When Windows Talk

Writers block is the understatement of the year for me. For those of you who followed my grief series in October you’ll remember I noted over and over how much of a blessing the ‘guided vulnerability’ was for me – it held my hand and pointed out specific areas I could elaborate on and made this massive typhoon of feelings manageable – bucket by bucket.

I’ve continually been overwhelmed by a need to write…a need to throw the curtains open and let light into the dim rooms of my world. But there are so many rooms and there are so many windows, and some days they feel too far from where I sit to journey to on my own.  Some moments I'm overwhelmed with ore than I know how to deal with, while other times I do everything I can to pretend like the rooms and windows don't even exist at all.

Our walk with loss and infertility has thrown me into a whole new realm of people pleasing that I never knew existed. This journey has brought support, love, and encouragement in so many ways but there has also been so much negativity and lack of compassion thrown before us that I’ve not known how to deal with. Some people are set on minimizing your struggle-no matter what you’re trenching through. Sometimes others are unwilling or emotionally unable to walk along side you and so to respond in some way they use their words and actions to build barriers in between you instead. Ultimately my struggle has been garnering the ability to fully embrace this walk that we’re on,  to embrace the story that God is writing for us.  And Truthfully, It boils down to the fact that I’ve been so determined to not let our infertility define who we are, who I am, that I’ve found myself quieted all together. Which may sound fine, and it was - until I found myself minimizing and invalidating my own loss and struggle for the sake of the thoughts and opinions of those around me. 

Around this time last year I began a process of isolation where I pulled away from everyone, because I no longer had the ability to lie anymore when people asked how I was. This very casual, very common question posed to me so often out of courtesy became a paralyzing moment for me over and over every day where I had to decide to tell the truth or to lie.  I arrived at a place where I couldn’t smile and say I was fine any longer. A place where the three words “how are you?” flooded my eyes with tears and my heart with a rush of emotion a hundred times bigger than the circumstance would allow – or so I told myself. In my mind I had convinced myself that the person asking was simply being polite and didn’t have the time, the energy, or the investment to truly care about the answer... and so I stopped talking altogether. I built a wall around myself, brick by brick, and closed myself in until I couldn’t see anyone. 

And here I am again with much to say and little confidence to do so. I've so strongly hesitated to transform or define this blog as an infertility pit-stop that despite my need to write and process I’ve declined to post anything at all. 

In October I resolved to begin removing bricks one by one, and today I’m resolving to continue that process. I’m renewing my promise to write and choosing to disregard what may or may not make someone feel bothered or uncomfortable. For those few of you who need to read – I’m still here. I’m still with you on this walk. And for those of you who want to read – I’m also still here…thank you.

This week a friend of mine, unaware of how this would speak to my heart, said “We love God through things, not in spite of them”. Today I’m resolving to do what I said I would do when I renamed my blog, to find the truths of scripture in my every day – and some days that’s feeling His kindness through the laughter of my dearest friends and His comfort through the way the breeze wraps around me. But other days it’s going to be about believing in His goodness amidst the tears that wet my cheeks and absorbing His grace in the reflection of this journey. This space is about the extraordinarily ordinary steps that God has us walking and the power that is in those small movements, regardless of where we’re going. 

Tonight I pulled out a coupon sheet for tampons from the Sunday paper knowing I need to buy more soon and that saving a couple of bucks might make me feel better about ending yet another unsuccessful cycle…and as I pulled the sheet out the rest of the way it’s adjoined page slid into sight brandishing a smiling toddler on one side and a mother holding a yawning newborn on the other with diaper and wipes coupons lining the edges. And as quickly as that - as simply as that - a haphazard and inadvertent spread sat on my lap artfully reminding me of the contrast between my realities and my souls deepest desire, right there next to the Sunday funnies.

Not every day is awful. Not every day is sad or full of sorrow – in fact life is wonderful…God has been so gracious in putting his hands on the sides of my sight and allowing me to see only what’s in front of me when I need the blinders most. I have the most incredible friends that I have gained through a journey only as sovereign as this. I have learned how to laugh about aspects of this battle that threaten to take my sanity if I attempt to do anything else but embrace them. I have a job that I love immensely and a husband who at the end of every day when we lay down for bed kisses me and tells me one more time that I’m his best friend in the whole world. I’m not miserable, I’m not distraught, and I’m not helpless by any means – I am learning to deal, learning to love every bit out of what’s in front of me during the seasons I find myself in even when that’s hard. I’m learning to be okay, and I am okay….but tonight I am sad. Tonight I’m overwhelmed by the fact that a flimsy piece of paper can derail my hopes and rob me of my joy… and tonight – above all insecurities and worry, all fatigue and hesitation…I needed to write. 

So it's just one window, maybe just one curtain panel on half of a window...but it's a window none the less, and that means it's a start.