I am okay.  I always am.  I’m the strong one.  The one who feels no pain.  The one who grieves every morning for the baby that isn’t there.  I am the one so exhausted from constantly holding together a hopeful heart.  The one who grows weary from the constant struggle that defines our lives.  I am the one who goes without attention and doting.  The one who hides tears in bathrooms.  I am infertile. Invisible, it feels like, even to God.  I am a hater of those who give less than their best to the children they have.  I am unable to rise above and feel joy for others who can do what I cannot.

I am an adoptive mom in waiting. I am a fantastic mother.  I am the one not permitted to be angry or hurt when minds are changed.  I am the one who does not feel anything because my readiness to parent somehow gives me immunity from heartbreak.  I am preparedness personified.  I am ready and willing.   I am longing and devotion waiting.   I am a secret green eyed monster, angry, horrified, embarrassed by my envious nature.  I am a false smile to those who don’t appreciate the gift of life.  I am secret shame and growing grief with each day that passes.  I am deserving and unable. I am okay.  I always am.