Struggling For My Faith Through Infertility

My journey to find peace and joy through Christ did not come easy.  It was filled with many moments of anger and bitterness through infertility.  I was often so angry with Heavenly Father because I thought I had been doing things the “right” way.  After years of inactivity, I came back to church – my heart broken and my spirit contrite.  I knew what I wanted in life and I had a new desire to strive for an eternal family.  I wanted nothing more than to bring heavenly children into the world.  I met my husband and very quickly we realized we both wanted the same things and we wanted them together.  And so we began dating and within a year we were married in the temple.  I felt like I was finally on the right path to eternal happiness.

We decided we would wait one year to even begin starting our family.  We were very adamant about this decision because we wanted more time to get to know each other.  We knew once kids were in the picture we would have a very different life.  We enjoyed our first year together and as sure as we “planned” to begin trying to expand our family, Heavenly Father said, “Nah…I think you need to wait a bit longer.”

The waiting wasn’t even the worst part.  It was the not knowing.  Not understanding why, after we did everything we were supposed to be doing, we couldn’t fulfill this one promise to have children.  I mean, it was in my patriarchal blessing.  Doesn’t it mean it’s supposed to happen?  We paid our tithing, we were active at church, we went to the temple, we did our best to serve others.  Why were we being denied these blessings?  Only recently have I realized how much these thoughts were like the Pharisees.  I had formed this belief that all of my good deeds should be equating to this incredible blessing of being a mother, so where was it?  I was focusing solely on my good deeds and not on the Savior. 

We began infertility testing only months after our “expand the family” adventure had begun.  I had many people tell me I was silly for going to the doctor so early because it could take 1 to 2 years of trying before we got pregnant, but I knew in my heart something wasn’t working right.  I just couldn’t explain what the feeling was.  Eventually I came to understand this was a heavenly prompting.  So I had started the blood tests, then the meds, then more blood tests, pokes, and prods.  Those were some of the darkest months of my life.  I had already felt broken, but I was only just beginning to understand the severity.  And what I didn’t realize was how much it was breaking my Spirit. 

But as they say, when one door closes, another opens.  Being childless and with Michael working weekends, I began filling my free time serving as an ordinance worker at the temple.  I wanted to feel closer to my Heavenly Father by serving other women in His house.  While serving, we also continued with infertility testing to narrow down why I couldn’t get pregnant.  I was ovulating which meant my ovaries were working as they should, but something still wasn’t functioning properly.

Nothing in life could have possibly prepared me for the next year and a half of duality struggles I endured through this time.  There were days of amazing highs.  Serving in the temple brought such an incredible peace and reassurance that God had not forgotten me, but there was still something more we needed to learn, something we needed to experience.  I tried to cling to remembering Christ had suffered all things for us and He knew what I was going through.  Being in the temple helped.  I slowly found joy and peace there.

But it was also filled with some of the worst lows.  I remember one Saturday assisting with a family sealing.  I was in the youth center with two children who were soon to be sealed to their parents.  While we were waiting for the time to take them back, they filled out a journal sheet about their experience.  I remember them reading to me and it took everything in me to keep it together.  They talked about how excited they were to be a forever family.  There was something about their beautiful innocence that just racked my soul.  I was beginning to doubt if this was something we’d ever know.  Shortly after they were taken back, I excused myself to a corner and just cried.  I still felt so broken. 

This happened often at the temple.  Crying for the one desire of my heart I was still missing.  My anger for God continued to spread like a virus.  I was still doing all the things I was supposed to, but the one blessing we desired still wasn’t coming.  I kept hearing time and time again about these amazing stories of how miracles were performed and blessings filled for others.  I started hearing all of the standard platitudes well-meaning people recite to help with your dwindling belief: Everything happens for a reason.  There is a time and season for everything.  Heavenly Father doesn’t give you more than you can handle.  If not in this life, then the next.  But it hurt more than it helped and I began to lose sight of the bigger picture.  A word of caution as written by Jeffrey Reber and Steven Moody in “Are We Special?”:

Blessings or miracles do not truly uplift us or encourage us.  They might just as well discourage us.  It is always only the Savior, our God, whom Job loved no matter what blessings or curses came his way, whom we must worship, and from whom our encouragement comes.  Like Job, our focus must be on the root, not the fruit of the branches.  It must be on the alter and not the gift we receive.

How I wish I could be as Job in those moments, to be able to continue to cleave to God.  To be able to cry to Him saying “though he slay me, yet will I trust him.” [Job 13:15].  But I didn’t.  Church inevitably became painful, especially up to when I found out I couldn’t get pregnant on my own.  I was still attending, but I began separating myself from anything which would stir up those feelings of brokenness, inadequacy, and defeat.  Any Relief Society activities geared toward motherhood were off the table.  Mother’s Day at church was soon replaced with staying home and crying.  I became so bitter through those moments, but on the surface, I looked fine.  Because I knew I didn’t want anyone else to see how much I struggled.  I didn’t want anyone else to see the twinge of pain on my face when I knew they were trying to be helpful.

One of my favorite talks given at one of my lowest moments is from Elder Holland in October of 2013.  I remember it well because I remember finding out days earlier our infertility diagnosis.  I remember just crying in my car that day, the words of my doctor replaying in my head saying IVF was now our only option, but the chances of success were not high.  My brokenness was now a complete shatter.  I didn’t think the pieces could be put back together.  I posted a blog later in the day and shortly received an email from my dear friend:

You have now joined the ranks of some of the most amazing women in the history of the world like Sarah, Hannah and Elizabeth.  These are the women who became intimately and acutely aware of the Lord in their lives as they learned about his plan and his timing and the richness of his blessings.  It's a pretty elite club, and now you get to run with these women!  No doubt they were crying with you today, as they once walked that path.  I hope you feel them near and see yourself in them--who they were and who they became.

Then just a few days later, Elder Holland gave his beautiful talk about being a broken vessel.

Whatever your struggle…—mental or emotional or physical or otherwise…Trust in God. Hold on in His love. Know that one day the dawn will break brightly and all shadows of mortality will flee. Though we may feel we are “like a broken vessel,” as the Psalmist says, we must remember, that vessel is in the hands of the divine potter…While God is at work making those repairs, the rest of us can help by being merciful, nonjudgmental, and kind.

Here I was, at my absolute lowest of lows.  I spiraled into depression wondering daily if I was enough, if I could ever be whole when I couldn’t do what women are supposed to.  And my friend knew what needed to be said to help me from feeling completely broken.  I then remember hearing Elder Holland and just breaking down.  The words from her and Elder Holland helped me to feel the love of my Savior so much stronger.  They both brought me such an immense peace like I hadn’t felt through my entire hardship.  It doesn’t mean I didn’t continue to struggle, but it was what I needed to get through that moment and to the next. 

As time went by, our focus shifted from infertility testing to adoption.  I tried to stay cautiously optimistic, but my hopes were shattered time and time again.  Many of the heartaches I had experience with testing crept back in.  I continued to struggle with my purpose, my faith, and my overall relationship with Christ as we encountered circumstances through the adoption process we never thought would happen.  Internet strangers who prayed on the financial and emotional pain of others.  Hopefuls who after weeks of correspondence just disappeared.  More platitudes made out of blissful ignorance.  The vicious cycle would never end.  Even after our daughter was born, I still continued to struggle as new pains of motherhood appeared.  But through it all, I tried to hold onto those words from her and Elder Holland.  They continued to be the reminder I needed to find peace in Christ again.

Sisters, act on those promptings, but remember those words from Elder Holland: merciful, nonjudgmental, and kind.  Remember them for when you hear of a fellow sister struggling.  Sometimes the platitudes hurt more than they help.  Express Christ’s love for each other by simply being there.  Bring flowers, cookies, invite her out to lunch or a movie.  Just be with her.  Every hardship feels lonely, not just infertility.  She may be struggling with her faith and feeling love from her Savior.  She may have issues feeling alone.  She may be struggling to feel like a good mom, sister, wife, or friend.  Be the love and comfort she needs.  I think oftentimes we get so caught up in the idea that we need to preach to each other in order to fully feel like we’re serving in the church, but I’m here to tell you – and not just from my own experiences – some of the most powerful draws back to our Heavenly Father have been through just feeling loved by a sister – no gospel lesson needed.

To my beautiful sisters who are struggling.  I don’t know your hardship, but I know how intimate it feels to be broken.  I know how much anger, bitterness, and betrayal can course through your veins at times.  I know how hurt and heartbroken it feels when it seems like everyone else is being blessed with what you want, except you.  I know there may be moments when you have no strength to put on a brave front and face the masses.  I know because I have been there.  And I’m here to tell you it’s okay. 

It's okay to not be okay.  We are humans.  We can experience human emotions and still be righteous Saints in the process.  Sometimes the most healing part of grieving or misery is sitting in your emotions and letting the pain of lost dreams wash over you.  It’s all part of the process of being on earth.  There is no path around it.  You can try and distract, ignore, or even numb it, but there is no cheating pain.  You will walk through the darkest of nights.  But please don’t forget, you are not alone.  You are not forgotten.  Even Christ felt abandoned in the garden during his darkest moment before his death.  Christ loves you.  It may be hard to believe in those moments, but He was sent here to atone for us all and He does know every pain and heartache you are feeling.  He knows the emptiness and loneliness.  He tells us in John, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”  [John 14:18.]  Cling to that.  Cling to Him.  But if it’s too hard to remember – because I know it can be – there are always sisters around you to step in.  It is my prayer you always remember that.  In the name of Jesus Christ, amen. 

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