Dear friend struggling at that baby shower,
Even if only you and I are aware of it, you did amazing today at that baby shower despite your heavy heart. You were supportive and loving while wondering when it will be your baby who is showered with gifts. I know how hard it was. I know that pain. I know what a great effort it took to smile in all those pictures. How you laughed off all the thoughtless, though well-intended comments is nothing short of remarkable. Comments like “you’re next”, or – even worse – “what are you guys waiting for?” And yet you managed to be truly excited for a sibling and your upcoming role as aunt, yet at the same time feeling an intense emptiness in your own body.
I know that anger you have towards your body. The frustration of idiotic advice like, “Just relax. It will happen when you are not thinking about it.” I understand the desire to want to scream at these people because relaxing won’t fix a broken body. And broken is exactly how it feels when you can’t do what should be “natural.”
I have often felt betrayed by my body.
My intention is not to tell you it will get easier or better or that it will be your shower one day. I don’t know what the future holds for you. What I do know is that today you were full of grace and beauty. That today you smiled in pictures and hugged endless numbers of people because you are a wonderful friend and sister. I know today was hard for you and you still rocked it. I’m proud of you but more importantly, you should be proud of you.
“People talk about the miracle of birth. No. There’s the miracle of conception. I did IVF, but nothing happened. So I began to think of adoption, and then I got pregnant. It was definitely a miracle.”
“Anyone that’s been in the place of wanting another child or wanting a child knows the disappointment, the pain, and the loss that you go through trying and struggling with fertility.
On her miscarriage: “I was pregnant for the first time and I heard the heartbeat, which was the most beautiful music I ever heard in my life. I picked out names, I envisioned what my child would look like … I was feeling very maternal. I flew back to New York to get my check up — and no heartbeat. Literally the week before I went to the doctor, everything was fine, but there was no heartbeat. I went into the studio and wrote the saddest song I’ve ever written in my life. And it was actually the first song I wrote for my album. And it was the best form of therapy for me, because it was the saddest thing I’ve ever been through.”