NATIONAL INFERTILITY AWARENESS WEEK
🌷As National Infertility Awareness Week comes to an end, I can’t help but think about how life-defining infertility is. I’m not one to post a lot on social media. I don’t experience life, and think, “Oh! You know who wants to see this plate of food, this scenery, this outfit, this contouring…my “X” number of followers!” No. I prefer to experience life with those at my side.
When I faced with infertility, I became hyper aware of how life-defining it is, and I so desperately wished I had someone in my circle who understood this. So, as I saw people post about National Infertility Awareness Week, and I thought about the fertility statistics of which I have become so very aware (1 in 4 people will struggle with getting or staying pregnant, etc.) and I saw my [whopping] 1209 social media “friends”, I realized there was a real opportunity to touch someone, likely 100s, facing infertility, but feeling lonely and perhaps silenced in her/his misery.
Up until two years ago, if someone was to ask me about myself, I would talk about my relationship with my husband, our dog, Darla, along with my friends and family; I would talk about my dedication to my career and my aspirations professionally; maybe I would go into my love of music and running. All these things defined me. In a lot of ways, I was selfish with my life. I was focused on “me, my, ours”. When we lost Henry, our lives changed forever. Our entire existence became trying to “fix” my infertility, trying to fix my body and uterus, trying to get pregnant, trying to find a gestational carrier, trying to create embryos, trying to have a successful embryo transfer…. All the other pieces of our lives still existed (jobs, relationships), but suddenly, we were fighting for something that felt so much bigger. Maybe it felt bigger because unlike our jobs and relationships, we had so little control over the outcome, or maybe losing our son showed us what really mattered to us as a couple.
When I think about my life now, the things that mattered to me before infertility still matter to me, but I now feel compelled to share my infertility journey, to put purpose to this pain. If one person saw a post this past week and felt less alone, less ashamed, more knowledgeable or compassionate for what we go through, then this terrible pain has a purpose greater than myself.
I will never get over the loss of Henry. Ever. That pain will reside within me forever. But over the past couple years, as I have become braver and more honest with this experience and the loss, I am so very grateful for our son, because he has given me a purpose in my life, so much greater than ever existed before.🌷
