Written by Ginny Helmer, Guest Blogger
To the momma with empty arms,
As I’m sitting here writing this, I’m almost 36 weeks pregnant with our miracle child. Our precious and oh-so-prayed-for rainbow baby boy.
Yes, rainbow. Yes, miracle.
For almost 2 years, my husband and I suffered through infertility. Our reproductive endocrinologist gave us a less than 5% chance of ever being able to conceive on our own. Therefore, I remember Mothers Day 2018 so very well. It was my first Mother’s Day as a married woman, but also my first Mothers Day longing for a child that had not come. It was really, really hard. I felt so alone.
So, when we finally got our two pink lines almost a year later, we couldn’t stop rejoicing. Therefore, I remember Mothers Day 2019 as my first one as a mom. I was almost 9 weeks along and I was on cloud nine the entire day. I dreamed about what it would be like next Mother’s Day when my baby I was currently carrying would be here in my arms.
But just a few weeks later, even after hearing a strong heartbeat at 8 weeks, our baby died and I subsequently and traumatically miscarried at 12 weeks pregnant. Suddenly, I no longer wanted the flowers I had received as gifts for my first Mothers Day and threw them all away. I no longer felt like a mom at all. I no longer saw myself as someone worth celebrating. I was so broken and so hurt. There is no pain that can ever equal to the pain of losing a child.
Now, even though I know how blessed I am that this Mother’s Day is the greatest one yet for my husband and I, I am hurting.
I hurt for the momma who is missing her baby/babies who never made it earthside. She feels so confused. She is a mom, but her arms remain empty this Mother’s Day.
I hurt for the momma whose embryos didn’t stick, or whose IUI didn’t take. She spent so much money for a shot at achieving her dream. She is broken this Mother’s Day, and maybe questioning if she’ll ever get the chance to truly be a momma.
I hurt for the momma who has been trying to conceive for such a long time. She wants to be a mom so much it hurts her so deeply. She just keeps getting negative results, and no one can tell her why…at least not yet.
I hurt for the momma who just found out someone, or maybe more than just one someone, in her life is expecting. She wants to be happy for them and she puts on a smile and tries her best to do so, but when she gets home she is devastated and the tears won’t stop coming. She wonders, “why can’t it just be my turn?”
I hurt for the momma who has a little kid or two already, but is longing to complete her family. She is so confused on how she should feel. She is so thankful for the little ones she does have, but heartbroken that she’s not been able to conceive again. Maybe she doesn’t think her pain is valid.
I hurt for the momma who just got told her levels didn’t rise.
I hurt for the momma that just got told that there is no longer a heartbeat.
I hurt for the momma who doesn’t even get the choice to really try for who knows how long, due to COVID-19.
I hurt for the momma who woke up to a new cycle starting and is facing great disappointment.
I hurt for the momma who is overcoming her fear of needles and injecting herself with medications day and night to hopefully bring herself closer to a baby.
I hurt for the momma who feels like she is the only one in the world who is going through this.
I hurt for the momma who is suffering harsh side effects from her fertility medications and hoping and praying that they will work.
I hurt for the momma who just got her infertility diagnosis and is so confused on where to even go from here.
I hurt for the momma whose friend or family member made a comment or two that pierced so deep, yet she tries with all of her might to have grace, knowing they just don’t understand.
I hurt for the momma who can’t walk by the baby section without tears filling their eyes.
I hurt for the momma whose adoption fell through.
I hurt for the momma who was just told she has no chance of ever conceiving a child.
I hurt for the momma who is waiting on foster placements.
I hurt for the momma who feels like she’s letting everyone around her down. She wonders why her body is failing her. Did she do something wrong? Is this her fault?
I hurt for the mommas who don’t feel that they are worthy enough to be loved, celebrated, or remembered this Mother’s Day.
So, to the momma with empty arms, I want you to know this:
If you are struggling through infertility or miscarriage this Mother’s Day, know that you are seen. Know that you are important. Know that your worth is not and never will be defined by your ability to have children. Know that you are not alone. Know that you can reach out. Know that you can talk about it. Know that you are brave. Know that you are strong! Know that you have so much courage. Know that your baby’s life matters. Know that you ARE A MOM even though your baby isn’t with you today. Know that you are still just as much a momma even if you don’t feel like one and your arms are empty.
Momma, cry if you need to. Scream. Punch a punching bag. Feel the pain, the hurt, the confusion. Deactivate social media. Vent. Bake. Eat ice cream. Drink wine. Binge Netflix. Watch a movie. Skip the family gathering if you need to. Protect yourself. Love on yourself. Take care of yourself. These things that you feel – they are VALID. It’s okay to cope and heal the way that you need to.
I hope you know how amazing you are and I pray that your time is coming, babe. Until then, keep fighting. Don’t give up. Hold up your head and lean into your support system. One day at a time.
You got this, momma. And know that I am cheering you on!