Courage

cour⋅age (according to dictionary.com)
Show Spelled Pronunciation [kur-ij, kuhr-]
–noun
1. the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery.
2. Obsolete. the heart as the source of emotion.
3. have the courage of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, esp. in spite of criticism.

Synonyms:
1. fearlessness, dauntlessness, intrepidity, pluck, spirit. Courage, bravery, valor, bravado refer to qualities of spirit and conduct. Courage permits one to face extreme dangers and difficulties without fear: to take (or lose) courage. Bravery implies true courage with daring and an intrepid boldness.

Antonyms:
1. cowardice.

Courage.
How do you know if someone is courageous?
What causes a person to look at another person and think, "Gee, they have courage! They are so full of courage I can see it bursting out of them."

Until last Semester, courage has never really been something I have thought about. I do admire people who seem to be brave - people who are adventurous, people who aren't afraid to stand up for what they believe, people who can say what they want to say when they want to say it regardless of what others may think - those are qualities that I have admired for as long as I can remember.

You see, last Semester I chose to write a paper on something that is extremely personal and close to my heart.

I was scared.

I was intimidated by those who would read it.

I was nervous about the reactions of those who are aware of it.

When I told a peer in my class what I was writing my paper on, she told me I was brave.

Me? Brave?? Those two words didn't seem to fit in the same sentence. That was the first time in my life anyone has told me I was brave. I stuck to that comment like a feather sticks to glue, and as I worked on my paper, I felt myself healing. Not physically, but emotionally... and mentally.

My thoughts, my feelings, my experience and my tears (literally) were handed in with my final draft, turned in to a stranger, someone who would grade me on my writing skills and the depth of my paper. I got an A. But, more importantly than an A, I felt good.

Slowly, I let the paper loose and into the hands of my family, of Nate's family, and of our closest friends. As nerve wracking as it was, I felt courageous. I was prepared for the awkward conversations, the emotional responses and the affirming discussions that were to follow.

The paper that I wrote was on my experience with infertility.

A lot of you know that we are experiencing this, but many of you don't. A lot of you are experiencing it yourselves. Typically, in a blog setting, I take the opposite approach to courage (I believe that word, according to dictionary.com, is cowardice). I try to write about happy things. I try to be positive and bring light and hope to those of you who actually read our blog,

but I have realized something...

If I don't let you in on who I really am, how are we truly friends? How can we truly feel of each others joy and our love IF we don't understand how that joy and love has been achieved. I have been trying to gather my courage over the last few months to post my paper on here. I have been scared and nervous.

I have been a coward.

Then...

I read the blog of a truly courageous friend. She has had a hard couple of months and her bravery to post about it inspired me. There are many people out there who have shared her struggles, and her faith and her attitude are so inspiring. She has given me the courage to make the decision. She, unknowingly, has helped me to take the next step.

Here is my paper.
I am trusting you with it.

This is my life.

This is my heart.

Please treat them with respect. If you know someone who is struggling, please feel free to share it with them, but please give credit where credit is due.

Thank you.

***

Clarissa Law
Personal Essay
December 1, 2009
Three Minutes.

Three minutes. This is it. I have to wait for three minutes. These three minutes will decide the rest of my life. These three minutes will have a more profound effect on me than anything ever has.

These are the thoughts that I have as I wait. I wait for the three minutes to tick by. I watch the clock as it moves slowly. Three minutes. Two minutes. One minute. My palms are sweaty. My heart is racing. Thirty seconds. Tick … tock … tick … tock … time is up. I look down. My heart sinks. Negative. Always negative.

This time I was full of so much hope. I had all the symptoms. Late period. Check. Sore breasts. Check. Emotional. Check. Heartburn. Check. I had it in the bag. It was a sure thing. A sure thing that, although this moment was 6 years ago, has never happened. A sure thing that has given me nothing but heartbreak and sorrow. A sure thing that has changed the way I live my life and the person that I have become. A sure thing that I’m not convinced will ever be sure.

***

I am 29 years old. I am a senior in College. My decision to start school when I was 25 years old was directly affected by my inability to become pregnant.

When I was younger and thinking of the future I would have, where I am now was not even a possibility. I would grow up, find the man I love, get married and have lots of babies… in other words, I would be my mother. Time passed. I grew up, I found and married the man I love… and that is where my life long goal stopped. I never anticipated working outside of the home. I never anticipated going to college. I never anticipated settling on being the world’s best aunt instead of the world’s perfect mother. But that is what I have done because this is where life has taken me.

When I meet new people for the first time, they always want to know how long I have been married. When I tell them that I married my high school sweetheart and that we have been married for almost 10 years, they are shocked. Then they ask the inevitable question. How many kids do you have? They seem to be more shocked at this answer. None. You don’t have kids? No. We don’t have any kids. Why not? I know it’s not any of my business, but why don’t you have kids? And off we go. That is how the conversations go. Each time. They are tiring, they are repetitive and they are heartbreaking.

When someone close to me notices me noticing a baby, they tilt their head, they look at me, and they ask me if I am okay. My automatic response is yes. Look how cute that baby is. She looks just like her mom. End of conversation. As long as they think I am ok. Inside, my heart is breaking as I take in every detail about the baby. I can smell the baby lotion. I can hear the whimpers and the cooing. I can see the birth marks. I can see the joy in the mother’s tired eyes. I can’t say a word. I never say a word. It’s not about me. It’s about the joy of the new baby. I celebrate for the happy family and mourn for mine all at the same moment.

I have 14 biological nephews and nieces and one on the way. I love each and every one of them. Each one of them is special to me. Each one of them brings me hope. I like to imagine as I’m holding them that they know the children that are meant to be mine. I like to think that the veil between heaven and earth is very thin for them. It brings me hope to think that they know they will see their little friends again soon. The first time I thought this was 5 years ago. Is 5 years too long to hold on to such hope? I’d like to think that it isn’t. I need to think that it isn’t.

When someone close to me tells me they are expecting, I react graciously. I have mastered the skill of hiding my true emotion. You’re expecting? I’m so surprised! I’m so happy for you {here we go again}. You’ve been sick? I’m sorry you’re not feeling well {some people would give anything to have morning sickness}. Did you try for this one? Four months? Yes. That is a long time to try {wow, four months – they are so lucky}. This is a surprise? Wow! I’m so happy for you. I am sorry you feel so overwhelmed {I have been waiting for 6 years for that kind of surprise}. Congratulations. Please excuse me, I need to use the restroom {I need to compose myself so that I can truly be happy for another child to love}.

My husband is my best friend. He is my rock. The person who holds my hand and strokes my hair when I’ve found out another person is expecting. It is hard for him too. He is the best person I know. He is the best uncle in the world. He will be the best father… someday… He loves children. He wants his own so badly. His children will be beautiful. I want them to have his beautiful eyes, and his smile. He has a smile that can cure any ailment. Our relationship has changed. It has matured, it has grown. Our relationship has surpassed my expectations. We are happy. Despite being unable to get pregnant, we are happy. Some couples would pull apart. We are not one of those couples. This has strengthened us.

I never thought I’d find myself at a four year college. I graduated High School in 1998. Seven years of being out of school is a long time. I went back to school in 2005 with the intent of dropping out the day the test appears positive. Four years have passed since my first day at USU. I am almost finished with my bachelor’s degree. I took two and a half years of generals because I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what I wanted to be. I wanted to be a mom. I am a different person than I was four years ago. I know more, I believe different things, and I am committed to finishing my education. It will make me a better mother.

I am grateful for this experience. You are grateful? How can you be grateful for this? I am not the same person I was 7 years ago when we started talking about having children. I am better. I am more confident. I am healthier. I am my own person. My self esteem is not based on what other people think. I am me. How can I be a mother when I don’t know who I am? When I don’t know what I believe? God has given me an unexpected gift. He has given me time to find out who I am. He has given me time to strengthen my marriage. He has held my hand through times of anger and through much heartbreak. He has led me into the light with the understanding that everything happens for a reason, even though it is hard.

I have expressed every emotion possible through this experience. I have been angry. I have hated – not anyone in particular, just the facts of the situation. I have been bitter. I have been jealous. I have been sad. I have said things that I have not truly meant and I have meant things that I have never said. I have had my heart broken in two.

My husband is the only one that I can share my true feelings with. The subject is too heavy for random discussion. But, I will let my mother read this paper. I will let my sisters read this paper. I will let my husband’s family read this paper. Not because I want them to feel sorry for me, but because they ask me how I am doing and I lie. I tell them I am fine. I tell them that I am okay with the way that life has worked out, but I’m not. I want to be a mom. That’s it. I am going to school and am training for a career that I believe in and that I love, but I want to be a mom. They may try to understand what I tell them, but they don’t know how I feel. Not yet. They will. They will finally understand what my heart longs to say during casual conversation.

I have coped. I may not fully understand why this is happening to us, but I am dealing. I understand that this is my trial. It is hard. Every day it is hard. When I wake up in the morning I have to decide if I am going to pretend to be happy or if I am going to truly be happy. It has been an emotional hell that I have risen above. I have coped. I have not let it freeze me. I have learned how to let myself be truly happy despite this. It hung over me like a dark cloud for so many years, but I have taken my life back. Most days, I choose to truly be happy. I am proud - of myself, of my husband, of us.

***
Women who struggle with infertility are my sisters. They are my heroes. It is hard for them to say what they want to say because most people don’t understand what they are experiencing. Women are raised to make babies. It is our calling in life. Being unable to fulfill that calling is like feeling you have let the whole world down.

Everyone knows someone who is struggling with infertility. Be there for them. Don’t be shocked when they cry for no reason or when they look sad in a joyous situation. Be tactful – think before you speak. Know that simple comments cause sorrow and heartbreak, even for someone who has found acceptance. Understand where they are at in the grieving process. That is what we go through. Anger. Denial. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Acceptance is sweet. It brings peace.

To a lot of people, three minutes is not a big deal. To women who have struggled with infertility, three minutes can change their life. Happiness is possible through their trial. Don’t push them. They will get there. They will get past their three minutes.