A run, especially one along the trail by myself, usually clears my mind in ways few other things do. Sometimes this results in turning off thoughts that are playing as if on a repeat loop. Sometimes in clarity over something I've been pondering. And other times, like Wednesday morning, in an emotion or thought that catches me completely off-guard.
I have been on such a "God-high" after the retreat 2 weeks ago. Really even before it. I knew it would eventually fade, but I was really feeling like maybe I was moving past the deep ache for motherhood. Feeling like I was really embracing God's plan for my life. Feeling like I was accepting that my marriage is one that must be fruitful in other ways. It took a lot to get to a point where I felt like we could take a break medically, and I felt such peace with that decision. I really felt like I'd turned the corner.
But as I got into the car after my run, I was surprised by the tears. And the thoughts and emotions that accompanied them. I couldn't help it. As glad I am to be using this infertility for good with things like the retreat, I wanted it to be gone. I want someone else to plan retreats and give hope. I want to be a mommy.
And just how far away this reality might be, is settling in. Without medication, my body is a mess. The good news is, it seems the brown bleeding is related to hormones. The bad news is, it seems the brown bleeding is related to hormones. The only way I will keep it at bay is with post-peak progesterone support, which for me means HCG injections. I am not ready to cut our "meds break" short, I know we need this, I know I need this, but realizing what this means for our chances of conceiving in the next 5 months is devastating. More devastating than I expected it to be.
I was caught off-guard by this onslaught of emotions. I feel horrible guilt for them, and yet I also understand that this grieving process is not linear, but rather a big hot mess. And exhausting. My brain likes linear. It likes order. I gave my fiat. I meant it then, I mean it now. And yet, I dare say to God "this isn't what I want."
This surrender, it is a tough thing.