Owning It (IV/XII)

A few months ago, I wrote a friend after reading her blog where she shared her and her husband's journey through infertility and adoption. I sensed the weight of emotion and heartache and wanted to encourage her somehow. In that message I explained that I wasn't married or trying to have children, but heard her struggle and understood part of it in some way. She responded back with "Any deferred hope makes the heart sick! I think the pain of infertility transcends babies and relates to any unmet desire."

I pondered her words. Did I agree?

After mulling it over, I finally rested on a yes. But part of me wanted to minimize singlehood. Minimize what I was feeling. Surely it isn't the pain of infertility. But in some way, there are ties. Again, from The Gospel of Ruth, Carolyn Custis James breaks down the main players in the book of Ruth: Naomi, Ruth, and Boaz. At the heart of the women's burden is widowhood and barrenness. Two things I don't directly struggle with. But I found myself connecting with just about every sentence as she described the significance of the battles facing these women, and women today. And I kept thinking, I know she's talking about widowhood, but this resonates with me! I have not lost a husband, but I have never found one either. There is something similar in that. I don't have a child, and although I am not trying to have one and don't find myself in the place of discovering I can't have one, at the end of the day...both woman's arms are empty. I understand this could be touchy territory here. I don't claim to know what it feels like to lose a husband or to hear the words "You can't bear children," but I do know what it feels like to never have experienced life with a husband and to never have carried a child inside my belly. There are aches that some things just can't fill. And so when I read my friend's words, I paused. She was giving me the freedom to feel this. To acknowledge this is real. 

Those who know me know I don't like drama. I may be female, but I loathe any amount of it. It feels irrational, emotional, out of control even.

I like even keel. I like composure. I like to keep myself in control. So in acknowledging singlehood for what it is, I feel I'm embracing drama as I wave the handkerchief to my forehead and sigh in a Scarlett O'Hara-esque sort of way (who by the way, may be uber dramatic but is also one tough cookie!).

But it is real. It is emotional. And it is out of my control. Denying that, and trying to bury it in the ground, doesn't do me any good.

Name it. Own it. And then deal with it.



~Musical selection(s) that have met me in this stage of the journey:
     Black Roses Red - Alana Grace
     Barren Land - Shane & Shane (I couldn't find anything more than just the lyrics)



Look for the next installment at the end of this week - the real meat and potatoes as we'll get to the heart of who we are as women...