May 11, 2014
Today is a challenging day for me. Aside from the long road of ups and downs with my own mother, I fully expected to have children by the time I was 32 years old.
Some things get easier with time. Others don’t.
Each year is harder than the last.
When my mother was my age, I was in the double digits.
Almost every female in my life has at least one child, or is pregnant with her first. I’m at the age now where, I’ve journeyed with those in my life through graduations, engagements, marriages, and births.
All while I’ve continue to struggle and pray for a child of my own.
All while loving their children so much at times it feels my heart will burst.
All while trying my best to push through the broken heart.
All while trying to get through the years when mother’s day hurts.
I am, by anyone’s standards, a nurturer. I love to take care of people. I love to give, to share, to love. Feeding people is my love language. I show love by nurturing and caring for others.
I have always wanted children. From the time I was old enough to dream of a future, I wanted to be a mother. There was a time I tried to convince myself that I had *chosen* to be childless. That is a very valid and very real choice for many women. But that isn’t my truth. And once I forced myself to face that fact, I had to learn to work through the heartache and the mourning that came along with my reality.
Today is a day of mourning for so many of us. We wanted more…and we expected more: from our mothers, ourselves, our wombs.
Today, I am sad.
Today, I am not easy to love.
Today, I celebrate and empathize and mourn with my friends, near and far.
Today, I simply try my best.