Can I be absolutely honest right now? I really don't think that I have ever cried as much as I did this past Sunday. I've never been hurt by well-meaning people as much as I was on Sunday. I've never felt so lonely in a church full of people. I've never felt as worthless as I did on Mother's Day 2015.
If you've never experienced infertility, then you probably think I am being dramatic, but if you've been in this dark valley before, you know that I'm not.
When I woke up Sunday morning, I woke up with sadness in my heart. I knew what day it was: Mother's Day. I could barely drag myself out of bed. Only a few months prior to that day I had found out that my body wasn't functioning correctly, which meant that I couldn't get pregnant, at least not without the help of a specialist (and even that may not work).
I rolled out of bed, and went into the bathroom, and took a pregnancy test. During that long 3 minute wait, I prayed. I cried out to God, I told Him I would do whatever He asked of me. It didn't matter what it was, I would do it if He gave me a child.
The three minutes were up.
The test was negative.
I got in the shower, and I cried.
When I started getting ready, Jonathan sweetly took me in his arms and told me that God is faithful and He won't leave us alone today, or any other day in this dark valley. I tried to receive his words, but I was too devistated.
When we made it to church, I sat in the car and put on my make up, and as soon as I put my eye make up on, big ol' tears streamed down my face. I remember thinking, "Okay Katie, suck it up. No one wants to see your tears." I made it through Sunday school without tears, and I barely made it through choir singing without a melt down. But then it was time for me to direct the youth choir.
I stood in front of the kids as they sang "He Knows My Name." I was enjoying their beautiful voices when out of the corner of my eye, I saw our projector screen. It read: Happy Mother's Day. All of a sudden I felt violated. Directing the youth choir was my safe place. It's where I praised God, it's where I served God, it's where I forget that there is anyone other than me, God and a bunch of kids that I love. And what shows its ugly face while I'm up there? My faults, failures and insecurities. I looked at the youth and thought, "Will I ever get this? Will I ever get to be a mother?"
After choir, there was some more singing and Jonathan went down to pray, and I went with him. I don't know what he was praying for, but I do know what I was praying for. I prayed, "God I don't know why You have me in this valley. I don't know if You will give me children. I dont understand. Please help me get through this day. Please help me give this to You. Please help people to understand my tears."
Then came the part I had been dreading: the recognition of the mothers. The bitter part of me said, "They have children, we know who is a mother and who isn't. Why do they have to shove it down my throat that they have something I may never have?!" But then I thought of my mom and all that she has ever done for me, and immediately repented for my thoughts.
During this process, I was embarrassed, ashamed, and I just wanted to run out of the church house and never come back. I got home and cried so hard I almost made myself sick. I wanted to disappear. I felt alone and angry. I don't understand why something's were said or done, but I know they weren't from a bad place.
I told you how I felt on Mother's Day where I could ask this: where is the help in the church for the infertile? I'm not talking about any church in particular, but I am talking about THE church. I haven't ever heard a sermon on infertility. I understand that it makes people feel awkward; especially if they have never experienced it. Why is it okay to say hurtful things to people that are unable to conceive, but if I am a little snippy about pregnancies on one of my bad days, I'm overreacting?
Every where I turn, there are insensitive things being said to me about my battle. Most days I try to remind myself they are just trying to help, and I pick up the pieces of my heart that shattered to the ground. Other days, I go home and cry myself to sleep. Mother's Day is one of the "other days". So can I, as an infertile woman of God, make a request? Next Mother's Day, after we honor our deserving mothers, can we gather around those who cannot stand at the front of the church on that day? Can we pray for those who have lost a child, or are unable to receive one? I told Jonathan that I would've felt blessed (and not embarrassed and ashamed) if they would've asked for the mothers to gather around the women that are infertile or suffered a loss of their child and pray for them instead of being called to the front as a public example of someone who will only get to take care of other women's children. Woman praying for other woman THAT will make Mother's Day encouraging for everyone and not *just* the mothers.
