“Why me?” The complicated question that strangely embodies both sadness and happiness.

Having active strategies to help us cope emotionally, communicate better and support each through our infertility would have made a profound difference on our journey.

“I can’t do this,” I would moan to my husband, “this is going to kill me. I won’t survive.”

Despair was consuming me, and yet the tiniest tinge of relief was starting to seep through the cracks of my broken heart; I was desperate for this torture to end.

“I am so sorry hun, your pregnancy test was negative.” I gulped. I wanted to vomit, and yet I had expected it.

“I’m only doing this for closure,” I’d staunchly say to myself, as if articulating the words out loud would convince my little fragile, hopeful heart.

If I were to be completely honest – painfully transparent in fact – my struggle with people was nothing compared to my struggle with God.

I’d had many episodes over the last few years where I felt “depressed”, but nothing quite like this. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I felt sad – I just felt unbelievably tired.

I was excited, yet terrified – I wanted to meet her baby before I left, yet it seemed way too confronting.

It would send me into a frenzy of weeping until all the anger, envy, fury, disappointment and bitterness would leave me.

I gulped again. I was terrible at saying no. I was terrible at self-care. I was terrible at setting boundaries. I cared too much about what people thought of me.

“Break?” he scoffed, “You don’t have time for a break! I know you feel exhausted and depleted now, but you’re not going to feel any better in a few months.”

I got out of the shower and sat, exhausted, on the couch. I felt like I was losing my mind. I really didn’t know if Jarod was ever going to come home.

I’d chosen to take a break – a long one – and it was gut wrenching to know that I was CHOOSING to prolong my pain, my suffering and the length of the unknown.

For a brief moment I want him to go; I want him to move on with his life. I believe that it’s all my fault that he’s going through this horrible, painful crisis.

My unpredictable fluctuating moods left me questioning my sanity. I did not know who I was anymore. But what I did know is that I RESPECTED the POWER OF HORMONES.

In that moment of shock and emotion, I staunchly decided that I wanted surgery. And if Dr.B in Australia wouldn’t do it, then I would find someone else who would!

You are synthetically inducing symptoms of early menopause. Now does that sound like fun to you? In any single way?????????

It feels as though my body is rejecting these pills and yet I power through. I NEED to know that I’ve given it a real shot…

What are we trying to prove? Why do we think we are weak? Why can’t we go through each phase with gentle acceptance and respond positively to our body’s needs?