By Emily Misener

E1GHT.

We are one in eight. We are one in eight couples who struggle to conceive a child by natural methods.

I have had to learn to believe that this is ‘OUR’ story. That ‘WE’ will forever be changed by these last several months, and the months to come. In Jacob and I’s case, my body is the one that doesn’t produce the hormones necessary to develop a viable egg.

It is such a tricky thing to believe that something that feels as personal as my body is a shared journey. Jacob feels the hopelessness and emptiness. He feels the sadness and the lingering cloudy days, and he definitely feels the side effects of all my infertility drugs. He is my rock. But Jacob will be the first to admit that this journey is very different for him, simply because it isn’t his body.

Infertility for me feels so heavy. My chest aches. It feels lonely, even when I have an unbelievable support system. It is scary. It is unknown. It is uncontrollable. It comes with days of high hopes that crumble to the lowest of lows in one phone call. It steals my confidence. It makes my skin feel uncomfortable. It makes me question God and why He made me this way. It is a financial thief. It makes me sift through many lies that I tell myself to find a reason for the failed attempts. It feels really big, and makes me feel really small.

I have always told myself that I will be an advocate for women going through infertility once I am on the other side. Once we have conquered this hormonal hiccup, and conceived our miracle, I will be ready and worthy to help, but through countless conversations with God, I realized that I can be helping people right now. I can be ready right now, in the thick of this situation (I like to call our infertility a situation because situations can change). I think that being raw and real about infertility is a job that calls for present time. I won’t have answers for other women, but I can spread hope, and remind them that they are brave and not alone. That is a job for right now. I can sit and relate to the crappy parts of their story with them, and then offer them my hand to pull them up out of the darkness to try again.

So friends, this is a piece of our story, and now I want to spread my own piece of hope. I started making “My Wish” bracelets. The inspiration behind these bracelets is to remind women struggling with infertility of the community of warriors in it with you. Did you know that a star is formed once its dense core collapses under its own weight? The end stages of a star’s formation are violent and disruptive, a far reach from their peaceful existence when transformation is complete.

Sister, I know it feels like you’re collapsing under the disruptive and sometimes violent emotional weight of infertility. I know you are asking hard questions and praying relentless prayers. I also BELIEVE that on the other side of this journey is peace, and transformation in us and through us.

I would love to send you or someone you know this bracelet reminder that it is okay to feel all the feelings infertility brings you – but my hope is that at the end of the day you know that you are strong, brave, favored, perfectly imperfect, and your story matters.

More importantly, I want you to know that I am with you.

Love – fellow fighter, hope spreader, infertility sister, friend.