God wept with me today. The green got nourished as the quiet rain wept gentle tears with me. I awoke again to a blot of red. That’s all I got today, but it was enough to send me into shock.
I feel like I’m crazy, like I’m completely stupid for being let down again. Of course I started, I’m pretty consistent with that. Except I let myself hope again, and feel again, and believe again; so much so that I took a pregnancy test yesterday. Of course it was negative, I tell myself, it’s too early, but it’s there. In my prayers, I surprised myself. Instead of praying for strength or patience or a sign, I thanked God for the new life growing inside me. God must have shed a tear watching me be that naive.
I convinced myself that it was finally my turn; this was too perfect. My best friend, who lives just a mile away, just found out she was pregnant. We used to talk about how much fun it would be to be pregnant at the same time, to raise our children together. Now it’s here.
I don’t know how I’ll get through watching her grow and become a mother. From the outside again, I’m sure.
The only thing in a fetal position in me is my soul. My body goes through the motions of cleaning the house, shopping, talking to acquaintances; but inside I’m curled up – too stunned to even cry yet.
I didn’t think it could get worse. I thought I was about to drown, and then I was thrown a life preserver. I finally found a friend to connect with, who understood and shared these feelings. Now I will put on my fake smile again, and promise her I’m happy for her, which I truly am. I’ll wave as I watch her walk away into that life of feedings and first steps that all of my other friends have gone to. And I’ll continue to take my herbs and eat right, to get stuck with needles and pretend not to notice that I’m getting older, that strollers and big bellies and training wheels are all around me, passing me by. I’m sure I’ll get just as swept up next month in the possibility. Three years of believing that “this month will be different,” is chipping away a little of my soul, of my smile, of my sanity every day. I feel as if I’ve become this pathetic person that everyone stops for a moment to feel sorry for, and then goes on with their own life. I know they get tired of hearing it; I get tired of living it.
I like the person I used to be; the way my face felt when my eyes twinkled and I laughed with abandon. Now I feel as if my eyes only twinkle with tears, that my laugh is hollow and my face a mask.
I hide as much for others as for myself. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me, to try to say the “right” thing, to make me feel better. I just want to have a baby, and no one can help me do that.
What things chip away at your soul? Where do you find release, or peace? If you could choose the perfect thing to hear from someone at a time like this, what would you want to hear?
(Space will be provided here for readers to journal.)
You made sea urchins and elephants, snowy mountain vistas and intricate webs of life in maple leaves. In the storm of life today, I need a hug. I need to feel connected to the light that you are made of. Tomorrow, I can think about the “whys” and the “what to do next” but today I want to sit with you and feel your presence. Amen.