I am broken.

I am broken. Okay, I know you are having all kinds of thoughts running through your head like, “No you’re not.” or “Oh, that’s sad.” But hear me out. If one of our main functions as a female is to reproduce and I can’t, then what? I’m broken. It’s like when a certain part on your car doesn’t work. Except, with a car, most of the time it can be fixed. I don’t think I can be fixed. I have tried natural supplements, fertility treatments, even less stress in my life. And yes, for the Christians out there, I have “let it go” and “given it to God.” One of my professors once said, “God answers all prayers. Sometimes the answer is no.” I’m starting to think that maybe this is just the way it is. Broken. Unfixable. I sound kind of hopeless don’t I? Well, maybe I am. Or maybe I am just becoming more of a realist. Now of course I have a small ounce of hope. That very tiny amount will never go away. Well, the day I start menopause (which I’ve heard it’s sooner rather than later for people like me) is the day that I lose all hope of having my own biological children. But until then, there is a very dim glimmer of hope. People have stopped saying, “There’s always adoption.” Because adoption is not the same as having your own biological children, because well, they are not your biological children. I am absolutely for adoption and I admire people who do choose to go down that path. However, that is a true passion and commitment that has to be in your heart to do. 100%. And I know that my heart is not there. And that is ok. Honestly, I think writing has helped me sort through the large amount of emotions that come along with infertility. I feel like now I have a better understanding and awareness of my body. I know what is going on (for the most part) whether I like it or not. The fact of the matter is my body doesn’t want to be fixed. And I guess you can‘t fix something that doesn’t want the help to begin with.

And for now,

Xoxo