I’m sitting here, writing this after I spent a half hour earlier today bawling my eyes out. Cursing anyone and everything, knowing that only one of the things was the true thing I was upset about. I may have found acceptance in our miscarriage, but I have yet to find acceptance in our struggle. In the struggle that thousands have to suffer through each and every year.
I know there are many people that are well beyond me. Well beyond our current struggle. People that have been deemed infertile with no chance of conceiving a child of their own. People that have lost multiple babies. People that have had their body and lives ripped to shreds from trying to conceive. So far, I’m one of the lucky ones.
But it’s still hard. Six months into a journey that I thought would have moved forward by now and no sign of change on the horizon. It stings. Each and every single day, I lose a little bit of the strong believer that I am. There was nothing that could have prepared me for the toll this would take on me. On Nathan. On our marriage. Nothing.
There are things I wish I would have known though. Even if I didn’t believe them, the fair warning would have been nice. You know – the things that no one tells you about trying to conceive. The dirty little secrets that you learn along the way.