The Choice to Forgive My Infertile Body Is an Everyday Struggle

infertilebody_updated.jpgIt’s so hard to believe that I’ve been at this for two and a half years, that I’ve been trying to have a successful pregnancy since April 2012. Truth be told, I’m bored and tired. I like to keep active. I like to keep things interesting. I like progress, for crying out loud.

So much of my life continues on, so many things keep happening — but when it comes to getting pregnant, I’m just stuck.

After my water broke at 17-weeks pregnant and I lost our twins, no one was able to give me a reason why. Not knowing has been worse than knowing, or at least what I imagine it would be like to know what happened. To know why. But not knowing has placed me in a position to think of a bagillion different well maybes. 

And the worst of all is thinking that maybe, just maybe, this is simply how my body works. Or rather, how my body doesn’t work.

When everything else in your life is right, when you’re SO ready to become a mother, yet your body won’t do the one thing you want it to, it tears you apart.

Between the fertility-meds weight gain and the little bit of pregnancy weight I gained during those 17 weeks, my body has changed. I’ve never struggled with issues about my body image, and a few extra pounds are really the least of it. But after my loss, after my milk came in Christmas morning with no babies to feed, I began hating my body.

I began hating my body without even realizing I was hating my body.

I fell into a depression. Started seeing a grief counselor. Tried to write it all out of me.

But it didn’t go away.

I stopped going to the gym. I started eating crap like I didn’t know any better. I was so mad at my body for losing my babies, and for bleeding every month after month after month after month while we continued to try again for a successful pregnancy.

Why can’t it do the one thing I want it to?  Why can’t it fulfill its most basic function?

I started the journey to get pregnant two and a half years ago with eyes bright and spirits high. I look back on my past writings, and I hear my own naivety. I started strong and confident. Certain. Hopeful.

But this journey is not what I ever expected it to be. It has beaten me down and turned into a journey in forgiving my infertile body.

Every day, I forgive.  

Every day, I have to make a choice to hate the skin I’m in, or to forgive it. To acknowledge that it is — and that I am — trying the best we can.

We have to live with one another, this body and me. And I choose forgiveness.

Every day, I forgive.


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