Tell Your Story

I have a vivid memory from my pre-teen years. I don't remember my exact age, probably around 11 or 12. I remember being in our church looking at the bulletin board and seeing a poster. The picture on the poster was of a woman huddled up in a corner with the saddest look in her eyes. It was a poster for infertility. It stated a statistic of the percentage of woman who suffered from infertility and a number to call for help. I remember thinking it was an awfully high number and that I was so glad that that woman wasn't me.

Fast forward 4-5 years. That woman was me. 

Never in my wildest dreams would I, at the impressionable age of 12, have imagined that the woman in the poster would become me. That her story would become my story. When I first found out, I was in shock (obviously) and then I very quickly withdrew. I chose not to talk about it. I chose to suffer in silence. Every night for months I cried alone to God, because I felt that He was the only one I could talk to. As far as I could see, no one else was going through what I was going through, and therefore no one else could understand the intensity of my pain. I'm not trying to say that God wasn't enough. He was and He is. But I honestly believed that I was alone, humanly speaking. I didn't talk about it with my parents or my friends. That summer was unbearable for me. I lost myself in a hole so deep that I couldn't see the light any more. 

That fall I went to Millar and it was there that I first told my story. Each student is paired up with a mentor for the year. The first year students got third year mentors. My mentor happened to also be my hall leader and we hit it off from the very beginning. She stood with me in the parking lot as I watched my parents drive away on that very first day, trying to hold back the tears. I remember a couple months into the school year thinking "I need to tell her. I need to tell her." I was literally drowning. I had pressed it down so deep that it was consuming me. I felt like if I didn't tell someone I would burst. And yet, telling someone absolutely terrified me. I was scared of what they would say. I was scared that I would come across as weak and someone to pity. Eventually it got to the point where I just didn't care any more. I knew I would be a mess. I couldn't even bring it to mind without bursting into tears. I was still extremely fragile. I remember picking the time I was going to tell her and feeling sorry for what I was about to put her through! 

I barely squeaked out the words "Can I tell you something?" before bursting into tears. I blubbered my way through the rest of my story and she just sat and listened. I don't even remember what she said. I do remember that she held me and let me cry. And I remember that right there, in that small dorm room, healing began.

I am so different now. I don't like to think back and remember those days but when I do, I never fail to be completely amazed at where God brought me from. After I told my mentor, I began to tell others. Close friends at first, people I knew I could trust, then I started talking about it with my family, to the point where it even came up in conversation sometimes. I have another vivid memory of sitting in a restaurant with my mom, my sister and my aunt. We started talking about how funny it would be if my mom were to be a surrogate for me and how she could write a book and would call it something like "I'm Pregnant with my Grandchild," and we were laughing! All out, tears flowing down our face, laughing! This was the first time since that day in April when my world came crashing down, that I was able to talk about it without crying, and that I could actually LAUGH about it! I remember thinking right there "Someday, I'm going to be able to use this story as a testimony of God's goodness."

2 years ago I shared my story publicly for the first time. I stood up in front of a packed church and I cried as I shared things that not many people knew. Even my parents heard pieces of the story they had never heard before. I made myself vulnerable because I knew how telling my story brought about healing. I saw how God used the experience to draw me closer to Him and I wanted to bring Him glory by sharing it with others. I wanted other to know that they were not alone. 

Since I've started telling my story, I've seen something miraculous happen. I would get emails from friends, or from acquaintances who would share with me that they too were going through the journey of infertility. Sometimes friends would email and tell me that they had a friend struggling, and would ask if I would talk to them. And I realized, for the first time, that I wasn't alone. There were other women out there, hurting just like I hurt. And I knew that I had to keep telling my story, for them. To help them, to encourage them, to let them know that they were not alone. 

So tell your story. We all have one. Tell it, for you never know how it might help someone else. Someone could be going through something that you've already gone through. Give them hope. Because you never know, a day might come when you feel alone, like no one else understands. And that's when someone might tell you their story.