Hello from the girl with a dream

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mom. It was an inner desire that I always felt and never questioned, and the longing has only become palpably stronger — truly, an aching feeling in my heart and gut — in recent years. (Baby fever is real, ya’ll.) I had friends who weren’t so sure. Who even at times said they did not want kids. And I had friends who waited… Who waited a long time. But those friends now have those babies they weren’t so sure they wanted, or were in no rush to conceive. For many it happened on the first try — they pulled the goalie and scored! — or before they were really ready. (“We wish it had taken us longer,” one said.)

My story — and, by consequence, that of my husband’s — is different. My journey to motherhood has not been smooth, quick or easy, despite knowing my intended, hopeful destination from the very beginning.

I am infertile. 

Wow, that’s a hard thing to type, let alone say out loud. Even when talking with friends and family, I usually soften the blow. The “I” word just seems to put a painful exclamation point on the whole situation. But it is the simplest way to express the truth that has consumed our lives for the past two years:

I am infertile.

And since we’re being honest… Truth be told, I have wanted to share about my infertility experience for months. “Write blog post” has been on my to-do list and scribbled in my calendar — alongside bullet points for blood tests, doctor’s visits and everyday life stuff — countless times. And yet, I could never cross it off the list. Every free moment, fear stopped me.

Fear of opening up about a private battle with the world, and what people — strangers or acquaintances — might think or say. Fear that I could never adequately or accurately express the crazy swirl of emotions inside my head, and do it as well as others have already done in the infertility-blogging community. Fear that putting those thoughts and feelings on (figurative) paper would just leave me sadder in the end. And fear that somehow the act of publicly sharing this struggle would jinx me, as if I need any more bad luck.

But it’s a new year and it’s time to push past the fear. 2016 was a hard twelve months, for many reasons beyond infertility, but the “I” word was definitely the gray storm cloud that hovered and thundered above my and my husband’s heads — dominating our thoughts and conversations, influencing our actions and emotions — the most.

I’m hopeful that 2017 will be better. That it will be “our” year. But whatever the outcome, I can no longer deny that other inner leading to document the journey. Not only to help myself (a cathartic release, I hope) but to perhaps help others feel more understood and less alone. I agree with those who have touted the importance of speaking out about infertility, miscarriage and pregnancy loss. We women, and our spouses, shouldn’t have to suffer in silence; it shouldn’t be taboo. Infertility is a disease, one that affects 1 in 8 couples and ravages the heart and the mind as much as if not more so than the body. We need all the support we can get, and to spread around that “baby dust,” which really just is LOVE, as far and as wide as possible.

Dreaming of Lullabies will be my place to do just that.

Until next time, my fellow dreamers and infertility warriors,

xo Carissa

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