Exposed.

I was thinking about yesterday’s entry. Feeling embarrassed. Even though I don’t think a single soul will ever really read this, I still feel exposed. Like some old boyfriend or long, lost friend will stumble across some of these embarrassing realities.

Infertility is embarrassing. It’s like something is wrong with you or you’re not good enough. Inadequate.

It’s tragic, really. The thoughts you have. I'm not worthy of procreation...I'm somehow being punished...

For both my husband and me, it honestly seems unless you live it, no one really understands what we’ve gone through the last decade. Do people really try to empathize with others? 

I actually recall being in high school and reading about infertility for the first time. Being the sensitive soul I am, I was disturbed for days worrying for all those people living that reality. Honest to goodness.  Never in a million years did I think it would happen to me.

I guess that last statement is unfair. It’s not just happening to me. It’s also happening to my husband. And oddly enough, I feel to blame. Like this whole infertility thing is my fault. Like I am the one who is un-whole. Could be the way the process is set up. Even though endless amount of testing has revealed no problems for either of us, doctors never cease to tell us during each and every treatment how wonderful my husband’s sperm is. So it’s gotta me my fault it’s not working. Right?

Anyway, I hear myself often saying and writing that we are on the last stretch of our infertility journey. But in reality, I don’t think there will ever be a real end. In fact, if we do not have our own children, I’m pretty certain it will haunt me until the day I die.