(This piece was originally posted on diaryofchristianinfertility.wordpress.com in 2022. More background shared at the end of this blog.)
Tired of waiting, of seeing time pass us by,
Of a fresh new heartbreak every month.
Exhausted by all of the right answers,
Their soullessness and emptiness, inability to comfort.
Tired of fighting jealousy and comparison,
Of wondering why others easily receive what’s unattainable to us.
Tired of myself, of my thoughts, of who I am in this season.
Tired of trusting You know best, when each day is more painful than the last.
Tired of believing it will happen when we’ve been proven otherwise for so long.
Tired of hoping.
Just tired.
I’d like to say those words I wrote in 2021 no longer resonate with my heart. That I’ve moved past the exhaustion of infertility to a pathway of acceptance.
But that would be a lie.
Well, most days that would be a lie.
Occasionally I do experience peace and acceptance at the thought of never having biological children.
Not most days, though.
The Consuming Nature of Infertility
Instead, most days I feel I am slowly being consumed by this desire. As if every thought is filtered through the lens of wanting a child.
I don’t like that. I want to be able to look outward — to look up — and to see how I can continue to love and serve God in this season. I don’t want to be consumed.
But the desire doesn’t go away.
So instead I walk the tightrope between experiencing the desire to have children nearly 24/7, and trying to live in the reality that at the very least, that will not be my story right now.
And that tightrope is straight-up exhausting.
Every time I cry about it. Every time I talk to my husband or a friend about it. Every time I get my period.
It’s the same story. The same tears. The same pain and grief. Lord, will this exhausting cycle ever end?
A Desire that Doesn’t Leave
I honestly don’t know if my desire to have children will ever go away. But I do believe the exhaustion around it will, for the most part, leave.
I believe He will give me the strength to keep showing up. To keep trying to turn my gaze outward. To keep moving forward, even if I don’t feel like I’m moving forward.
It reminds me of an old House of Heroes song I used to love: “I prayed for relief, but relief doesn’t come, just the will to press on. With only Your song. Your love makes me strong when all hope is gone.”
I want relief. I want the exhaustion to end. But even if it doesn’t, I believe (Lord, please help my unbelief) that He will give me the will to press on.
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 