To the woman who is struggling with secondary infertility, I see you.
When you’re feeling alone because you don’t quite feel like you belong in the “infertility club”, I see you. When you’re sitting at the OB-GYN with a child in your arms and people assume you’re pregnant with your second, I see you, especially when you have to tell them the truth. When someone asks you, “When is ___ getting a brother/sister?”, I see you, because I’m never sure what to say, either.
I see you when your heart feels guilty for wanting to grow your family when others are struggling just to have one baby. I see you crying when you see little siblings playing together. I see you struggling to admit your struggles out of fear of judgement. I see you when you feel angry that it’s just not working.
When someone does judge you and claims you’re not thankful for the child you already have, I see you. When someone claims you don’t understand real infertility, I see you. When someone doesn’t understand why you’re trying so hard to have a second baby, I see you.
I see you when someone says, “Just relax, it’ll happen!”, or, “You’re young. Give it time.”, or, “Maybe God only wants you to have one.” I see you when you look into the future and wonder if your child will resent you for not giving them a sibling. I see you weeping when you imagine your child on their wedding day, with no siblings standing next to them. I see you shaking with fear, imagining the worse, that one day you won’t be around, and what if you’ve left them alone?
When another pregnancy test is negative and your child is one month older, I see you. When you’re at the doctor’s office so often that your child is uncharacteristically familiar with the setting, I see you. When you’re trying to manage infertility treatments and raising a child, I see you. When you get more and more and more bad news, I see you.
I see you if you finally got pregnant and miscarried. I see you when you have to explain to your child why your belly isn’t growing anymore. I see you when you shake with guilt that you lost your child’s sibling. I see you when you mourn a child that you never got to meet. I see you when your child asks for a brother or sister and you don’t know what to say.
When your friend’s and family’s bellies are growing and birthing and yours is still barren, I see you. When your friends and family are getting pregnant on accident with their second, fourth, seventh, I see you. When your friends and families smiles are made of sympathy, or maybe they aren’t around anymore to even do that because they don’t know what to say, I see you.
I see you when you lay awake at night, wishing you would have savored your pregnancy, birth, the newborn stage, all of the stages just a little bit more, because you may never experience it again. I see you trying to savor as much as you can right now before it’s gone forever. I see you laying next to your husband in the dark, hoping he never resents you for not giving him a large family. I see you wanting a different life from the one you grew up in. I see you when you can’t open the door to your spare bedroom, for even though it’s filled with leftover baby items, it’s painfully empty.
To the woman who is struggling with secondary infertility, I see you. I see you because I am you. With tears on my cheeks and so much love in my heart, I see you, I understand you and your heart, and I’m praying fiercely for you.
Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15