Yes, it's Mother's Day weekend again. It's that most horrible day in the entire year once more.
It's that day when social media is plastered with pictures of old and new families showing off their first, fifth, or fiftieth Mother's Day in your face. It's the day when every single restaurant is filled with promotions that don't apply to you. It's the day when every single time or place is a reminder of what we want and cannot have.
I've been there, I'm still there, and I will be here for as long as Providence wants me to be.
I'm happily married to a wonderful husband. We get to travel and save up and honeymoon forever in ways our peers who are tied down with kids can't. We have mothers and grandmothers who love us and pray for us, and we celebrate them. Life is good. But still, infertility sucks.
It takes a while for the term to sink in, doesn't it? In-fertility: what a term. It's as if we're rotten, incomplete, or broken. "Single" is a different term from "married" altogether. "Joy" and "sadness" even sound unalike. But "infertility"? That's labeling us by something we don't have. It's like being called abnormal, imperfect, or substandard.
And it stings like crazy.
It took me two years and a gazillion articles before I could accept the label. It takes time to acknowledge that maybe the timeline of my life isn't the norm. And it also takes time to accept that I can be happy exactly where I am.
And then the second Sunday of May happens.
Boom! The floodgates open, and I am a sobbing mess once more.
There's nothing wrong with Mother's Day. It's wonderful to celebrate the love of mothers everywhere, and it's perfectly fine to share that joy publicly.
But for those of us who pine so painfully, try so relentlessly, pray so unceasingly, and yearn so deeply for children - but don't have them - Mother's Day can feel like a slap on the face.
It's like Valentine's Day for singles, I know.
And it's a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone.
I know what it feels like to be mistaken for pregnant at a mall, given a free item, and have that item taken back once they realize I was just fat. I know what it feels like to attend a family reunion where every woman greets the other ladies enthusiastically with a loud, cheery, "Happy Mother's Day!" only to stop awkwardly when they get to me.
I've even stood to the side at church, trying to subdue my tears while all the other women greet each other. Then in the midst of my vehement struggle, a young mom who was formerly facing infertility rushes up to me to say, "Wen! Look! I have a baby now! Come see! Come see!"
For a day so wonderful and warm and full of maternal love, today sure sucks.
But it doesn't end there.
Thank God, it doesn't end there.
Because I am living for something greater than myself.
Ladies, meet Jesus. He is the Lover of My Soul. He is the ever-living God. He is everything I could ever want and everything I have.
And He doesn't love me any less even if I never have children.
In fact, He gives me anything that could possibly be good for me. After all, there is no good thing that He withholds from those who walk His way.
I love Him.
And He loves me.
That is more than the love any throngs of children could give me.
He shows His love in so many ways, including through a devoted husband.
And whether or not I have children one day will never diminish how much I am worth to Him. He will never greet me by an earthly label and then apologize for His mistake. He will never stare awkwardly at me, not knowing what to say. He will also never measure me by how I compare to the expected norms of life.
And because of Him, I can watch others celebrate and not find myself lacking. Because of Him, I can learn to be joyful in all circumstances. Because of Him, I can survive the onslaught of Mother's Day.
Would you let Him do the same for you?
Love,
Wenslyn
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