12/11/2018 0 Comments SacredNote: This is a reflection written earlier in the TTC process, after the first few cycles of fertility treatment were unsuccessful and we weren't clear yet whether or not we would continue.
This has been a sacred season. I never imagined that I would look back at these last months of fertility treatments and feel that way. Trying to conceive has been one of the most exciting and difficult ventures of my life. Hope and disappointment have risen and fallen alongside hormone levels. My body has endured blood draws and internal ultrasounds, a restricted diet and acupuncture treatments in an effort to achieve a pregnancy. The two week waits have been agonizing; my partner and I have gone stir-crazy counting down the days to each pregnancy test. Fertility treatments have been hard, but not nearly as hard as having hoped and dreamed and planned for a little one to join our family only to have been left with a fragile hope and empty arms. The dream of expanding our family has drained away with each period that comes, unbidden, a bloody reminder of what is not. The tears have been desperate and bitter, and often just plain sad. And so standing here on the other side of the intensity and complexity that is trying to conceive – not knowing if I will ever be able to fulfill my desire to carry a child – I found myself searching for something to contain this experience. I needed a vessel or framework for understanding, and the word sacred came to me. Yes, this has been a sacred time. In the Celtic Christian tradition authors and mystics share how sometimes the veil between heaven and earth becomes very thin; this is a liminal space, a threshold space, a sacred space. It’s a place where we might more keenly sense the presence of God or of those who have passed over from this life to the next. In trying to call a new soul to earth, I experienced the thinness of the veil. I felt so close to something so profound that it seemed right in front of me and yet just beyond my grasp. With every two week wait I anticipated the possibility of new life within; to embody hope in this way is something that I don’t think I will ever forget. Sacred is also large enough to hold the depth of the emotions I felt; both the immense hope and the all-encompassing grief with each cycle. It is so hard to grieve the intangible loss of hopes and dreams. It can be tempting to think that nothing happened and to try to dismiss the intensity of grief. And yet the tears and anger and jealousy and feelings of betrayal are very real. Sacred acknowledges my grief. Sacred acknowledges that my attempts at pregnancy were important and therefore my disappointment is important. Sacred acknowledges that the desires of my heart are an inseparable part of who I am. So as I am in the struggle of wondering whether or not to keep hoping and dreaming, I find consolation in the fact that no matter what the future may hold, having spent time nurturing the longing to bring a child into the world has forever changed me. In some mysterious way I am a mother born in the dreaming and the hoping and the calling. I have walked on holy ground these past months, my body carrying hope if not a baby. I have fallen shattered to the ground when the pregnancy tests were negative, and while it was the last thing I wanted to learn, I have learned that the ground will hold me. I have been blessed to have others meet me on that ground, sit with me in the dust and ashes, allow their tears to join mine and flow out onto the dry earth. Trying to conceive has been a time set apart, and for the ways in which I can hold this beautiful and broken part of my story as sacred, I am grateful.
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