The theme of this journal entry is inspired by wisdom imparted by Brianna Wiest in her prolific collection of essays, When You’re Ready, This Is How You Heal.

So many feelings, all the time … at the same time. It’s been a year since we returned our donor egg closing the door on our attempts to get pregnant. It’s been over a year since we became adopt ready only to have to start half way through again.

It’s been nearly four years since we looked at each other and said, “I want to be a parent with you.”

It’s been a year. Of happiness. Of hurting.

Of healing.

Of feeling it all and feeling nothing at all.

We fell apart, reconnected, got married and distracted ourselves. Busied ourselves.

Worried ourselves.

From the happiest day to the saddest days we’re riding the rollercoaster that is life. And while I strive to always write with a somewhat positive perspective I’ve got to be honest with you dear reader.

I’m exhausted.

Fatigued by the financial stress that IVF has strained on our bank accounts. Tired of interviews, forms and paperwork. Burnt out by all the options only for nothing to come to fruition (or so it seems). Stressed out by the anger and jealousy I feel (unbecoming of me). Embarrassed to be comparing myself to others. Overwhelmed by my own emotions. Impatient of being patient.

Disappointed and heartbroken.

I’m sad too.

Missing something that I never had. Grieving a loss that was never really here. Being without a little one. Only knowing life as someone.

It feels like a release to write out loud that I’m hurting. I’ve tried really hard to keep it in. To grin and bear it. Ebb and flow with it.

But no matter where I go it just all comes pouring out. Even Halloween was too much of a reminder that there’s no one calling us mom and dad. I mean, what’s up with that? A holiday (is it even) about costumes and chocolate unnerves me.

I’m sensitive. The seems have come undone. They did some time ago.

I’m aware that I’m distant. I’m not proud of that. I’ve retreated as a friend. I struggle to show up. I can’t focus. I’m so far into a future that I can’t control that I’m neglecting my present existence. I refresh my email every day thinking maybe today will be the day that the stork will find us. The day good news arrives.

The day the universe decides I become a mama.

But the days are the same as they were before. The sun rises and sets. I pull myself out of bed. I participate. I pout. I procrastinate. I cry silently from the inside out.

I thought I would be stronger by now. But as more time passes I feel further away from the reality of us being parents. Because we’re not.

I know what you’re thinking – it doesn’t mean we won’t be. One day.

All of this I know is part of my healing. Something I’ve been doing since that ceremonious day last November when I stood at the shoreline, looked to the sun, and said goodbye of birthing a child of our own. If you had asked me ten years ago about any of this I probably would have felt different. But I’ve changed. I met a man who I wanted to do the stars with, make little supernovas with and raise them with a galactic love brighter than the Milky Way. Instead we’re floating in a black hole navigating asteroids of agony and defeat.

Hurting. Healing.

With sweet moments of happiness.

Like saying our vows on the beach, dancing barefoot under the moon and kissing each other goodnight. And morning walks with Chevy. Our guardian pup. These quiet comforts get me through. Each day we try, each week we wait is time we have together. Fleeting, fragile, precious cadence.

One day will soon be some day. And when the cosmos aligns the stork will soar over the horizon where we will be standing with open arms. The hurt will dissipate. We will have been healed whole. For our wildlings will have arrived bringing with them all the happy to last a lifetime.

We are so very ready … to be parents.