There are days when infertility feels like the sharp, surprising, sting of a honeybee. Here we are, just sitting smelling the pretty flowers, and wa-bam--stung. Our eyes swell up and life is never the same again. Yet then there are other days when although the stinger is still there, we look up and we see the honey.
Today I saw the honey.
You see, because over the last year we haven't gotten pregnant (and not for lack of desire or effort), I am in a place I never would have been otherwise. On the precipice of either starting a family or finishing my PhD and accepting an adjunct professor position at a local university, the bee stung me.
So today I sat in a classroom of brilliant, funny, young people just on the verge of becoming. They looked at me with eager eyes, anticipation, and interest. I felt happy teaching them into this becoming space they are occupying. I found the honey in the gift of this time with them.
The stinger is still there, however how sweet the honey is too. Yes today I see the honey.
And today, may you find your honey too.
Today I saw the honey.
You see, because over the last year we haven't gotten pregnant (and not for lack of desire or effort), I am in a place I never would have been otherwise. On the precipice of either starting a family or finishing my PhD and accepting an adjunct professor position at a local university, the bee stung me.
So today I sat in a classroom of brilliant, funny, young people just on the verge of becoming. They looked at me with eager eyes, anticipation, and interest. I felt happy teaching them into this becoming space they are occupying. I found the honey in the gift of this time with them.
The stinger is still there, however how sweet the honey is too. Yes today I see the honey.
And today, may you find your honey too.
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