Less than two months ago, the whole world celebrated Mother’s Day. I saw tons of pictures of children with their parents that came with long messages flooding social media. But this is not a late Mother’s Day tribute. This letter is for wives like me who cannot call themselves “mothers” yet.
My husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for a year now without any success. I know one year is not long compared to the length of time other couples have waited. But, the pain is the same.
When I was still single, the thought of being infertile or being unable to conceive did not even cross my mind. Yes, I experienced painful dysmenorrhea every month, but I didn’t think I was unhealthy.
This letter is for the women who have been waiting to make their pregnancy announcement.
My husband and I have not taken any birth control method since the start of our marriage. We did not even consider waiting for a year or two to conceive like what others advised us to do. We were so excited! But month after month after month, nothing happened. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with us. With me.
It turns out there really was something wrong.
Forgive me if I’d rather spare you the details, but let me tell you this — I may not see you right now, we may not know each other personally, but I share your pain. I feel the pain of being a wife, but not a mother.
We can control most things in our life. The clothes we wear, the food we eat, the job we have, even the paint on our walls or the shade of lipstick we will wear for the day. But when it comes to getting pregnant, not everyone understands that we do not get to choose when it happens. We do not have control over our bodies.
I know you have experienced visiting your gynecologist with a room full of pregnant women, and you are that one woman out of 10 who is there because you can’t get pregnant. I know how you wanted to disappear and wished you didn’t come for a checkup. I know because I am that woman, too.
ADVERTISEMENT - CONTINUE READING BELOW
I know there was a day that you were scrolling through your Facebook feed only to see someone’s pregnancy announcement. You asked yourself when it would be your turn. I know you held back tears while tapping the ‘love’ button and tried hard to be happy for the mom-to-be.
I know that when you’re inside a department store, you sneak off to the baby section. Do you feel warmth when you hold tiny clothes and shoes? Does your heart skip a beat hoping that someday your little one will wear one of those?
I know how you’ve been planning your imaginary baby’s OOTDs. There are nights when you can’t help but save so many pictures of little girls’ outfits on your Pinterest.
I know that like me, you have a long list of baby names. As crazy as it may sound, you’ve even planned your future baby’s first birthday.
I’ve experienced all these, and I admit that once in a while, I still cry when I’m reminded of our situation.
I have rejoiced with others who were graced with bringing forth a new life into the world. I have cried with those who lost their babies without hearing their first cries. But there were times when I questioned God and asked, “Why me?” or “Why us?” Why did two Christians who strived and waited until after marriage have to deal with this?
If you feel that all these are unfair, then let me tell you, it’s all right to cry. It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself sometimes.
It’s also okay to hope that the next pregnancy test you take will show two lines. It’s okay to expect that this time around, your cravings are associated with pregnancy.
But while you are hoping for that day to come, don’t stop living your life to the fullest. Don’t allow your sadness or expectations to consume you and take you from experiencing the joy that life’s little things bring.
Find a support system — people who will tell you that there is hope instead of questioning your inability to bear a child. Like me, you too can hold on to the Lord’s promises and the miracles he has done for women who, like us, had difficulty conceiving.
Know that you are not fighting this battle alone. We are never alone.
This piece first appeared on Joylyn Guiao-Sigua's personal Facebook account. Edits have been made by Smart Parenting editors. A former manager turned full-time homemaker, Joylyn now writes her thoughts on her Facebook page, The Writing Missus. Through her open letter, Joylyn hopes other women in the same situation as hers know that someone else shares their pain and that they are not alone.