If you know me well at all, you know that I am a creature of habit. I live for routine. I have a pretty strict cleaning schedule as well. I do the same tasks every week and usually on the same day. It helps keep me somewhat sane…
Whenever I dust our kitchen table, I remove the place mats, the napkin holder, and the salt and pepper shakers. I spray the table with this amazing smelling almond spray. It makes me happy. Then I wipe back and forth until I’m satisfied. I then pull out each chair to dust; first Joe’s and then mine. Those two rarely have dust on them because we sit in them often. But the other two have a layer of dust because no was has sat there.
Each week when I dust, I’m reminded that no little people will be sitting in those seats for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
I’m not just reminded of my infertility by pregnancy and baby shower invites. It’s the little things every day that remind me of what I can’t do.
A mom, dad, and baby leaving McDonald’s and getting into their car.
Over hearing someone talk about how easy people without children have it.
Playing with my pups in their room that had nursery potential.
Dusting my kitchen chairs.
There are things that remind me of my infertility every day. This isn’t something that just *POOF!* goes away. Many of the things that remind me of my infertility aren’t the things you think they are. Expecting infertile people to get to a place where they don’t think about it is unrealistic. It’s something that will stay with you forever. The pain can be hushed some days and other days it’s extra loud like on Mother’s Day. Everyone is celebrating something you wish you could be. But on this day, I choose to do what’s right for me. I have learned to do what is best for me and that is to be kind to myself. Everyone won’t always agree with how I decide to spend my day but it isn’t their choice. It’s mine. I usually choose to stay at home where I feel safe.
As I get older, I assume that my worries and questions will change as well. There will be times that the pain comes on strong again. There will be times when it’s barely there. But it will be there. I know this to be true because I’ve had many conversations with people who are much farther along on this journey than I am. I will continue to learn to live with an ache in my heart that will never fully go away because I couldn’t grow a child inside of me.
I refuse to apologize for being sad.
I refuse to pretend that I don’t hurt.
I refuse to hide my pain because it makes you uncomfortable.
I will carry on even if I feel broken.
You’re welcome to join me if you are able to accept that my heart may never by whole again and you allow me to process my grief however I need to. If you can do that, I may even let you hold some of the broken pieces of my heart. If I’m lucky, maybe you can help put them back together. ❤