This morning I woke up before the sun. The world was still, the city not yet buzzing, and for a brief moment, it felt like I could just be. Coffee in hand, blanket around my shoulders, I sat in the quiet and let myself breathe. I am sharing with you pieces of my journal entry from this morning.
Lately, I’ve been carrying so much. The weight of waiting, the questions that never seem to have answers, the ache of wanting something that feels just out of reach. Infertility has a way of making time feel heavy, like you’re living in slow motion while the rest of the world speeds ahead.
Sometimes I feel strong, ready to face another day of appointments and calendars and hope. Other times, the smallest thing – a commercial, a conversation, a piece of news – can known the air right out of me. I’m learning that both are true. That strength and fragility can sit side by side, and maybe that’s okay.
There are moments I wonder if I should be further along by now, more “healed”, more at peace, more hopeful. But the truth is, some days are harder than others. And in those harder days, I’m trying to remind myself that it’s enough to simply show up. To make my coffee. To step outside for fresh air. To write these words.
What I’ve been learning is that healing isn’t a destination. It’s found in the smallest, quietest things: a candle burning on the table, the softness of a blanket, a conversation with someone who listens without fixing. These tiny anchors don’t erase the pain, but they hold me steady when the waves feel strong.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. But right now, in this moment, I’m here, and that is enough.
“Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.'”
– Mary Anne Radmacher