Emily Thomas

The story of a tree is written in circles.
But not every year has circles bold enough to see.
During harsh years – drought, fire, floods –
the rings grow thin.
Sometimes they barely appear at all.
My rings these past four years are barely visible.
In the last four years,
I have lost five pregnancies
and three beloved cats.
I had hormones injected on schedule.
Blood draws. Transvaginal ultrasounds. Regroups.
I had seven surgeries in total.
And a blood clot in my liver,
from hormonal birth control during a break from trying.
My rings kept growing thinner.
But I am not done growing.
Just like a tree,
after harsh years pass,
can grow wide rings again,
so will I.
I reached a conclusion.
My life will be childless.
It is decided for me.
And still, I feel something like excitement
for what that life will hold.
There is a strange liberation in acceptance,
a loosening of shackles
that have kept my rings from growing.
Spontaneous travel.
Unapologetic naps.
Beaches.
Nature.
Colorado trails.
Camping.
Paddleboarding.
Volunteering with animals.
My beloved cats.
A happy marriage.
Autonomy.
A quiet life that is my own.
Slow mornings.
Unscheduled Saturdays.
Money not funneled into procedures.
Money for travel.
Money for home.
Money for us.
Room to breathe.
Room to choose.
Room to grow in directions I decide.
My rings will grow wide again.
And I can't wait.