I sit on the couch with my face in my hands.
Another month, another negative test. More lies that bombard me, making me feel less than.
I'm not a good enough wife, not a godly enough woman.
If I were, I could get pregnant.
Josh should just go find someone else, someone better, who can give him children.
Maybe if I just prayed harder, believed more, then, just maybe it would happen.
Maybe I'll get pregnant.
We had been trying for 6 months. We rode that roller coaster for 6 long, agonizing months. I had stopped having a monthly cycle, so each month, when it didn't come, I allowed myself to hope and crashed further each time I saw that solitary pink line.
I knew within the first two months that something wasn't right. After 6 months, I accepted my fate.
The doctor diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. She told me that the chances I would ever conceive were slim at best. I had already prepared myself for this possibility, but when I got to the car, I still sobbed, mourning the loss of my womanhood and the child who would never be.
Further removed from that day, we have come to see it as further confirmation that we are supposed to walk the road to adoption. We knew that one day we would adopt, but this diagnosis sealed the deal.
We have come to terms with the fact that we may never have biological children, but it doesn't make it any easier when people ask that one question. That one, innocent, but not harmless question:
Are you only adopting because you can't have children of your own?
Friends, please never ask people that. You don't know how much pain can be brought forth with just those few words.
If you are struggling with infertility, please know that you're not alone. It is such a painful experience that can be truly isolating, but just remember that there are others of us out there who are walking this painful path with you daily.