I am not easily embarrassed.
I was raised to be confident, resourceful, and resilient.
Shame and guilt are unfamiliar emotions.
I have a thick skin, and I don’t care what you think.
Call it a defense mechanism, DNA, Ego, what have you.
Five years ago when I received my infertility diagnoses I seemed like I was feeling around alone in the dark for solid ground and solutions.
I couldn’t make sense of it.
What does this say about me?
What does this mean for my labels as woman and wife?
The label of mother I thought I’d slip into not as a choice but an inevitability.
Like a wild river, the shame and guilt rushed in.
That I couldn’t give my husband a baby.
That I’d lived too hard too fast.
That I did something wrong.
That I was unworthy.
None of this was true.
I learned both medically and spiritually that this was always going to be my story.
I suppose I could have magically gotten pregnant at 19 when I had a plethora of eggs and an unscarred uterus.
But that wasn’t my story.
I was born to explore wilds, travel the globe, mine the depths of spirit, to navigate all this hard ass human shit.
I was born to make it through to the other side.
To come back with this vital message for you:
It’s not your fault.
You are not alone.