I’ve been quiet about our journey with infertility for a few months. I’ve had things to say, I’ve rehearsed this post a dozen times in my head, I’ve even started to type it a few times, but I can’t find the right words.

I guess the problem isn’t so much with finding the words as it is with reading them once they are typed out. I know my heart, God knows my heart, and my husband knows my heart, and that should be all that matters. But unfortunately, it isn’t. I would love to stand (metaphorically. I’m in bed with 3 dogs, a snoring husband, and an acai bowl) in front of you and tell you that fear of judgment never crosses my mind. Again, unfortunately it’s not true.

A few months ago, we made the decision to stop taking the handful of fertility meds that I was filling my body with every month. Not because we don’t want a baby or because we have given up hope, but simply put, because I missed our life before we became the people who were struggling to get pregnant.

Aside from all crazy hot flashes, emotional ups and downs, and painful acne that took control of my life, I missed our marriage. I missed having sex because it was fun. I missed being excited for the future, even without the possibility of a baby.

There are several different personality types, I happen to have one that’s obsessive. It can be such a blessing; my house is clean 99% of the time, I am completely dedicated to my workout routine, and I can whip up a blog post or social media content in 20 minutes once an idea comes to mind. But it can also be a curse, and in the case of infertility, it’s a constant reminder of how you’re failing at something that your body was created for.

I know that everyone who offers advice and shares personal experience on this topic means well and always has good intentions, but I don’t think I can stand to hear the phrase “it will happen when you stop focusing on it” one more time. I saw a pair of boots a few weeks ago that I wasn’t sure if I wanted, so I left without them, only to realize on the way home that I actually did want them. A few days later, I went back, and they were gone. I haven’t stopped searching Amazon for them since.

It got to the point where the thought of sex would make me cringe. My husband has been nothing but supportive and has never made me feel like this was my burden, but the feeling of guilt would take over, like this was all my fault. It was my fault that sex was now “scheduled,” that every window would be open in the middle of the night, that I was becoming hard to be around because my husband never knew who he would find when he got home each night, the crying, emotional wreck that I had become, or a glimmer of his wife that he used to know, who had an existence before obsessing over this little {very important} thing she couldn’t do.

And so we decided to stop the medication, take a break maybe. We wanted to spend this time that God’s given us as two people who aren’t currently responsible for any other people, who just love being together. We wanted to enjoy the holiday season and all of the blessings that we have. We wanted to be grateful instead of being absorbed by thoughts of the future – what about the now?

I wanted to trust God with this, and instead, it just became one more thing I was trying to control. If I could just find the right medication, see the right doctor, time sex perfectly… me. me. me.

And when I type this out, all I can think is how selfish this probably sounds. I would judge me for this. I would judge you for this, I probably have. I would read this post and my takeaway would be simple; she obviously doesn’t really want a baby as much as she says she does.

You might be right. Maybe. I don’t have a rebuttal for that thought right now, and after months of playing this out in my mind, I’m finally okay with that. I don’t need one. You don’t need one. We don’t owe each other explanations for the choices we make for our bodies, our marriages, our families, or our futures.

If you’ve ever made a choice in the interest of being your best, feeling your best, providing your best, or loving your hardest and you felt judged for it, I’m sorry. It might not have been me who made you feel that way, but it was someone like me. It was someone like you. It was someone like one of us.

How many times do we hear a choice that a woman makes and we roll our eyes, or maybe we smile politely, all the while, thinking about how we would have done it differently, done it better maybe. I do it all the time. Every single day. I make hypothetical choices about situations that I am ridiculously blessed to have never been in, all the while, judging someone who has the very real weight of that burden. God didn’t give me those struggles and I don’t deserve an opinion on them. However, He did give me this one, and it’s only because He thinks I can handle it or He wants me to learn from it, or hopefully both.

I don’t know when the day will come that we get to welcome a baby, when I’ll get to spend the middle of the night changing diapers instead of blogging, or when I’ll get to teach that little human how to be compassionate and kind to others – but I do know that I can’t possibly teach it if I never learn it myself. Raising baby will come, but maybe growing into the mom I know I’ll need to be one day is the first step.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Olivia Grist

Hey there! My name is Olivia Grist. I’m a follower of Jesus, who constantly provides me more than I could ever deserve. I’m also a wife to my high-school sweetheart and dog mom to 3 furry kids. I am a fitness coach who has a new found love for all things creative. I like to write about the messy, chaotic, crazy days that make up this beautiful life on my blog http://oliviagrist.com/ and when I’m not plugged into my online world, you can find me roaming the aisles of Target or binging on the newest Netflix series.

Your Kids Don’t Need More Things, They Need More You

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mother and young girl smiling together at home

He reached for my hand and then looked up. His sweet smile and lingering gaze flooded my weary heart with much-needed peace. “Thank you for taking me to the library, Mommy! It’s like we’re on a date! I like it when it’s just the two of us.” We entered the library, hand in hand, and headed toward the LEGO table. As I began gathering books nearby, I was surprised to feel my son’s arms around me. He gave me a quick squeeze and a kiss with an “I love you, Mommy” before returning to his LEGO—three separate times. My typically...

Keep Reading

Mom, Will You Pray With Me?

In: Faith, Motherhood
Little girl praying, profile shot

“Will you pray with me?” This is a question I hear daily from my 9-year-old. Her worried heart at times grips her, making it difficult for her to fall asleep or nervous to try something new. Her first instinct is to pray with Mom. Perhaps this is because of how many times her Dad and I have told her that God is with her, that she is never alone, and that she can always come to Him in prayer and He will answer. Perhaps it is because she has seen her Dad and I lean on the Lord in times...

Keep Reading

My Aunt Is the Woman I Want to Become

In: Faith, Living
Woman with older woman smiling

It’s something she may not hear enough, but my aunt is truly amazing. Anyone who knows her recognizes her as one-of-a-kind in the best way possible. It’s not just her playful jokes that bring a smile to my face, her soul is genuinely the sweetest I know. I hope she knows that I see her, appreciate her, and acknowledge all the effort she puts in every day, wholeheartedly giving of herself to everyone around her. When I look back on my childhood, I see my aunt as a really important part of it. We have shared so much time together,...

Keep Reading

A Big Family Can Mean Big Feelings

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Family with many kids holding hands on beach

I’m a mother of six. Some are biological, and some are adopted. I homeschool most of them. I’m a “trauma momma” with my own mental health struggles. My husband and I together are raising children who have their own mental illnesses and special needs. Not all of them, but many of them. I battle thoughts of anxiety and OCD daily. I exercise, eat decently, take meds and supplements, yet I still have to go to battle. The new year has started slow and steady. Our younger kids who are going to public school are doing great in their classes and...

Keep Reading

Motherhood Never Stops, and Neither Does My God

In: Faith, Motherhood
Daughter kisses mother on cheek

I’m standing in the shower rinsing the conditioner out of my hair with a toddler babbling at my feet, running through this week’s dinner menu in my head. “Hmm, this meal would be better suited for this day, so what should we do instead?” or “Maybe we should save that for next week since it’s easy and we will be busy with baseball starting back up. I can work something in that may take more effort in its place.” Being a wife and mother, running a household, it’s about the small moments like this. There’s something about it that is...

Keep Reading

So God Made a Sunday School Teacher

In: Faith, Living
Woman sitting at table surrounded by kids in Sunday school class, color photo

God looked around at all He had created, and He knew He would need someone to teach His children. So God made a Sunday school teacher. God knew He needed someone with a heart and desire to teach children God’s word. God knew the children would act up and made Sunday school teachers with patience and grace to guide them when they step out of line in class. He also made Sunday school teachers with a touch of discretion to know when the stories of a child may be real or imagined. God knew this person would need to be...

Keep Reading

But God, I Can’t Forgive That

In: Faith, Marriage
Woman holding arms and walking by water

Surrender is scary. Giving in feels like defeat. Even when I know it’s the right thing, yielding everything to God is scary. It also feels impossible. The weight of all I’m thinking and feeling is just so dang big and ugly. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes I cling so tightly to my fear I don’t even recognize it for what it is. Bondage. Oppression. Lack of trust. Oh, and then there’s that other thing—pride. Pride keeps me from seeing straight, and it twists all of my perceptions. It makes asking for help so difficult that I forget that...

Keep Reading

Dear Dad, I Pray for Our Healing

In: Faith, Grief, Grown Children
Back shot of woman on bench alone

You are on my mind today. But that’s not unusual. It’s crazy how after 13 years, it doesn’t feel that long since I last saw you. It’s also crazy that I spend far less time thinking about that final day and how awful it was and spend the majority of the time replaying the good memories from all the years before it. But even in the comfort of remembering, I know I made the right decision. Even now, 13 years later, the mix of happy times with the most confusing and painful moments leaves me grasping for answers I have...

Keep Reading

God Redeemed the Broken Parts of My Infertility Story

In: Faith, Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Two young children walking on a path near a pond, color photo

It was a Wednesday morning when I sat around a table with a group of mamas I had just recently met. My youngest daughter slept her morning nap in a carrier across my chest. Those of us in the group who held floppy babies swayed back and forth. The others had children in childcare or enrolled in preschool down the road. We were there to chat, learn, grow, and laugh. We were all mamas. But we were not all the same. I didn’t know one of the mom’s names, but I knew I wanted to get to know her because she...

Keep Reading

God Has You

In: Faith, Motherhood
Woman hugging herself while looking to the side

Holding tight to the cold, sterile rail of the narrow, rollaway ER bed, I hovered helplessly over my oldest daughter. My anxious eyes bounced from her now steadying breaths to the varying lines and tones of the monitor overhead. Audible reminders of her life that may have just been spared. For 14 years, we’d been told anaphylaxis was possible if she ingested peanuts. But it wasn’t until this recent late autumn evening we would experience the fear and frenzy of our apparent new reality. My frantic heart hadn’t stopped racing from the very moment she struggled to catch a breath....

Keep Reading