Bitter and infertile: Don’t simmer in the sour sauce until you’re moldy

Hi my name is Shannon and I am bitter.

I don’t want to be bitter, it’s not in my nature to be bitter. Yet you know the rope that dangles down the rock wall of a cliff; the life line for those climbing into the valley? Well I’ve reached the end of it.

The last two years of my life have been eaten up like a hungry lion with it’s prey. They have been devoured. And now, I can’t have them back, and what I gave them to has spit them out and walked away.

And so, I lay bleeding on the ground. And this time, I don’t know that I want to get up and run again because the famished lion will always be at my heels.

Anyone who has faced infertility long enough has been here. Has joined me on the hunting grounds, run like hell, been dragged down when they’ve fallen to the back of the pack, and then summarily devoured by defeat.

It is at that moment when we wake up with bitter as our bed fellow.

Feeling bitter, feeling angry, feeling deflated and defeated, is normal. Perhaps in some ways it is necessary. These feeling provide a gateway into grieving, which holds hands with healing. The danger however comes when we simmer in the sour sauce for so long that we become moldy.

So be here, lie on the ground and lick your wounds. Rant with bitterness at the end of your tongue. Be here and experience the bitterness of just how unfair this life can be. Let it surge through you into the tenderest tips of your fingers.

Yet once you have, you must then let it go.

If we allow ourselves to simmer in the sour sauce for too long we lose our sweetness, we lose our joy, we lose our reason for moving onward. We become stagnant and moldy.

So for today, well actually maybe for the next days or weeks, I will sit in quiet conversation with my bitterness. Yet once our secret whispers have run their course, I will shake her hand and struggle to my feet.

Because out there somewhere is my child, and I can only find her when I re-join the pack and once again move forward.

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