D. Rose
I really wanted to write something about feeling worthy... all the reasons why I believe Iam worthy.But in all honesty, I’m not there yet.
I still struggle with self-worth. A lot.
Deep down, I know my worth isn’t held in whether I can conceive.But infertility has a way of twisting that truth, and sometimes I forget that fact. The quiet thoughts of shame, telling me that I have failed. That I am somehow “less than”, simply because of the body I have been blessed with. Infertility makes you feel like you’ve messed something up. Like you’re broken.And when you feel broken, it’s easy to believe you’re unworthy too.
Unworthy of love.
Unworthy of compassion.
Unworthy of attention.
Unworthy of healing.
Unworthy of taking up space.
Infertility takes so much from you, so much more than people realize. It is not just the dream of a child, but parts of your being are ripped away from you. Your identity, womanhood, your sense of self and a sense of belonging. Infertility makes it hard not to question everything… especially your worth.
Sometimes I ask myself:
“What am I worthy for if I’m unable to have children?”
I’m reminded:
I was worthy the day I was born. And I am worthy now.
Another question that lingers just beneath the surface:
“Who am I if not a mother?”
From a young age, I was told that one day I’d get married, become a mother, and I would then know the realest love. “As a mother...” is a phrase that is so commonly used to express deep knowing or emotion. But the unspoken message that comes with that statement is that if you’re not a mother, your experience somehow counts for less.
Honestly, I am tired of it.
I am tired of being made to feel like I have less value, less wisdom, less insight: like my feelings are smaller, my empathy less valid, my contributions less meaningful, just because I am not a mother.
I still feel deeply.
I still understand, empathize, and care.
My life still holds purpose.
I still have something to say.
I still have something to give.
This quiet discrimination lives in the workplace, in homes, in families, among friends. It’s subtle, but it’s everywhere. It can be deeply harmful. It chips away at a woman’s sense of belonging, their sense of self.
I’m beginning to understand that...
Worth isn’t something that is earned.
It’s not given only to those who become mothers.
It is not measured by my medical history or the amount of hope I have left.
It’s not measured by how strong I seem, or how well I hide my grief.
It’s not erased by a diagnosis or years of unanswered prayers.
My worth has never been on trial.
Hold on, I need to repeat that...
MY.WORTH.HAS.NEVER.BEEN.ON.TRIAL. {although I believed it was}
Even if I don’t always feel it, I am trying to trust that these words are true:
I am worthy of unconditional love, love that does not need to be validated by a baby.
I am worthy of kindness and care, even when I feel like I have failed.
I am worthy of rest, not just physical rest, but emotional rest as well.
I am worthy of community, even if my story looks different than others.
I am worthy of healing, in body, mind, and soul.
I am worthy of dignity.
I am worthy of being seen.
I may not feel worthy every day. There are days the lies are louder than the truths. But I am learning:
Learning to speak truth to myself, over the lies.
Learning to loosen shame’s grip.
Learning to believe that my worth was never in question, not once.
I AM WORTHY, AND SO ARE YOU.
You are worthy right where you are.
