Every single day of the week is different now. I no longer count my cycle in days but my pregnancy in weeks. I no longer feel the need to prep myself emotionally before I walk out the door. But of all days of the week, Sunday is the most different now. Each week I have sweet women rubbing this belly our boy calls home. I have people rejoicing and celebrating with us and asking about all of the details. I snuggle the infants and play with the tiny tots with excitement for what's around the corner for us. But not a day goes by that I forget what it was like when we were still waiting for this miracle. And to be honest... I don't want to. Because I never want to reach a place where I'm not compassionate to and praying for those still in their waiting. This is a little something I wrote when we were still in that season... It's real and transparent with where I was many Saturday nights.
It's Saturday night, almost Sunday. Husband is sound asleep. There's a well played song of his snores and the doggy's currently going. It's been a long week and I'm exhausted. Not the exhausted from not sleeping or working out too much or even being busy. But the exhausted that comes from the daily struggle of an empty womb. Exhaustion from dreaming of pregnancy to awake and find its not real life. Exhaustion from the tears that come flooding on a daily basis now. Exhaustion from praying so passionately that I have no more words to pray. Exhaustion from watching others ache and grieve in the same season. Exhaustion from the constant attempts to keep hopes high. Exhaustion from processing the abundant announcements of pregnancy and birth. Exhaustion from the constant reminders that for most conception is easy.
I'm exhausted. I'm spent.
But tomorrow is Sunday.
And that girl who loves Sundays and counts down to them is suddenly gone. She disappeared somewhere in the midst of this awful "I" word. And in place of her is the girl who dreads.
Not because I don't love to praise my sweet Jesus or hear His word preached.
Not because I don't love my church family or the fellowship.
But because Sunday is the hardest day of the week these days.
I dread the constant "how are you's?" Ya know the ones that usually allow for a one sentence answer. How am I supposed to explain in one sentence that no I'm not good? That I'm exhausted mentally and spiritually and emotionally. That my heart is broken. That even though I'm not good, for the moment I'm okay. That if I weren't I'd be locked in a bathroom stall instead of in the lobby. That even though all of this sucks I know God is working it for good. That I don't need them to fix my problems but merely let me be just "okay."
I dread the sea of babies and pregnancies. Yes those same sweet blessings that I once oooed and ahhed over. The ones that I would chase down in excitement. Now I dodge or try to prepare. I avoid the nursery and try to shy away from the cute pregnant ladies in their adorable maternity clothes. It's not that I don't care what's going on in their lives... Or even that I don't want to snuggle babies. It's that I'm trying just to make it through the morning without the never ending breakdown happening. I'm trying not to be the bawling mess in the middle of the hospitality section.
I dread the numerous conversations about this woman and that woman being pregnant. Ya know the ones... "Did you hear that so & so is pregnant? Isn't that exciting? Oh I bet that's hard on you huh?" Yes I heard, yes it's exciting, yes it's hard and now let me find a hiding spot and cry the next 20 minutes. Or even worse the conversations of the upcoming baby dedications and what the nursery will look like in 6 months from now.... You know what it won't have? My baby. That's what won't be there. And while I love babies and I'm thrilled that the nursery will be maxed out by Christmas, all of this only reminds me that none of those bundles of joy are mine.
I dread the mass of kids that will come running to moms and dads with thrill in their voices and crafts in their hands. They'll go on and on of the stories and verses they learned and I'll get lost dreaming. Dreaming about the day I'm on the other side of this mountain. The side that will hold me so joyfully proud of a scribbled finger paint that doesn't resemble Noah's ark from any angle. My dreams will snap back with the playbacks of so many saying "enjoy this season and just be content." While I do enjoy married life as a family of 2, I fight for contentment on a daily basis. It's not simply something I can "just be."
I dread the tears that will no doubt come at some point during the service. It's inevitable... I'll start singing or something in the message with strike a chord or the invitation will call for the broken-hearted and I'll become a mess. I'll cry hoping no one sees me... Not wanting for a second to draw attention to myself. I'll cry wondering what's going through everyone's heads. Will they feel pity for me? Cause that's not what I want. Will they think I'm foolish and impatient? Because maybe I am. Maybe I'm just the hysterical barren woman who'll be losing it in worship. While they may or may not notice my tears, I want them to know that I'm thankful for them. That I know one day I'll see this pain and see the glory it brought.
Until then, I might have some dread surrounding Sundays. They might hurt a little deeper than the days I get to stay home in my pajamas and avoid the fix it answers. But I will joyfully go... because it is there I fall deeper in His love as I worship Him. It is there I become challenged to look to the Word and not to my circumstances. It is there where those who love me and support me wrap their arms around me.... yes even to tears sometimes.
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So maybe you're wondering to yourself "why does Brandy bother to share this now?" I share it because there are still so many who go through this on Saturday nights. Maybe not all who struggle with infertility.... but many. Maybe some who are struggling with challenges other than infertility who wonder how to answer the question "how are you?" I share this to remind you that pat, fix it answers encouraging positivity are most often not what they need... but a hug, and grace, and love. Maybe instead of an "enjoy this season," they need someone who's willing to listen about their season and genuinely pray with them through it. I'm so thankful that my church contained MANY of those people for me. I'm so thankful for those who grieved with us and didn't simply try to fix it. I'm so thankful to be on the other side of that season.... and for the friend who's still waiting, I'm praying for you. I think of you. I have not forgotten your pain or your struggle. But better than that, neither has God. He sees the tears you cry getting ready on Sundays. He hears the prayers you pray as you greet your friend with her newborn. He holds you as you sing praises to Him from an empty womb and a broken heart. And He loves you more than you or I will ever understand.
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