For whatever reason this has been a hard topic to write on though it is always hanging on my heart. I’m the type of person that if someone asks me – I’m pretty much an open book. I’m not ashamed of my past or who I am now and I feel no embarrassment to divulge my truths. However I’m not one to readily volunteer pieces of my inner-most self – nor am I the type to throw them out in public for the whole world to see. And because this particular issue is such a difficult one for me, I think that’s why I’ve waited so long to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to try and put it all out there.

Ryan and I have been talking about kids since before we were married. We had discussed how many we wanted, names, parenting, how we would raise them, what we hoped for them, our fears about it, our excitements about it, and everything in between. It’s something we both have yearned for for a very long time. What many people don’t know is how long we’ve been trying…

When we first got married I told Ryan I wanted two years of just us. I wanted to solidify our marriage and our finances before we delved forward into having kids. Once we breached the two year point, we started trying but I quickly got discouraged by our lack of success and we took a break before starting more seriously again. Truthfully, at this point, I try not to think about how long we’ve been trying because that only disheartens me. The thought that we might have difficulties with this was something that never crossed my mind. And yet here we are…

Few know this about me, but I am by nature a pessimist, and therefore, I tend to be prone towards depression. So I do what I can to stay as positive as possible in all situations, always looking for the bright side. But that tendency can make this struggle so much harder…

It’s a difficult thing to want something so terribly and to constantly fail in your endeavor. What’s worse is that it’s your own body thwarting your efforts. After months and months and months of trying, you begin to feel that something’s wrong with you. That you’re flawed… broken somehow. Because there must be something wrong with you if the one thing that defines you as a woman is the one thing that you can’t seem to do. And even the various doctors you see confirm this idea of brokenness with their prescriptions and procedures and the various paths they want you to take…

And the whole while there is this ever aching hole in your chest. The one that has yet to be filled. So you keep waiting…

Ahh… the waiting… In spite of history and the past disappointments of every month, I somehow manage to be the perpetual optimist when it comes to this one, singular thing… Each month I catch myself thinking “maybe this time!” Hoping beyond hope that this time it will be our turn. This time… for sure… all this struggle and pain will be over. This time it will be tears of joy, not of sadness and heartache. And yet…each month I find those same hopes battered and beaten when Mother Nature makes her appearance…

In fact just the other day, I got to re-experience yet again that gut-wrenching disappointment. I woke up excited…expectant… hopeful. I eagerly pulled that little plastic wand from it’s pink packaging… two lines for yes, one line for no. This was the first time in a long time I was sure. I was certain that little plastic wand would give me the answer I had long been waiting for. Never has the need to pee been so thrilling.

I busied myself with the dogs while I waited for the results. Not even nervous, only excited, because I was fully convinced the result would say yes. I made my way back to the bathroom. I glanced down…and my heart hit the floor. That crushing feeling pressing in on my chest…. One line… just one… How could this be? I had been so sure. I crumpled onto the floor and sobbed… and the thoughts that kept playing in my head…

I am broken. I am a failure of a woman. What’s wrong with me? When will it be our turn?

If you’ve never experienced this personally, someone else who is traveling a similar road described it like waiting in a food line. You are waiting in line with lots of people in front of and behind you, all holding bowls waiting their turn. You watch as people in front of you get their bowls filled and and then the people behind you are getting theirs filled too. Many going back once, twice, four times. And there you are standing and waiting with your bowl still empty. It’s a beautifully simple way of describing this struggle. Watching your friends and family get pregnant again and again with no troubles while you keep trying and praying and waiting for your turn.

And if I’m being honest – this pain, this daily heartache, sometimes causes me to pull away a little. Protecting myself and my heart from that stabbing reminder with each Facebook status of another lucky couple/girl taking that path toward parenthood – the road we’ve been striving towards for so long, and yet continually seems to elude us. My joy is always there for those who are so blessed, but there is always that initial heart breaking pain. That reminder that I am broken. That we haven’t been blessed in that way yet. That we are still waiting… faithfully and patiently. And knowing that there are few that truly understand this struggle.

Until God chooses to bless us – I continue to enjoy loving and snuggling on our tiniest clients. Pouring my love and heart into their little beings during the short time I get to spend with them. Soothing that ache in my heart for a time and helping me go back to patiently waiting for our own little one.