Healing. It's a simple word really.
heal·ing
A wound? You get a scab, it falls off, sometimes we're left with a scar but, the actual wound, it's healed. I'm talking about the rest, the internal wounds - mistrust, sorrow, fear, hurt - how do you heal those? How do you know when you're healed? Who decides?
I look back often to our struggles with infertility, one of the biggest struggles I have been given. At this point, I would say my wounds are very close to healed. It's been six, long years and I'm still not all the way there.
I reflect often on the footprints poem, "it was then that I carried you." I truly believe now that God was carrying me, that God did have a plan for us. But, I couldn't see it until I was on this side of it. I know now, and I know with absolute certainty that Jeremy and I could not conceive a child because God was sending Jacob to us. I believe it with all of my heart. I have accepted that...mostly. I still have little 'what-if' or maybes but, then I remember that this, this is my path. I remember that I am blessed with an amazing child that warms (and infuriates) my heart with every smile, every tear, every laugh, and every "Love you, mom". I remember that I was put here to be his mom, and he is here to be my son.
I struggle most with forgiving people for being so insensitive during that time - whether they meant to or not. And I don't think my hurt will truly be healed until I learn to forgive them but, wow! It's hard! I often think of this quote:
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” ― Maya Angelou
Sadly, it's true. I have forgotten the exact words they used but, I haven't forgotten how their words, their actions/reactions and the lack thereof - or how I internalized what people have said (or still say) to me. I don't know if I can forget how it feels to be a failure. To be different. To be less. To not measure up. To always feel second best. To have never given birth. To have never breastfed. To have never been pregnant. To never understand. To have never felt a life growing inside - the product of you and one that you love to the moon and back, that you couldn't imagine living without. To have failed my husband. And oddly enough, to hurt from those who refused to even acknowledge that we couldn't accomplish this simple task. I mean - young girls all over this country can get pregnant without even trying and we, as adults can't suceed. It still stings a little. I don't know that this side-effect can ever truly heal.
I honestly hope that I can walk away from this lesson and do no harm to another. I pray for the right words when I need them to be able to help someone else through their hurt. To help them heal.
heal·ing
Yet so many variations, physical, psychological, emotional, mental, physiological, holistic, spiritual, and the list goes on and on and on.
I guess, my question lies in when do we know we're healed?
I guess, my question lies in when do we know we're healed?
A wound? You get a scab, it falls off, sometimes we're left with a scar but, the actual wound, it's healed. I'm talking about the rest, the internal wounds - mistrust, sorrow, fear, hurt - how do you heal those? How do you know when you're healed? Who decides?
I look back often to our struggles with infertility, one of the biggest struggles I have been given. At this point, I would say my wounds are very close to healed. It's been six, long years and I'm still not all the way there.
I struggle most with forgiving people for being so insensitive during that time - whether they meant to or not. And I don't think my hurt will truly be healed until I learn to forgive them but, wow! It's hard! I often think of this quote:
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” ― Maya Angelou
Sadly, it's true. I have forgotten the exact words they used but, I haven't forgotten how their words, their actions/reactions and the lack thereof - or how I internalized what people have said (or still say) to me. I don't know if I can forget how it feels to be a failure. To be different. To be less. To not measure up. To always feel second best. To have never given birth. To have never breastfed. To have never been pregnant. To never understand. To have never felt a life growing inside - the product of you and one that you love to the moon and back, that you couldn't imagine living without. To have failed my husband. And oddly enough, to hurt from those who refused to even acknowledge that we couldn't accomplish this simple task. I mean - young girls all over this country can get pregnant without even trying and we, as adults can't suceed. It still stings a little. I don't know that this side-effect can ever truly heal.
I honestly hope that I can walk away from this lesson and do no harm to another. I pray for the right words when I need them to be able to help someone else through their hurt. To help them heal.
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