A fictional letter written by Lydia van der Wel

Dear Friends,

Thanks for asking about how you can support me at the moment. I’ve been struggling with infertility now for about 18 months.  I want to be really honest with you about things that hurt me and things that help.

Throwaway lines hurt pretty deeply even though people barely realise what they say.  These include comments like, “It’s about time for you to have kids”, “Wait til you have kids, then you’ll know the meaning of tired…” or “Don’t have kids they’re hard work.” 

Most of you don’t have medical training.  So when you start suggesting remedies, treatments or cures I smile and nod but inside I’ve switched off.  I’ve been poked and prodded evasively by many doctors, done my own research, and checked out alternative treatments.  I don’t need medical advice.  That’s covered.

And when it comes to treatments and ethics, please don’t share your opinions until I ask for them.  These issues are between God, my husband and me.  We’ll seek godly counsel and it might be yours, but please wait until we’re ready to hear it.

Success stories wear a bit thin after a few years.  I know people exist who have been barren for 11 years and then had four children.  But my heart can’t hold onto such a hope.  I need to live in the reality that I don’t have kids.  And I might never! 

And I know you’ve heard of infertile couples who fell pregnant after selling all they had and going on a holiday… or moving to a warmer climate… or seeing some Chinese doctor… or going vegetarian.  But if I followed every ingredient of every success story I’ve heard, I’d be broke and probably still not pregnant.  When you feel the urge to say, “I know a couple who…” please stop. 

One thing I hear so often is, “Just relax – you want it too much.”  Well of course I want it – didn’t you when you tried to fall pregnant and succeeded!  When you say this it, I feel guilty – as if it’s my fault I’m not pregnant.  Statistics show that 80% of fertility problems come from diagnosable causes, so relaxing does nothing to cure them!

It’s often said to me, “It’ll happen one day”.  I know you want to encourage me but unless you can see God’s plans for me, those words are actually meaningless.

Often you try to encourage me with “God’s in control”, “It’ll happen in God’s time” or “Just pray about it”.  You and I know these things are true, but when you tack them on the end of a brief conversation, it seems to me like you’re just trying to avoid the bigger, uncomfortable questions I have.  If God is in control and kids are a blessing – why is he withholding them from me?  Has he forgotten me?  Does he love me? 

I know in my head God’s in control but my heart is breaking and I need you to let me speak in my rawness – like David does in the Psalms – pouring out my heart to God, asking him my questions, and being broken before him.  And then, only then, gently point me to God.  Remind me of God who loves me (because sometimes I truly wonder if he does).  Point me to God who holds me and comforts me and only does what is best.

Often people say, “You can always adopt” - as if it is some consolation prize.  If we’re going to adopt (and that’s not certain), it’s not because we lucked out on the real deal.  It will be because we feel that’s what God wants for us.

As you read this, you may feel bad because you’ve said some of these things.  Know that I don’t say this to make you feel guilty – I know they are natural reactions and well meaning.  I’m just letting you see how my heart works.

And there is plenty that you can do. 

One of the best things you can do is listen to me.  Ask me questions about what it is like, rather than trying to provide answers.  I often feel very alone in my struggle, so having a friend to share how I feel is a huge relief.

And as I speak, I might cry.  Please just let me – I need to let it out sometimes.  Feel free to cry with me and give me hugs – I need plenty of them.  And please understand that I might talk about the same struggle over and over again.  Like all grief, it takes time to find peace.  So please just keep listening and be patient.  One day this grief will subside and then you’ll have your happy friend back again, but til then, please stick by me, because I need you.

Something that might help you be patient is reading a bit about the struggle I face.  I can recommend some books and there is plenty of information on the Internet.   

We’re all different when it comes to what sort of support we need, so don’t assume that if you would like one type of support, I’d like the same.  Just ask me what is most helpful.  I’ll try to be honest.  Some of us like being asked about how we are going or how doctor appointments are going etc.  Others prefer to keep it quiet and will bring it up with you when they need to talk.  And either way, some days, I mightn’t need to talk because I’m okay.

Also, my journey isn’t predictable for me or anyone else.  Some days I think I’m fine and then fall apart or vice versa.  So if you’re wondering how I’m going or if something is particularly difficult for me at the moment, you’ll need to ask. 

So even though it’s hard to ask, I appreciate questions like, “Am I talking about my kids too much?” or “Is it hard to be around my kids at the moment?”  “Is helping out with creche too much at the moment?”  Often, I’ll be okay with it, but you asking the question shows that you are aware of my struggle and that means so much to me. 

This sensitivity is so important.  When you send me an invite to a baby shower, a little note at the bottom saying “I’d love you to come but understand if you don’t” means you understand if I have to decline the invite.  Remembering me at births or baptisms or on Mothers’ day also means a lot to me.  A card, a hug or a genuine “how are you?” can make those days that little bit easier and less lonely.

And please understand that sometimes I need some space from things – sometimes I even need to avoid the baby isle in the supermarket!  There may be days where I need to step back from baby showers, pregnant people, family gatherings.  It will only be for a time – I am working on being able to cope.

I know announcing your pregnancy to me is a hard thing to do – you feel bad and I feel sad.  So if I cry, please know I’m not angry with you, just sad for me.  Please don’t play it down and pretend you’re not excited – that makes it even harder not easier.  And maybe tell me when I don’t have to be sociable for the next few hours, so I can cry if I need. 

It would be great if you could remember my husband.  Ask him how he is occasionally.  He has an emotional wife and no baby – two things that he is sad about.  Men aren’t the same as women, but they still need support.  Knowing someone cares about him helps me too.

Often in this struggle it is easy to lose sight of reality.  I can feel like friends and family don’t really love me because I haven’t got children.  I can feel like I’m a failure or that I don’t fit.  I can feel like God doesn’t love me.  Please listen to my thoughts, and gently challenge me to see that it’s not my fault, that I am loved and that God is still with me.

I appreciate your prayers.  At times I get so sad I can’t pray.  Pray for a baby.  Pray that I would learn contentment in all circumstances. 

I know this is a lot to take in.  And there are probably many things I’ve left out.  But just ask and listen if you are wondering about something.  And know that I won’t be sad about this forever.  God may give us children or he may help us be content with no children.  

Thank you for being willing to walk along side me on the roller coaster ride. I need you.  I can’t face it alone. 

Love from your friend with an empty cradle.