I recently wrote an article with advice that included not comparing myself to others. I wish I could say that was entirely true. You see from the outside, most people would think I have everything I could want: a successful career, a wonderful husband, the ability to travel constantly, and a budding non-profit art business that gives back to people around the world through Random Acts of Kindness.
While all those things are wonderful, and I am in no way displeased with my life, there is one thing that's empty and aching in my heart. There's one thing I see every time I scroll through my newsfeed, that hits me where it hurts, and that is my longing to be a mom.
Most people who know me know very little about what I've been through the past few years. Having suffered three miscarriages, even with the help of fertility doctors, my heart has been shattered so many times.
The toughest of those was on Christmas Eve about three years ago, when my mother sat by my side for an ultrasound, and we were told by the doctor that it wasn't going to be a viable pregnancy. I don't think I'll ever fully recover from that moment.
So why I am I, the self proclaimed princess of positivity, writing such a sad piece? Today, yet another friend announced her pregnancy, and I was left puzzled at how I could feel such genuine joy and such significant sadness at the same time. I merely wish that the happiness I had for her didn't equate to some self pity for me.
I credit myself for being a very even-keeled and logical person, and I know in my head that everyone else's success in fertility doesn't lessen my chances. It just seems to remind me of something I feel like I am failing at and that breaks my heart.
I'm mad at myself for feeling that way. When I went through the first couple of pregnancy losses, I wished the world would take a break from getting pregnant for a little bit while I healed from my heartbreak. I was so angry at myself for being so selfish, and not truly celebrating the joy for others, because I was riddled with envy.
There are also the conversations with people who know what I've been through and they tell me about their happy news with such trepidation. The awkwardness and tension when talks of motherhood and pregnancy happen make me feel even worse. I want them to know that I am happy for them, that I believe it will happen for me, but I'm just a little sad that it's not my time yet.
I'm sure there are moms out there reading this thinking motherhood is not so glamorous. I mean, I know they love their kids more than life itself, but I'm sure they also consider my freedom to sleep in and the ability to pee with the bathroom door closed, something they wish they could have too. I suppose that's the way it is. We are always peeking over the fence, envisioning someone else's grass is so much greener and far more dreamy.
I also know that my time will come. We are continuing to work with fertility specialists and we've also begun to look into adoption, which is something that's very exciting to me. I try to keep in my head and in my heart that my story is just a different one. I try to stay aware of the fact that the rest of this chapter is still unwritten.
I have gratitude that my heart is capable of loving a child that may not necessarily be birthed by me. I'm proud that whatever definition of motherhood I am graced with, I will be filled with such joy and appreciation to be given that job.
The nature of my columns are usually centered on positivity and acts of kindness. It feels a little unusual to be writing about something so difficult. My hopes in sharing this piece is to let other people know they are not alone if they are feeling a deep longing to be a parent.
I also want people who have friends struggling with fertility challenges to speak to them just like everyone else. Our hearts will hurt either way, but treating us differently or excluding us from kid's parties and baby showers, just reminds us we are different. Keep talking to us and sharing your joy in an honest way; have faith that these journeys have equipped us with thicker skin than we ever hoped for. Realize that we truly understand how lucky you are to be a mom, and we support you, regardless of our challenges.
I'm mostly writing this piece because it's honest. Life isn't always fair, and things don't always unfold the way you think they will. So often we see the "highlight reel" of our friends' lives online; it's rare we talk about the tough stuff. I want to be someone who shares the whole journey, not just the good parts.
In my heart I know 100% that I will be a mother someday, and I look forward to writing a column then about how blessed and lucky I am to have the family I've always dreamed of. It may not happen in a conventional way, but I know that if my heart is open to loving a child, there will be a child for me to love. Most importantly though, I'm learning that it's okay to be sad, and that there is support out there if I'm willing to share my truth...
My truth is that someday I will be an entirely grateful mother to the children that were meant for me. My truth is that I have the courage to be honest with my struggles. My truth is that allowing others to share in my life, in an authentic way, can only create a deeper bond with the world around me. And until my time to be a mom arrives, I'd love to spoil your kids. Hug them tight, and know they are little miracles...
"Let us be kind to one another, for most of us are fighting a hard battle." - Ian MacLaren