Blessed are the barren

It’s Ash Wednesday and with Lent approaching I’m feeling a little repentant.  I’m thinking of confessing my sins and trying to establish a tabula rasa. I want to find meaning in why my path is not as direct as, well, everyone else’s.  In my attempt to think this through and figure out what I am meant to do in life, I began to realize that in my quest to getting to someone that I think I should be (aka: a mother) I lost sight of who I was.  In my paranoia of taking every precaution to get pregnant, I’ve all but abandoned my exercise routine.  Now in the nicer weather I ache to go for a run outside, as much as I ache to start a family.  I know it sounds simple but it came as a big realization to me.  Who was that woman?  Where has she gone?  To get back to where I’m meant to be – to be in that place where I can trust that things are as they should be – I will need to get back to my old self.  The self that made time for exercise regularly.  The self that felt good about herself.  The self that didn’t beat herself up for everything she didn’t have, but instead was thankful for all the wonderful things she does have.  The self that didn’t dread speaking to her family, knowing how that conversation will lead to details about a relative’s pregnancy.  The self that didn’t mind sending her niece back with her parents after a sleepover.


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