Oh hi there, have we met before?
In case we haven’t met, here’s the short version of who I am: I’m a country-living, ice tea drinking, good book reading, farming, ranching, Jesus-loving, curly-headed wife of a seminary professor. He’s a teacher, I’m a writer. He’s a thinker, I’m a graphic designer. You can get to know me a little better here.
I have a story that is hard for me to share. You have those stories, right? The kind of stories that require the most delicate of words to express our inward heart screams? The kind of stories that, though they reveal our biggest weakness, telling it makes us stronger?
I denied my story for a long time. For two years I hid behind a brave face, dodging questions and stifling my own misery. Pretending I was okay, when in fact my heart was breaking. Pretending I didn’t question Providence, when in fact I was so angry with God that I could feel my anger raging within me.
That anger slowly, powerfully made its way to the surface. Anger and bitterness is pervasive, isn’t it? While I fervently denied it, my actions, my words revealed how desperately anger and bitter I was. And I was forced to face the gut-wrenching reality: that my heart barren empty, just like my baby-less womb.
Last November, when the burden was finally to great to carry alone, I wrote.
I wrote a letter to our friends and family explaining why we do not have children. I wrote a Frequently Asked Questions for our friends, and shared it on facebook, setting clear boundaries about what I am and am not willing to talk about. And I started writing our story on my blog.
And it was in November that the burden, that weighty, crushing burden, was finally lifted. And I felt the prayers and thoughts of friends and family and strangers. That sweet, unseen feeling of companionship and camaraderie – knowing I am not alone, I am not forgotten, I am not abandoned.
Perhaps you can relate to my story. After all, my story is one of loss and heartache – a universal story, with unique and individualized chapters, really.
If you can relate, please know this: you do not have to hide behind the pain any longer. Your story is meant to be told. It is meant to be shared. It is meant to be read. Sharing our stories brings healing to our hearts, and hope to those who read it. That is why our stories need to be told.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Kelly and others who have paved the way for me to share my story. Reading their stories of infertility stirred something within my heart, giving me courage to follow in their footsteps and begin the painful, but freeing process of sharing my own story.
What story are you going to tell?