this is how it is. heart break.

I used to think that "heartbreak" was just a turn of phrase. A description angsty teenagers would use when life disappointed them. Now... I feel differently. I think you can experience moments in life that are so crushing, your heart physically feels as if it is breaking apart. At least, I have.

Today marked the end of another month for me. Or the beginning of a new month, I guess, technically speaking. I am not pregnant. Again. Still.

And I am shattered. physically. emotionally. mentally. spiritually.

When we started the journey into fertility treatments a year and a half ago, I was bright-eyed and hopeful. Full of blind faith, I felt that "Hey, we've realized there's a problem here. But we found people who can help. And pretty soon we'll fix the issue, and I can go out and join the rest of the expectant motherhood. And we will get our little miracle and all will be well."

And the first month came and went. And the second....

Now I am fragile. I hold myself carefully, as if I were made of glass and one wrong move will break me into a thousand pieces. Literally. A month or so ago, we were sitting in church and I actually glanced down to make sure I was still in one piece.

I pause before walking out the door to take a mental inventory of my readiness to face the world - the ubiquitous pregnant gym members, the round-faced babies watching me in the checkout line, the baby baptisms during church. I warily scroll down my Facebook page, unsure who will be announcing they are expecting, or delivering, or chronicling their infant's milestones. I hold my breath when answering the phone, and avoid committing to holiday plans or family gatherings until the last minute, when I can judge how well I will function amidst the festivities that day.

Because I think I am so important others should restrict themselves from sharing the joy of their experiences? Not at all. Children are one of the most wonderful blessings you could ever be privileged to receive. And if you should be so blessed, then by all means, shout it from the rooftops! I would :) No, I have simply come to realize that there are days when I have the emotional fortitude to share in those announcements and celebrations. And days where I do not.

I read once, that the struggle with infertility is painful because it is a balancing act between hoping to conceive, and grieving the loss of a baby you will never know. Again and again and again.

Infertility is, indeed, a very painful struggle. The pain is similar to the grief over losing a loved one, but it is unique because it is a recurring grief. [...] You must work through the stages of grief, accept that you will never see this person again, and move on with your life. The grief of infertility is not so cut and dry. [...] Each month, there is the hope that maybe that baby will be conceived after all. No matter how hard they try to prepare themselves for bad news, they still hope that this month will be different. Then, the bad news comes again, and the grief washes over the infertile couple anew. This process happens month after month, year after year. It is like having a deep cut that keeps getting opened right when it starts to heal.

So I begin month 63 of this journey. As I sit in J's arms, he knows to hold me tight, because I am afraid that on my own I will crash to the floor in a thousand tiny pieces. And in my chest, I can feel my heart break, again.