Brokenhearted or Just Broken?

"Life is full of lines that you don't know you've crossed until you're on the other side. And once you're there, you need to discover who you're going to be." Just One Thing, Holly Jacobs


I've been trying to decide what I am lately. Am I brokenhearted, or just broken? I really can't decide. I'm not sure how to classify how or what I'm feeling right now.

And, before I go any further, I feel like I need to say this...I realize that putting this pain on display isn't comfortable. For me, or for you. I don't know if this is the southern way to deal with pain, but it's the only way I know how. When I can't speak it, I can write it. And, undoubtedly, many of you have noticed that I'm struggling. And I hate it. I hate that it's hard for me, and I hate that you can see that. My daddy always said I had a lousy poker face...he's not wrong often.

So, here it is. I don't want to be defined by just one thing. I don't want my frustration and my anger to consume me. I don't want it to be evident. I don't want to be mad at God. I don't want to question the things I question. But I do. I am.

Because, you know what? Two pink lines don't always mean you get a baby. In fact, for me, two pink lines just brings a whole lot of fear. But I still want to see them. It's a sweetly vicious torture to wait, and wait, and wait to see them. And a whole other kind of self-inflicted agony to finally see them and wonder what they mean. Will they bring pain again? Will there ever be a moment when I feel "safe?" It's an all consuming flood of emotions that never, ever ceases.

And jealousy sets in...why can't it just be easy for me? So many others seemingly have it so easy when it comes to those two pink lines. Why can't it be that way for me?

And, of course, anger sets in next. Same questions, just with a harsher tone.

I think mostly I feel betrayed. And I've avoided saying that word out loud because it's such an ugly, ugly word. But I do feel a strong sense of betrayal. Betrayal of my body, betrayal, in some sense, of my doctors, and my betrayal of my faith.

I've never been afraid to question my faith...questioning brings answers...but, lately, my questions don't have answers. And that leaves me with feelings of guilt and weakness and fear. I don't want to go all Nancy Kerrigan on y'all and ask "why me," but I do want to know what I did wrong. And before you say it, I know I couldn't have done anything differently...but I feel like there has to be an answer. A reason. Something I can fix next time. Anything...anything to give me a direction...to help me find a path...to let me have hope again.


So, I don't know if I'm brokenhearted or just broken. Most days, I think it's a whole lot of both. I've been listening to Danny Gokey sing "Tell Your Heart to Beat Again," on repeat just willing the words into my mind. I wake up with the lyrics in my head. It's a daily mantra...but, y'all,  I'm not there yet. And I'm sorry.
I'm still trying to figure out what I am.