(This piece was originally posted on diaryofchristianinfertility.wordpress.com in 2022. More background shared at the end of this blog.)
I stood there, a smile frozen on my face, at church. All I had been doing was serving in the kid’s check-in area. Why did I need to hear this now?
Another couple. Barely married a year. Already pregnant. Congratulations all around.
And sure, there was a part of me that was happy for them.
But there was another part of me that felt unbearably lonely as I stood there.
The Unending Loneliness of Infertility
It was the same loneliness I felt in small group over the last few years when another couple would inevitably announce they were pregnant. You know, since I started this journey, I’ve had friends who have had two kids in the span of me not even being able to have one.
I get tired of the loneliness. Tired of pretending. In the hardest moments, I just want to burst into tears. In the easier moments, I feel happy for them, truly happy — but unspeakably sad for me and David.
The loneliness can be crippling at times, particularly when I’m in a group of people who don’t know we’re struggling with infertility. I mean, we’ve told our families and our small group, but it’s not exactly something I broadcast.
I don’t even know if I can explain how truly lonely and awful it is, in those moment where no one knows, to listen to pregnancy after pregnancy story … or even discussions about everyone’s kids. And here I am, on the outside.
The Insecurities of Infertility
It can really mess with my head. I sometimes feel like I’m less than as a woman. Like I’m incomplete until I can have a child. I also feel at times like people are looking down on me — thinking that I’m less mature or godly than they are.
Of course, that could just be my insecurities.
But really, I wish someone had a guidebook to interactions for pregnancy announcements from friends and family when you’re struggling with infertility.
I don’t know what you’d put in it, though. Try not to cry?
But maybe I should cry. Not because I want to make anyone feel badly about their good news, but because this is real life. I’m grieving and struggling. Maybe if more of us cried when dealing with those lonely moments, people would begin to think through how they handle pregnancy announcements or talking about having kids.
Or is that just selfish? Because there’s no way to be sensitive to every issue someone is struggling with. We’re always playing the risk of offending or hurting someone with our words.
I don’t know. I just know I’m tired of feeling lonely in those moments. Feeling like I’m barely holding it together until I can get in the car or get home. Knowing that once again, I’m going to be crying and grieving.
When Someone’s Good News Hurts
It really kills me that someone else’s good news hurts me so much. It feels unbearably selfish and awful of me. Why can’t I just be happy for them?
But truly, every announcement is like another slap in the face. Another reminder, “You can’t have this.” Another bullhorn projecting, “Remember that thing you want so badly? You don’t get to have it but they do.”
And I don’t really want anyone else’s baby. But I do want my own. Right or wrong, it’s difficult to want something and consistently see others receive it, without even a thought.
Oh God, infertility is brutal sometimes.
THE BACKGROUND ON THIS SERIES ON INFERTILITY
This blog and a number of others that will be posted over the coming weeks were written during my infertility journey. Most of them come directly from the journal I kept throughout the three-plus year experience. I believe in God’s sovereignty, and that He is deserving of trust. However, these posts are raw and painful, because that is how the journey was.
Infertility ended for me (at least, for the time being) at the beginning of 2023. But my story did not have a neatly packaged happy ending, concluding instead with an incredibly high-risk pregnancy carrying identical twin boys. To our great heartbreak, one of our sweet boys died six months into the pregnancy; our other son miraculously arrived safely three months later.
Infertility played a huge part in my life over the last few years, and it also affected how my husband and I wrestle with the grief of losing a child. Because of that, I wanted to make sure these thoughts weren’t lost, even though some of my laments and questions were answered.
Unshaken Joy 