This week has been one up and down after another.
To get down to the point: I’m not pregnant, and I thought I was.
I mean, I really could have been. Everything was timed well, certain were symptoms showing up that seemed promising (ones not in the usual PMS category for me), and, this probably doesn’t count, but I felt pregnant.
I was a day late and my hopes were creeping higher and higher. I kept wondering if it was really happening, that maybe this time the Lord was answering my prayers. But no, not this time. I felt betrayed by my own body. How DARE you mislead me into thinking I was pregnant??
Somehow I decided that going to the library was a good idea. I needed to do something other than just sitting and hoping that this was some sort of accident and that this kind of thing happened to other women who got pregnant too. I found myself pulling into the parking lot just begging the Lord to see me, to see my pain and sadness, and to love me even though I was fighting to trust Him.
I got home and walked the dog, mentally preparing myself for the physical pain that was about to come, all the while hoping that it wouldn’t. Then it all kicked in, as if it were mocking me, and I spent hours folded over in pain, just begging for the meds to kick in and relieve my misery. There was too much happening physically and emotionally, that I couldn’t process any of it. I was numb.
When the pain subsided enough that I could actually move, I pulled out one of the books I got and was immediately wrapped up in the story. The story (nothing like mine, AT ALL) brought me to a sanctuary where I could process my feelings safely in the back of my mind. It helped me end my day on a good and high(ish) note.
Today I’m sad. Little Cora girl made me happy, and was a good enough distraction for the first part of the day, leading me to think that I was doing great. Not so. In the middle of my swim workout I started crying….kind of. It’s difficult to cry underwater. I ended up holding my sad thoughts and thinking them, and then crying in the showers in the locker room because there was no way they would be contained.
What are my sad thoughts? Good question. I think about how crushing it is to experience disappointment on this level on a consistent basis. I think about how empty my womb feels, especially since I actually thought I was pregnant. I wonder if I’m broken and maybe I can’t have children. And if I can’t have children, how do I let go of the desire to carry one? Then it progresses into the thoughts of maybe God doesn’t want us to have children and can I give that up? Not that I find my identity in rearing children, but I was kind of hoping to do that…and I have to think about the fact that maybe that isn’t what we are supposed to do, because we don’t know. It sucks. It super super sucks.
And I’m sad.
Somehow, though, I’m okay. Being sad isn’t bad. I should be thinking about who I am, especially if children aren’t in the future (though I believe God will change desires and it won’t be a drudgery if that is what ends up happening) and what gifts I have in this beautiful time that Zane and I have just the two of us. Thinking about Zane makes me happy, and I would love to give him children and bear this weirdo mixture of the two of us…but even if not, I have him. And Zane is more precious to me than anyone in this world. So that’s a good thing. And once I start thinking of the beautiful gifts and opportunities that God has given us because we don’t have children, my heart becomes more thankful.
It is a strange thing to feel great joy and great sadness at the same time. I wonder if Jesus felt that way when he was going to the cross. I believe that the two go together, and that hard things that we are called to endure for whatever amount of time are there to teach us of this dynamic of seemingly opposite feelings. As much as I hate to admit this, I have learned a lot in the past 10 months of struggling to conceive.
I’m not in control. Seriously. We have timed our sex perfectly for 10 months…and nothing. So if we ever do conceive, it will be a miracle and only God can get the glory from it, because we know that we hardly have anything to do with it at all.
I hate being sad. It’s so dreary and it can take me to really unhealthy places. Impulse decisions when wrecked with grief are not usually among the greatest, and I have to have to let people in, to let them share the burden. For the record, I’m not in a safety-threatened state of mind. I suppose it could get that far, but I am also waaaaay too honest to try and hide things for long, so I wouldn’t be in danger from myself….in case anyone was wondering.
I’m not angry at God anymore. I’ve tried recently, but I can’t. I trust Him. And even though I can’t feel Him sometimes when I’m numb, if I ask and look for Him, He usually shows himself in creative ways…like a book and storm. And His peace is so gooey. That’s a funny way to describe something that is supposed to pass all understanding…but it just kind of sticks. Think of a toddler who eats peanut butter. No matter how hard you try to wipe it off their face, somehow there is still a teeny, tiny bit that sticks in a crevice and then manages to get everywhere you just wiped. That’s what I mean by gooey. No matter how hard I try to wipe off his peace with anger, that little crevice bit sneaks back over what I’ve wiped and I’m reminded again of Who I’m with.
I’m going to figure out who I am…what good is a nurturer who isn’t a mother? That was one of my arguments to the Lord a few months back. I do feel worthless, but I know that isn’t true. I must be here for SOME reason, right? I need to look at my Father, see myself through his eyes and then maybe some things will make a little more sense……… maybe. Who knows?
I’ve been going back to this for almost a month now:
“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.”
And so it is.