I broke into a million pieces, and I can’t go back This is the truth infertility forces us to face: we can’t go back. We can’t return to who we were before the diagnosis, before the loss, before the treatments, before the years of waiting. That version of ourselves—the one who believed our bodies would cooperate, who thought motherhood was just a matter of timing, who hadn’t yet learned what it means to grieve something that never was—she’s gone. 

If you’re like me in any way, you thrive on connection. That sense of belonging, of sharing the inside joke or seeing someone’s eyes light up when they see you, the hum of energy in a crowd or the chuckle to yourself at reading a loved one’s silly text. The community to support you when all else around you doesn’t make sense. Even the most introverted person needs connection, though it could look differently than an extrovert like me. Even if your village is small, it is stil

O Holy night! The stars are brightly shining What if my stars seem so dim and far away Lord? When others seem to rest constantly in Your light and love?  It is the night of our dear Savior's birth Birth. The dreaded word. On a holiday that can wound more than heal for me and for so many others. The little stockings never hung on the wall. The excited pitter patter never reaching my ears.  Long lay the world in sin and error pining What was my sin? Our sin? What do I have to d