In many respects, the prospect of permanent infertility is akin to a terminal diagnosis. The weight can feel heavy, almost unbearable. This life - this existence - is for a more magnanimous purpose: to be in relationship with God and to share in His own blessed life. We do not earn it; it is pure gift at the cost of Jesus' Passion, death and resurrection. Indeed, your life has not ended, it has changed.

When I hate my heart and body with all its problems that make me permanently infertile, I see a heart that was pierced for me and loves me when I can't love myself. If that perfect heart can love my imperfect one, then maybe I am worthy of love. When your heart can't take anymore, let His heart carry yours.

Mirabel Madrigal is the only member of her extraordinary family who didn't receive a magical gift. If you've walked the road of infertility, you know exactly what that feels like. Young Mirabel approaches her magical door on the night she's supposed to receive her gift. Her family gathers. And then... nothing. The door disappears. She becomes the only Madrigal without a gift in a family where gifts define identity and value. I remember my own "door ceremony." Each month, the

A huge part of carrying the cross of infertility is feeling like we have so much love in our hearts with nowhere for it to go. While nothing can replace motherhood, not having children does not mean we have nothing to offer the world. The Holy Spirit endows each of us with special charisms intended to build up those around us. We are not without mission. We are not without purpose.

Visio Divina is simply sitting with an image and taking time to reflect on the deeper points of faith that the picture is guiding us towards. By meditating on these three paintings of Mary, we hope you can enter into a deeper relationship with not only our Mother, but her Son that she always points us toward. God can speak to us and nourish us in images as much as in quiet prayer or scripture.

May is the month of Mary. For many of us, that sentence lands differently depending on the season of life we're in. If you're in the thick of infertility, loss, or grief, the month of May can feel like a quiet ache. And yet, here she is. Our Lady. Waiting. If your relationship with Mary is complicated? Good. You're in the right place. That's where most of us started, too.

Life can be both beautiful and hard at the same time, and our task is to learn how to live that reality without hardening our hearts. I have never felt more broken and grateful at the same time. There's a freedom in acknowledging that you can't control everything. Perhaps joy isn't about forcing yourself to feel better, but about taking small, honest steps and allowing both pain and beauty to coexist.

This week is Infertility Awareness Week, and we are here to remind you that you are not alone in your journey, whatever that may look like. Over the past 5 years, The Fruitful Hollow has shared hundreds of stories about walking this road and we will continue to accompany you. You are seen and heard, part of a community that has wounds like yours. We are holding you close this week.

Christ's glorified body bore the marks of His suffering, not as ongoing pain, but as eternal testimony. Our scars from infertility might not be things God erases in eternity, but things He transforms. Not sources of ongoing pain, but testimonies of His faithfulness through suffering. We don't worship a God who erases our stories. We worship a God who redeems them, scars and all.

I sat in the pew, raw and bleeding. How could no one see this wound? Then, during Communion, we began to sing the Anima Christi. I've sung this prayer countless times before, but something shifted when we reached the line: "Within your wounds hide me." The words pierced through me. Why would we ask to be hidden inside wounds? Wounds are places of pain, of brokenness, of vulnerability. They're the last place anyone would choose as a hiding spot.