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4 Words I Want to Share With Women Facing Infertility

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I’ve skipped church. I was unable to enter the doors altogether, simply because I knew the flowers on blouses, the words from the pulpit and the “asking the moms” to stand would simply be more than I was emotionally able to bear.

I’ve lied in my bed and cried the hard cry — the cry that comes from the very deepest part of you. And in truth, it wasn’t a cry of sadness as much as it was one of deep, gut-wrenching pain over our infertility journey that was entering yet another year.

I’ve attempted to go to a baby shower only to find myself in the bathroom, trying to will that lump in my throat to go away as other ladies chatted and talked about things I could only dream about.

I’ve sung happy birthday to a 1-year-old as he stuffed a cupcake in his face and stood there, mumbling prayers and pleading for the chance, somehow, to be the mommy of a little someone.

I’ve tried to turn my head from the television when a story of a woman abandoning her child popped up, only to find myself glued to the screen as the story of an unwanted pregnancy and an unwanted child was shared.

I’ve sat in a doctor’s office as the tiny waiting room filled with a seemingly unending sea of pregnant women, some half my age, all with huge bellies and expectant glows, yearning to have a chance at what seemed so easy for them.

I’ve flipped through brag albums as fast as possible.

I’ve sent my regrets for events I just couldn’t attend.

I’ve walked out of church when a message on parenthood was announced.

I’ve mumbled my congratulations and then sobbed when alone.

I’ve watched everyone but me succeed.

I’ve caught my breath walking by a rack of onesies.

I’ve dreamed.

I’ve prayed.

I’ve begged.

I’ve hurt.

I’ve quit.

I’ve begun again.

I’ve given up.

I’ve picked myself up and decided to give it “one more try.”

I’ve felt infertility.

And I never, ever want another woman to feel what I have felt.

People who haven’t experienced infertility just cannot comprehend the pain involved with the loss of a dream — with the loss of a child that never was.

But I can.

And so I will never stop sharing what I’ve felt.

I will never not remember that pain.

I will stand alongside any woman who wants me to hold their hand.

And I will remember.

And confirm.

And encourage.

And dream with them.

And understand.

I’ve fallen in love with a child I have never met and seen him in my dreams and attended his birthday party and planned for his future and kissed and hugged and wanted him with every facet of my being.

I’ve felt that.

And I’ll never let another woman feel it without knowing I’ve felt it, too, and I understand and will be there for them in any way I can.

They are not alone.

To those women (you know who you are) who I have stood beside through infertility, adoption, success and failures — thank you for letting me remember.

And to those women who I am standing beside right now, please know I will never forget.

For more information on infertility, please visit the links below:

• What is infertility? (

• National Infertility Awareness Week (

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Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

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