Alright ladies, repeat after me:
I am strong. I am courageous. I am beautiful. I am powerful. I am enough.
I received a question from a reader of Aspire Magazine about how I dealt with my infertility, with the feelings of betrayal by my body, with never feeling like I was enough. I was so touched by her question that I was moved to share this information with all of you. It may not be infertility you’re struggling with, it may be some other type of body shame or self-loathing, but I hope my words help you regardless of what the issue is.
Here’s my honest truth: It took me over two decades to deal with my infertility and I still struggle with it some days. I pray it doesn’t take you that long to come to terms with whatever you are struggling with and I tell you my story in the hopes that it will help you.
I was unofficially diagnosed with endometriosis when I was 18; officially diagnosed when I was 21. I was 3 months shy of my wedding date. And, yes, we had the American dream of the white picket fence, the house, the dogs, the kids. That was what we both wanted. And I had just been told that hell would freeze over before I could bear child.
At 21, about to get married, I didn’t quite know what having endometriosis meant. The knowledge that I might be infertile hit me hard, but it wasn’t real to me. But as the years went on it became an issue between my ex-husband and I that ripped us apart. After 21 years together, my marriage ended – one of the keys issues being my infertility and everything that meant for us as a couple and for me and my “enoughness” issues.
What “infertility” meant to me was what I imagine most women face who deal with some type of body shame or body loathing, regardless of the reason for it. We get triggered when we feel like we are not enough. For me, the very definition of what it meant to be a woman was defined by my ability to have children. Yet, at 21, I felt I was being told that my God-given right to bear a child, and thus to be a woman, was taken from me – through no fault of my own. That was further cemented at 26 when my body entered natural menopause. (I did later heal myself back out of menopause at 35.)
When my marriage ended a month shy of my 40th birthday, I took time to heal, but I still didn’t truly deal with my infertility issues because I thought at 40, I was past my mothering years anyway and thus didn’t need to deal with it. Then I entered the dating scene. And once again, I found myself being blamed and rejected because I couldn’t have kids.
As one man after another told me, “I don’t know if I want kids, but you can’t have them and I want to leave my options open….,” I began to deal with the deep-seated pain, longing, and feelings of betrayal by my body. I was so wrapped up in this belief that to be a woman meant you had a God-given right to bear children; yet, that ability had been taken away from me, unfairly and unjustly. So what did that mean for me as a woman? I was stumped.
But Universe does not send us problems without also sending us solutions. I thought to feel whole and “enough,” I would have to somehow fix my infertility. I was wrong.
I started dating a man about a year after my divorce. I told him up front that I couldn’t have kids and, as he already had 2, he was fine with that. Not long after I started dating him, I entered perimenopause and started cycling every 2 weeks. Once I figured out what was going on and what short cycling meant, it triggered my infertility issues yet again.
He came home to find me in tears one afternoon. I had convinced myself that once he knew I was perimenopausal, he would reject me. He didn’t. Instead, he held me and said to me, “You get that you’re enough, right? I don’t care that you can’t have kids. I’m not going to leave you. I love you.”
That opened a floodgate of tears because no one had ever said those words to me around the issue of my infertility. I had been judged for over two decades at that point because of my infertility – by men, by women, by doctors, by society. And here was this man who loved me even though I felt I was flawed and broken. When he said those words, “You get that you’re enough, right?,” I started sobbing. He was so good at being a mirror for me and at making me see that I was whole and beautiful and enough – in spite of this issue. There I was, fearing he would leave me for the same reason I had been rejected before. Yet, in that moment, he opened a door for me because he helped me realize that I was enough. That my infertility didn’t define me. That it didn’t make me less of a woman. That I didn’t need to prove my worth by constantly do-ing for others because I couldn’t have kids. In that moment, my healing journey began.
I want you to do some journaling around whatever your issue is. At the very top of the page, write, “I am enough.” Then see what comes up.
After I had that initial conversation with my then-boyfriend who told me I was enough, I did this exercise myself. Immediately, my Inner Mean Girl came to the forefront with “No, you’re not. You’re broken because you can’t have kids.” But this time, I fought back. I questioned her. I told her what my boyfriend had to me. That she was wrong. That my inability to have children didn’t make me less of a woman. That I wasn’t broken. I re-asserted that statement, “I am enough.” She responded by reminding me of all the times I was sick as a child. Of all the other ways I hadn’t been “enough.” And for every objection she raised, I countered with my truth. I was done buying into her lies. Eventually I said, “I am enough,” and was met by silence. Profound, inner silence.
That’s when I finally knew I had healed. I finally realized that I am actually enough. I hope if you struggle with “enoughness” issues, you will take the time to do this exercise. I think you will find if you dig deep enough, that you too are enough. We all are.
