The Capacity to be Seen

I have to admit, sharing this journey with you sometimes leaves me feeling very exposed. 

There was a time when I carried my “infertility” deep deep down inside of me. It was a wound so fresh I had to shield it from the open air and the well intentioned people whose words often stung like salt. Sometimes it would bubble up inside me at unexpected times, in a crowded room, or alone in the car. Emotion would be triggered by a scene in a movie or a song on the radio, and despite by fight to keep it down, feeling arose.

This jourey has taught me many things, but one I hold dearest to my heart is vulnerability. The capacity to be seen.

I learned to let go. To grieve when I needed to grieve, cry in front of strangers, and allow myself to “get into the deep, beautiful melancholy of everything that happened.” And that’s when healing came like the dawn. People still said stupid things, and I have, many times, been left to absorb the blow. I still had moments of insecurity, and even now, sharing my story can leave me feeling naked in Times Square…but I am FREE. 

There are no demons to thrive in the darkness of my soul, telling me tales of inadequacy. The heaviness I once carried is now shared by people who love me and have taken on my burdens. I feel accepted and loved, and my story has connected me with people and places that my path may have never crossed had I been in hiding.

Pain and rejection are apart of the human experience and I no longer fear them or walk around them. I walk through them, allowing my identity to flex its muscles and my desperation for Jesus to grow. I am better because of it.

And so I write. For me and for the people who will find comfort in my words. For my unborn child who will one day read back on these posts with the revelation of how deeply loved and desired they are. Before they ever did anything wrong or anything right, they were loved. 

I write for the legacy I will pass on...the one of strength and faith, of believing in the face of doubt and learning to weather life's storms. I want them to know their existence in my heart made me brave. It taught to me put myself out there, to contend, to get back up, to have compassion, and to endure.

I write for freedom.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” 

– Mary Angelou