a different perspective.
I have asked the Lord to help me reframe this mini grief cycle of despair, hope, and waiting. I have asked Him to give me a new, fresh perspective. This roller coaster of cyclical emotion is what really consumes me and prevents me from finding healing. I need a fresh perspective. Please, Lord.
This is the Gospel. Despair, hope, waiting. This is Christ saving us.
Despair- This is us dead in our sin, far and separated from God our Father.
Hope- This is Jesus Christ coming to save and redeem us from the weight of our sin. He selflessly becomes human to live, love, serve, suffer, and ultimately die for us. Jesus is our One True Hope!
Waiting- This is the now. We are awaiting for Christ to return. We are actively waiting for Jesus to come for His Bride!
I am not saying infertility and the Gospel are one in the same. However, these dreadful, painful cycles of grief can point us to Something Greater. They don't have to just be this pointless wave of continual pain. They can point us to the One who made us and loves us deeply.
When I am in despair, I can stand firm on the sure foundation of Christ. He loves me, will never disappoint me, and will never let me down (Even if it doesn't feel that way!). I remind myself of the One who gave His life for mine, because I was so deep in sin and could not save myself. This is what I meditate on when I am enduring heavy days of despair.
When I am hopeful, I know where that hope comes from. Our Christ, Our Hope of life! I had no hope to be reconciled to God if it were not for Jesus dying for me. This is what I meditate on during my days of hope.
When I am waiting, I ask the Lord Jesus to give me faith. Faith is so much more than just being confident in Jesus. It is a deep understanding that the Lord has promised good to me. Good can look so much more different than I ever imagined. Faith is so much more than I can muster up on my own. I ask for it often, because as quickly as it comes, I can start to question. This is where we are now, actively waiting for Jesus to return. What will I do in my waiting? How am I honoring Him in my waiting? How am I pointing others to the Kingdom while we wait for Him to return? Am I inviting people to the feast while I wait? This is what I meditate on during my days of waiting.
The Lord is weaving his story of redemption all around us. Even in the most painful of stories, there is nowhere the glory of God does not consume and remind us of His unfailing love. The Lord is so kind, because He doesn't just allow these painful cycles to empty me, but by His grace these painful cycles of despair, hope, and waiting can remind me of how He loves me through His ultimate sacrifice. How thoughtful, gracious, and kind He is. He can use situations that appear to be lifeless (emotionally and literally if I am not pregnant) to remind us He brought us from death to an everlasting life.
Please don't interpret this as something I have mastered. This is what I aim to think on and believe in when I struggle. Some days I do, some days I fail miserably. These are things I am recognizing and praying to believe. I believe, help my unbelief. I can only write this because I am not deep in my anger stage that I lived in so long.
I hope that if you are in a current state of raw grief or deep anger that my words today have not insulted you. I know that it used to make me so angry when people would try to point out the lessons or things I could be learning during this time. I truly wanted to punch people even though I knew their words were well intended. I pray Jesus can bring lighter days where your grief doesn't feel so consuming.
I will probably write more on grieving and how it impacted my faith since I feel like I barely even scratched the surface on this one.
I don't think I fully explained how terrified I was to click "post". I shared my first post at 9 PM at night hoping everyone was asleep (we are old folks and go to bed early!). I posted it and basically hid under my covers, trying not to puke, and listened to Leslie Knope run on my television as I tried to calm down.
Thank you. For all those who sent messages, left kind words, shared your stories and struggles with me, thank you. My heart is overwhelmed and my little love tank is full to the brim. You all are good people.
I have been reading through my journals and trying to find a good place to start with a deeper explanation of infertility, and what I noticed was this thread of sorrow, grief, and loss that ran through most of my journal entries. Some are marked with anger and bitterness. Some are truly a deep, painful sadness. Some posts teeter on the edge of being checked into some type of institution.
However, what I noticed was this thing called grieving. It is an art, a mystery.
I took a class while I was at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary called Death, Loss, and Grief. It was easily one of the most influential classes I've ever taken. As amazing as it was, I don't think at the time I fully understood grief because for the most part, I had lived a trauma-free life.
I am thankful for my upbringing and for the ways the hardships of the world have not rained down upon me. My precious grandfather passed away when I was in college, and that is the only brush with deep grief I have ever had.
However, this left me not knowing how to grieve. I had no idea how to accept loss. I had no concept of deep, painful sorrow and how life must continue. I had no clue how to endure.
When I got married and moved to Jackson, Tennessee, I walked through a lot of loss. I was in a new city, with no friends, no job, a new church, a new role as wife, AND we began to address our fertility struggles from the get-go. I almost crumbled initially from all of the loss and grief.
Some of you may be thinking, why is she so grieved? She has not lost a child. No one has died. How is infertility counted as a loss when you don't really lose anything tangibly?
Infertility is complex, unique, and in a bizarre category of its own.
One of the things that makes infertility so complicated is that it is very difficult to get closure, because it is continually ongoing. Every single month brings new waves of grief, because you have to relive the continuous cycle over and over again. It's not a one time event. Every month you are re-traumatized to a sense. Maybe that word is too strong, but it's the closest word I can find right now.
Here's a glimpse of the emotional calendar for someone suffering from infertility:
- You start your menstrual cycle which can lead to devastation, sadness, hopelessness, discouragement, defeat, sorrow, and shame.
- As days go by you utilize your coping techniques (thanks, therapy!) and you move from overwhelming sorrow to a functional human.
- You become functional and approach your "fertile window" so you prepare for the hope this time can bring.
- After the fertile window passes there is a two week wait where your mind moves from, "This is the month!" to "Why am I so stupid? Why would we actually be pregnant?". This time can lead to a really deep hyper awareness of your body that can honestly make you crazy. I have googled whether itchy eyes is a sign of early pregnancy. Nope, just allergies.
- You test and test and test because you can never catch it early enough! Only to get continual negative tests every morning which feels like the deepest sense of rejection.
Then it starts all over again.
Despair, hope, waiting. Despair, hope, waiting. Despair, hope, waiting.
Every single month. Over and over. You endure a mini grief cycle every 28-30 days.
Those moments don't care what day they fall on either. A day of deep despair can fall on a busy and important day at work and you just can't seem to dry the tears up no matter how hard you try. A day of anger may fall on Sunday and you just don't want to go to church. A day of waiting may fall on the day your friend goes into labor. A day of hope may fall on a terrible day at work that crushes your short lived hopefulness.
A real life example: A few months ago, I started my cycle on the exact same night and almost the exact hour that a friend birthed her child into the world. It was overwhelming to think that the same God that brought forth life in my friend saw fit for me to taste death once again. That was a bad night in our house...
It can take a long time to get to a place where you can start to see past the overwhelming pain. It probably took at least a solid year for me to begin to be in a place to possibly see anything other than pain or to receive anything. When you are so sad and wounded you feel raw and like your only goal is survival. You don't have goals of reframing or trying to find deeper purpose. You are just broken, raw, and hurting.
I read recently that the first 12-18 months are the most difficult emotionally for most women and men walking through infertility. I am not sure why this is, maybe the shock and hurt still feel so fresh. This time frame seemed true in my life as well. It's still hard, but those months were some of the most difficult times I have ever walked through.
It has taken me such a long time in my grieving to get to a place where I can start to see more than what meets the eye. If you are not here yet, please do not be discouraged. We all greet and move through grief differently. Sometimes it is pretty annoying to hear someone point out purpose or "good" in your suffering. It can feel somewhat insensitive.
By the grace of God, I have moved to a place where I can (usually) see more than just pain. I can understand that the Lord has plans and purpose in all things, and His plans are not to crush me.
I have arrived at this place in general terms. I know these things to be true, but there are still moments where I am consumed with grief and doubt the Lord's goodness. I am still learning so much. I was so terribly anxious this week that posting this seems almost fake, but I am learning. I have nothing mastered.
What I have been working really hard on is reframing all of these negative thoughts and emotions that stem from infertility. Reframing is a cute therapy word that basically means seeing things from a different perspective.
I have asked the Lord to help me reframe this mini grief cycle of despair, hope, and waiting. I have asked Him to give me a new, fresh perspective. This roller coaster of cyclical emotion is what really consumes me and prevents me from finding healing. I need a fresh perspective. Please, Lord.
This is the Gospel. Despair, hope, waiting. This is Christ saving us.
Despair- This is us dead in our sin, far and separated from God our Father.
Hope- This is Jesus Christ coming to save and redeem us from the weight of our sin. He selflessly becomes human to live, love, serve, suffer, and ultimately die for us. Jesus is our One True Hope!
Waiting- This is the now. We are awaiting for Christ to return. We are actively waiting for Jesus to come for His Bride!
I am not saying infertility and the Gospel are one in the same. However, these dreadful, painful cycles of grief can point us to Something Greater. They don't have to just be this pointless wave of continual pain. They can point us to the One who made us and loves us deeply.
When I am in despair, I can stand firm on the sure foundation of Christ. He loves me, will never disappoint me, and will never let me down (Even if it doesn't feel that way!). I remind myself of the One who gave His life for mine, because I was so deep in sin and could not save myself. This is what I meditate on when I am enduring heavy days of despair.
When I am hopeful, I know where that hope comes from. Our Christ, Our Hope of life! I had no hope to be reconciled to God if it were not for Jesus dying for me. This is what I meditate on during my days of hope.
When I am waiting, I ask the Lord Jesus to give me faith. Faith is so much more than just being confident in Jesus. It is a deep understanding that the Lord has promised good to me. Good can look so much more different than I ever imagined. Faith is so much more than I can muster up on my own. I ask for it often, because as quickly as it comes, I can start to question. This is where we are now, actively waiting for Jesus to return. What will I do in my waiting? How am I honoring Him in my waiting? How am I pointing others to the Kingdom while we wait for Him to return? Am I inviting people to the feast while I wait? This is what I meditate on during my days of waiting.
The Lord is weaving his story of redemption all around us. Even in the most painful of stories, there is nowhere the glory of God does not consume and remind us of His unfailing love. The Lord is so kind, because He doesn't just allow these painful cycles to empty me, but by His grace these painful cycles of despair, hope, and waiting can remind me of how He loves me through His ultimate sacrifice. How thoughtful, gracious, and kind He is. He can use situations that appear to be lifeless (emotionally and literally if I am not pregnant) to remind us He brought us from death to an everlasting life.
Please don't interpret this as something I have mastered. This is what I aim to think on and believe in when I struggle. Some days I do, some days I fail miserably. These are things I am recognizing and praying to believe. I believe, help my unbelief. I can only write this because I am not deep in my anger stage that I lived in so long.
I hope that if you are in a current state of raw grief or deep anger that my words today have not insulted you. I know that it used to make me so angry when people would try to point out the lessons or things I could be learning during this time. I truly wanted to punch people even though I knew their words were well intended. I pray Jesus can bring lighter days where your grief doesn't feel so consuming.
I will probably write more on grieving and how it impacted my faith since I feel like I barely even scratched the surface on this one.
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