I never thought I’d be a statistic.
 
One in eight couples has battled infertility. One in four women has miscarried.
 
It's National Infertility Month [in April] and my heart is heavy. It is reminded of past heartache. It is reminded of current hurt. It is laden with guilt. Who am I to speak to infertility now that I have a child of my own? 
 
Even though infertility isn't an active part of my journey right now, it WAS my journey. Its scars led to where I am now and I still remember very vividly the wounds it bore. 
 
Wounds that Tepeyac helped to heal through their service and ministry. A doctor who prayed over us after many appointments. A doctor who said, "You have a 6-12 month window of conceiving," after a diagnosis of stage III endometriosis, but who also confidently said, "We will do our best to make this happen." And then you have the triage nurse who, remembering my panicked and tear-filled phone calls, went out of her way to bring comfort & care to us after our miscarriage of baby #2.  
 
This has been a journey that we have not walked alone. 
 
I have found that through both my infertility and miscarriage, sharing my story has been both empowering & healing. It has connected me with women I have never met. It has connected me with women I haven't seen or spoken with in years. Infertility in particular was the catalyst to a fruitful and lasting friendship I now have.
 
You shouldn't ever feel ashamed to share your story. You never know who is listening.
 
If you are still walking the isolating journey of infertility, know this: it’s okay to feel: angry, bitter, cautious, and exhausted'
 
If you know someone that you can walk alongside, please:
  • Check in frequently
  • Ask the questions and then listen
  • Give hugs, not advice
  • Pray
 
Infertility is invisible. but you don't have to be.