Thank you to Kelly Sikkema for the photo via Unsplash.

This is a dramatic and fictional retelling of a true story.

⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️ (This post includes topics and elements such as infertility, menstruation, and women’s health.)

Sometimes I just want to cry. As each wave of nausea passes over me, I imagine my womb writhing with life- knowing full well it’s empty.

“Not here. Not now!”

I repeat this in my head, trying to blink away the stinging tears.

“Don’t start crying, this man is preaching and doing an alter call for salvation.”

Another wave of nausea hits me. I sip some water. I close my eyes. I visualize. I see my womb, an empty dark room, full of dust and cobwebs. I see the floor formless, becoming a cracked and barren desert. The blazing hot sun rises and blinds me. There’s no sand here, just dry, hard, compacted and cracked earth. Each moment my nausea grows and shakes the ground, rattling like the sound of dry bones and rolling pebbles. Each sip of water stops the nausea, but does nothing for this dry earth.

Suddenly, I remember something.

I’ve been feeling a little emotional lately. I know my hormones are currently unbalanced. I thought it might be my PCOS, but it’s definitely working in tandem with the looming overlord that is my period.

My eyes pop open.

“When will this feeling mean I am pregnant? Pregnant at last? God let it be a pregnancy and not my period… please…”

I think this halfheartedly. The tears return, threatening to breach the brim of my eyelids. I refuse to let them fall. No amount of tears have ever helped this reality.

It’s never been a pregnancy.

I know better than to rile my emotions up with such ideas.

I put my hand over my stomach. The worship team is singing. I sip my water. I sing along. I close my eyes for the closing prayer. I visualize. I see the cracked ground begin to shake. I hear the sound of water trickling. A Red Sea rises from the cracks, doing nothing to soften the ground. I feel as if I’m swepped away, riding the tide like an emotional rollercoaster. I let my eyes flutter open.

I silently ask for the impossible.

I silently ask for mercy.

I’ve been home for a while now… and the feelings haven’t stopped. I know what’s next, I’m just waiting for the arrival. That ugly and hopeless reminder…

I don’t know if there is a plan, but this wasn’t how I wanted mine to go. Nothing changes. No pity party makes it better. My womb is broken. This body doesn’t “work” right. The light I need might just be forgotten… or given to someone else. All I can do is weather the storm… So I just prepare for the crimson flood most likely about to overtake me for a week.

And when I close my eyes…

I stave off the dreams that threaten to utterly destroy me.

And I sip my water.