There was a time I never thought I’d be able to sit here and write these words. At the very depths of heartbreak, I couldn’t have imagined the joy and fulfillment I feel now. 

My infertility story

Let’s start at the beginning. Three days after my nineteenth birthday I met my now-husband, Phil. We both fell fast, and as young love goes, we spent evenings together discussing our dreams for the future and for our relationship. We talked about children (we’d have two, either a boy and girl or two boys), we talked about careers (if we got married, I would be a stay-at-home mom), and we talked about building a family and a life together.

We got married in 2014 and less than a year later we’d find ourselves spending hours driving to get poked and prodded by fertility doctors. All the tests and scans confirmed we likely wouldn’t be able to have children without medical intervention. 

Now we’re not ones to doubt what God can do, but we also aren’t ones to play God ourselves. 

Neither one of us felt comfortable moving forward with procedures that would cost thousands and held a very small chance of success. Our hearts didn’t feel called to adoption and I didn’t want to live in a holding pattern for the next few years, making decisions with the maybe-we’ll-have-kids-one-day mindset.

The decision to move forward living a life without children isn’t an easy one; you aren’t just giving up on parenting, you’re letting go of everything you dreamed your life would be. I can’t help but imagine the broom dog from Alice in Wonderland, coming along and sweeping away the path ahead, stepping aside and sweeping the path behind us. Too late to go back, unsure how to move forward, leaving us directionless in the middle of the woods.

But even after the heartbreak, grieving, and lost dreams, I can honestly say I am grateful.

Gratitude is a choice

I’m grateful I’ve held my tongue. Many of us are guilty of feeling uncomfortable with negative feelings. Grief, sadness, heartbreak and situations we cannot help or change lead us to substitute silver linings where people are truly longing for empathy. We dish out comments like, you can always just adopt! Feel free to take my kids anytime you want, and oh, just relax! It will happen when the time is right. These are as common as they are unhelpful. 

When someone shares that they are experiencing infertility they don’t need platitudes, they need to feel heard. I wanted, longed, for someone to validate my struggle and my feelings. Oh, how the infertile heart longs for community and support as much as it longs for a baby. I no longer dish out platitudes but instead answer, I hear you, I’m sorry you’re going through this and thank you for being vulnerable enough to share this with me.

I’m grateful I no longer make assumptions. When the wounds were most raw there was no question worse than so when are you going to have kids? If only they knew. If only they knew the number of tests, the volume of tears, the prayers and desperate pleas.

From infertility to miscarriage to failed adoptions and medical procedures, we never know what someone is going through or what will be the final straw to instigate a breakdown in a bathroom. Instead of asking when are you having kids, we can instead ask, Do you hope to have children one day? A question that allows the other person to share as much, or as little, as they’re comfortable with and a question I’ve adopted myself (that is, if I even ask at all). 

Infertility forced me to pause

I’m grateful I had the opportunity to pause. Growing up I had dreams of being a dancer, a teacher, a veterinarian. Come high school I fell in love with English and Art. I was discouraged by many to pursue a “real” job, to think about being a wife and a mother one day. I was sold the standard dream and never took the time to consider whether that dream was actually a dream I wanted. 

The infertility forced me to pause. I was standing there in the middle of the forest trying to find the way out. As I took my first few steps, I not only rediscovered my love of words but also stumbled upon the hole that is left within the community of the childfree/childless people. I could see my path out and it involved creating a path for others.

I don’t subscribe to the idea that everything happens for a reason, but I do believe we can create meaning out of the things that happen to us. We were given the rare opportunity to intentionally create our own path forward, a second chance at creating a life we love. I wouldn’t wish infertility on anyone, but I can wholeheartedly be grateful for the person it helped me become.

Meet Tiffany J. Marie

Where to find her . . .

• Instagram
• Medium

Begin Within is a series to inspire a year-round lifestyle of gratitude that will impact not only your own life, but the lives of your neighbors as well. Gratitude is a theme we talk about often around here because it ties so closely into other missional living rhythms. Practicing gratitude reminds to keep our hearts soft and expectant and our eyes open. Therefore, the more we embrace gratitude, the easier it becomes to truly see our neighbors and where we can join what God is already doing in our neighborhoods.

If you would like to contribute to Begin Within, you can find the submission guidelines here.

Creating Ripples

If you would like to cultivate rhythms in addition to gratitude that will empower you live on mission in your neighborhood, check out Cultivating a Missional Life: A 30-Day Devotional to Gently Help You Open Your Heart, Home, and Life to Your Neighbors. This small book will help you make a big impact in your neighborhood as you learn to let missional living flow from the inside out. Get the 30-day missional living challenge free when you purchase the book.