Editor’s note: We are grateful to Bonnie for sharing this tender and personal piece on trials and hope. We felt it a fitting piece for the Easter season. She chose to have her post shared on this day, because, she says, “I often have talked of my ‘Thursdays’ and the fact that Sunday always comes. Still, Thursday is the “scary” before the dark Friday. It’s during the scary that I’ve needed the perspective to know what it is I’m involved in, what I’m birthing.” Bonnie blogs at Bonnie Blythe.

~by Bonnie

A wave of nausea washed over me as I felt the familiar tightening again, the groan rising silently in my soul: “here it comes.” Long minutes of pressure built, my body wringing itself, then it ebbed away and I stood up straighter, my hands unclenching the surround in front of the kitchen sink. In the quiet, tired, freshening minutes I sipped a cool drink and moved slowly around, shrugging my shoulders and breathing deeply. The contractions would come again, but for now I could move freely.

Giving birth or watching it occur teaches something of the cyclic nature of most pain. It has an ebbing and flowing quality over time, peaking in such intensity that, if we didn’t understand that it was temporary, would be overwhelming. When each pain abates, there’s a resting period in which we reorient ourselves to the world around us and can connect with something outside of ourselves in a way that is completely impossible during the contraction. Pain has a peculiarly alienating quality. When it peaks, we are often forced to stop and focus on it to the exclusion of all else, but if we wholly surrender then, we can disappear into it.

When my husband, after a 4-month separation, told me to get out of our house (which I had agreed in lengthy divorce negotiations to give him), I had no place to go. He hoped that I would decide that I couldn’t make it alone, forget the divorce, and let him return, with our lives returning to the violent roller coaster they had grown to be. I prayed fervently because I knew that God loved us and would make a way for our escape. I felt the words, “plan to move in May” in my heart, and fretted over how I could convince a spiteful, malevolent man to wait five more months for us to move without giving in and letting him move back.

After months of bullying phone calls, through which I repeatedly explained how difficult it was to find a home when I hadn’t been employed for a decade and after which I always sobbed with the same hopeless frustration, May finally dragged around. I cleaned out our house and began moving things I wanted to keep into a storage unit, because I still had no idea where we would go. I did trust the Lord as I saw how he had preserved my life, several times miraculously. Not until the third week of May, however, did my future become clear, when my mother, distressed with serious and chronic health problems both she and my father faced, had a dream that opened her mind to ask me to come live with them and care for them. It was not something either of us had previously considered, but the 4th weekend in May I packed seven children and a house and moved. God had been faithful, though he had not chosen to make the way easy or encouraging or even clear. More than a decade later this period of my life marks a quantum leap forward in my relationship with God.

Everyone involved in birth nurtures a mother through her wave cycle of pain and refreshing because the most wonderful thing is happening: A baby is going to be born! When that baby enters the world, we draw great drafts of joy into our souls. While we support and rub and encourage her to hang on through the contractions, we hold that promise in our hearts. If we did not, birth would be terror.

Had I known during each badgering phone call – through court proceedings in which my ability to support so many young children was questioned, in my terrified moments of despair and self-doubt – that I was giving birth to a deeper confidence in myself and in the Lord and a whole range of gifts and qualities, it would have been easier to hang on. Such, however, is the process of birthing hope. We need mentors, attendants who’ve weathered the waves of pain, to describe that joy that we’ll eventually draw in great drafts into our soul, to gift us with a vision of hope wrapped warmly in our arms, our own child born of our pain.

I’ve given birth six times, two of those within minutes of one another. I’ve also ridden other waves of pain: being left at 20 years old by my husband, parenting alone, marrying a man who became abusive, protecting children in a home that could flash with anger, dealing with times of poverty and loneliness, miscarrying repeatedly, divorcing, losing my home several times, extended family strains, losing jobs. Often those experiences came one right after another in overwhelming waves that shook my self-confidence and challenged my faith. I didn’t know to what I was giving birth or that the pain would ebb away. Sometimes, it was terror.

When Jesus Christ entered the garden at Gethsemane, his disciples were still struggling within themselves to understand his mission. They were “heavy” and “sore amazed” wondering if this was the Messiah. He had spent three years teaching them who he was and what he could do, but in the darkness and the jostling stress of threats against their lives and his refusal to strike back, they wondered if he was who he said he was. It was a big thing to wrap their minds around.

It’s not unlike the dark periods of our lives, when, bullied by circumstance and consumed by contracting pain, we wonder if God is as powerful as what troubles us. We feel heavy and sore amazed. We have no idea what we’re giving birth to or when the breathtaking wringing of our souls will abate. We have no idea who we are intended to become. It’s a big thing to wrap our minds around.

Those dark moments of pain are a crucible in which we reach through space to a Savior or we surrender to the surge. If we choose, we can labor to birth a hope that will sustain and nourish our souls through a lifetime and an eternity. No less experienced attendant than our Lord Jesus Christ stands by us, holding out the promise that this breathing, squirming, infant hope, child of our pain, will be worth every wringing contraction of our soul.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Hang on. Breathe. Focus.

Hope is a mighty sweet baby.

– – – –

Bonnie is a Midwestern tumbleweed blown up against the Utah mountains and lodged, for the moment. Mother of six, grandmother of two, she welcomes anyone who wants to sit on her lap during church and play with her jewelry. A thriver (not just a survivor) of bi-polar depression, she has learned to work hard for happiness and treasures it in all its unexpected experience. She teaches gospel doctrine and relishes gardening vegetables and flowers, the crowning jewel being her native Kansas sunflowers with their 4-lb heads. She has worked in advertising and politics, homeschooled, been a naturopathic therapist and public schoolteacher, owned a consulting business, developed poverty alleviation programs with state agencies, and worked for the federal government in poverty programs. As soon as she conquers her addiction to cheesecake, she’d like to train for a half marathon. Her youngest daughter (Sam -12) will run with her to call the paramedics as necessary.

The post Birthing Hope appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

~Name withheld

It is over a decade later. I have finally come to the realization that I am an abused woman. No, I never received a bruise, a cut or a strike of the hand, but the words that berated me daily broke my spirit, cut into my confidence and beat me into a silent depressed ghost of myself. I no longer laughed, I no longer made goals or plans and I never ventured out of my little cell of allowable actions.

I had the perfect life, from the outside. Many women envied my world. They couldn’t see into the shaded windows and the tinted glass of my prison. The man they respected and honored was not the man that I lived with. The even-tempered loving demeanor changed instantly when he walked through the door. I became a whore in the bedroom and a housekeeper outside of it. My own views, desires and needs meant nothing.

How does a strong, self-assured woman turn into a cowering child? Day by day; Choice by choice. Criticism by criticism, a person is bludgeoned into believing that they are the ones at fault, that no matter what they do, it isn’t right. No amount of change matters, for when one thing changes, it is no longer interesting and the next fault is the focus. Criticism kills. The abuser would be appalled to hear that they are being abusive. It isn’t intended, it isn’t what they believe they are doing. Usually they believe they are “helping.” They are in the right! They are trying to make things “better” after all!

Taking away money, resources, the ability to go out alone, connection with friends, time to explore individual talents, all are necessary to remain human and productive. A slave has little agency, and little ability to progress.

I am divorced. Now, I hear continually, “You are so funny!” – “You are always so happy!” – “I never wanted to be around you before, now you are fun!” – “You used to cry all the time.” – “I didn’t think you knew how to smile!”

There are lingering echoes of pain.

Healing didn’t come quickly, but it did come. Through the loving Atonement of the Savior of the world, I have forgiven my abuser, for I know that he will never find happiness for himself with these behaviors. I have forgiven myself for allowing him, and me, to make me disappear.

Through the blessed and loving counsel of priesthood leaders, I have cried away the bitterness, prayed away the anger and laughed away the despair.

Sometimes I still doubt my ability, my worth, my contribution to the world, but now I know that it is temporary. That I have much to give, I have an open and willing heart, and I am good, just the way I am. I know because the warmth and acceptance of the infinite has burrowed deeper into my soul than the pain ever could.

There is healing from abuse, but the abuse must be distanced before healing can begin. Sometimes there are worse things than a “broken home.” A home that is broken on the inside while appearing “intact” on the outside is one of the worst. Fix it or leave it, but do NOT continue to die daily because you are unwilling to let others see what is broken. Turn to the Savior; the Atonement isn’t only for sin, but for comfort, solace and healing. It is the only way.

The post Forward with Faith: Healing from Abuse appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

I know this is the true Church of our Savior Jesus Christ and that we are led by a living prophet, Thomas S. Monson.

My story:

My life challenges started at a very early age. I was eight years old when I was first molested. He was a friend of the family and I had a child’s love for him. He broke my heart and severely injured my spirit. Unable to tell my parents, my trust of people around me was shaken. I became very insecure and frightened of life. When I reached my teens, my insecurities and lack of participation in school activities became evident and a concerned counselor started drawing me out and I felt comforted by his concern. But, once again my life was jolted when he betrayed my trust. One day he offered me a ride home. I accepted his kind gesture. I soon realized he had other intentions. We took a ride into the hills near our town and the unspeakable happened. Once again I was shaken to the core and afraid to go to my parents. I had no idea how to deal with any of this and so I pushed the thoughts and feelings deep inside. I didn’t have any close friends at school and my insecurities became overwhelming.

I started going to a neighborhood church and felt some comfort but still I had no answers to why bad things were always happening to me. I was convinced that bad things only happened to bad people ant that I was being punished. I met a boy who belonged to another church and we started dating. School became increasingly harder for me to deal with. When I was sixteen and my boyfriend nineteen I convinced my parents to allow me to get married. I was then dropped out of school.

A couple of years into my marriage my husband and I started having very heated arguments. We were both so young and immature. It became an abusive relationship with my husband using physical force. After our son was born, I decided that the best thing for both me and my son was to leave this marriage. I was more fearful for my son than for myself. Once again I was left with the thought and feeling that I was a bad person.

It was very hard being a single mom at the young age of nineteen. I started having severe migraine headaches that often made it hard for me to go to work, or be a mother. I started suffering with depression as well. I had long since stopped going to church, I couldn’t see the point. My friends changed and my lifestyle became one that I am now ashamed of. And soon drugs became an escape from all my worries. At least I thought so at the time.

Even though this was a time of spiraling out of control, I did meet a man who was stable and who had healthy life goals and was willing to be a father to my son, and so, we were married and a year later we had a daughter. I still suffered with migraines and depression. I was also still painfully insecure and that was a problem for my very outgoing, enthusiastic husband.

At some point all of these physical, mental and social challenges became too overwhelming. Prescription drugs and illegal drugs became a part of my life again. I was what you would call a “functioning addict.” My marriage of seventeen years ended and I really went into a tailspin. I became so frightened of life. I was completely convinced that my life had no worth.

Mid-October 2004 I tried to end my life. I was found unconscious, barely breathing and rushed to the hospital. I was put on a respirator. My two sisters, one in California, and the other in Utah, were contacted by my former husband who is a doctor. They have since told me they thought they were coming to bury me.

After five days I regained consciousness and was taken off the respirator. My two sisters were standing by my bedside. Both my sisters have been members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints since they were in their teens. One of my sisters reached over the safety bar on the bed and laid her hand on my arm and asked me if I would like a priesthood blessing. At the same time that she asked that question there was a whisper in my other ear. Jesus whispered, “Are you ready to do it my way?” I knew it was Him because of how specific those words were to me. I also knew it was Jesus because of the love, warmth and comfort that fell on me. I have never felt such love in all my life! Such pure love! I said yes to both questions. Any questions I had about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were answered in that moment.

It’s my testimony that Jesus lives and his Atonement will make everything right. Heavenly Father’s love has healed me. I do not suffer from depression, overwhelming insecurities, nor do I feel like I’m a bad person. As my faith grows and my knowledge of the gospel grows I realize that bad things happen to good people. We are here to be tested. Our lives are subjected sometimes to those who choose to use their agency in a negative manner. When those times befall us, He will comfort us.

Before I was baptized, I worried about forgiveness. I worried about whether Heavenly Father would forgive me if I couldn’t forgive those who had trespassed against me. Matthew 6:14-15, “For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you: But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” I talked to Elder Hansen (who was the missionary teaching me and who would be baptizing me) about my concerns and he suggested that I fast and pray. I also talked to the local Relief Society President. Sister Hunt loaned me her scriptures and showed me how to use the Topical Guide and the Bible Dictionary. I took her scriptures home, fasted, prayed and read scriptures that night and the next day. I can’t really say that I had any earth shaking revelations, but at some point, an indescribable peaceful feeling came upon me. I no longer had any ill feelings left and I was able to pray sincerely for those who had hurt me. I then felt like I could enter the baptismal waters and enter into those sacred covenants and start my journey of enduring to the end.

I know I’m not alone on this journey. I know that I can call on Heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, to help me through any challenge and he will give me the strength to endure.

—

Editor’s note: This post originally appeared on this site on June 12, 2008.

The post When Bad Things Happen to Good People: One woman’s journey to overcome the effects of abuse and addiction appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

At the impressionable age of nine, Emily witnessed the murder of her 13-year-old sister at the hands of their own mother. After hearing this one fact about Emily, probably much like you, I wanted to know more about her. Thankfully she has an open heart, even after all she has been through, and is willing to share it with us. However, this is not about relating the negative experiences that Emily had to endure as a child, it is about the healing that she has found since that time.

After growing up abused, and in foster care and adoptive homes Emily didn’t have a good attitude towards religion, families, or her own body. Emily was not a Mormon at this time of her life. She admits that she tends to think in a scientific way, needing evidence for belief. She was not looking for religion or change, but it came anyway. Her change of heart began with an interest in ballroom dance.

As she took ballroom dance lessons she learned many true principles that she had little experience with in her life before. Because of the physical abuse that Emily suffered she felt disconnected from her body, although she didn’t realize it. Through dance she was forced to think about her body, to feel it, to focus on how it helped her. The healing of  negative emotions associated with her body began on the dance floor. It taught her to be present in her body in a way that hadn’t happened before.

Through dance Emily began to learn the power of relationships- that when each person in the relationship does his or her part there is a wonderful reward. This would later lead to her comprehension of the importance of covenants.

Emily’s dance instructor was a positive influence in her changing life. She spent time with his family and it was an eye opening experience after the abnormal family situations she grew up in. Getting to know his family taught her entirely new ideas about families. She never felt the need for a father before, not the kind she had seen anyway. But now she saw a new type of father – loving, supportive, kind – maybe she could use that kind of Heavenly Father.

There is no doubt in Emily’s mind that without the lessons she learned in dance she would not have been able to understand, or have a heart soft enough, to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ.

There is something I haven’t told you about Emily that may surprise you. She is Deaf. That’s right, a ballroom dancer who is Deaf. Just chalk up another “Wow!” in her story. Keep reading, because there are more.

Emily’s dance instructor asked for her help in return one day. He was attending a job fair at church and found someone who was also Deaf who needed a job. He asked Emily if she had any leads. It impressed Emily that this church would provide interpreters for the Deaf, because they are so hard to come by at other congregations she’s attended, so she asked what church it was. She didn’t even know what the name of the church meant! Thank heavens for the internet because that’s where she found Mormonism – Mormon.org and then later LDS.org.

It was not an overnight process for Emily though. She doesn’t want anyone to think it was that easy. It took nine months from that first missionary contact until she was baptized just last week.

“I was like a broken glass that had to be slowly and patiently fused back together so that I would be present and whole and able to make that choice. If people had been disrespectful or pushy, it would have shattered me, and I would not have made the choice to convert.”

The process of investigating the gospel started with talking to the missionaries. Emily read the Book of Mormon many times. She focused on Moroni 10:

“Behold, I would exhort you that when ye shall read these things, if it be wisdom in God that ye should read them, that ye would remember how merciful the Lord hath been unto the children of men, from the creation of Adam even down until the time that ye shall receive these things, and ponder it in your hearts.

“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.

“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.” Moroni 10:3-5

As Emily’s studies went on she also made changes in her life. She had been living with a man she was not married to, so she moved out and into a tiny apartment at a financial loss. Her eating and drinking habits changed. Her wardrobe became more modest, due to her righteous desires, but also due to a mystery gift box of modest clothing. She learned to tithe and re-read the Bible with an increased understanding of her place in God’s plan.

Looking back the change seems huge to Emily, but really it wasn’t. It was a culmination of little steps, a progressive sequence. At any point her progress could have been stopped. Emily’s confidence that it has all unfolded as it should can give us all peace in troubled times.

This step-by-step process is similar to how she views her baptism. It is a large step to take in her life, but she knows it doesn’t mean she is perfect. It is just another step in the path to get closer to her Heavenly Father. It is another beginning.

Join us Thursday to see what Emily has been doing since her baptism.

The post Conversion Stories: Emily (part 1) appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

Parents, this is worth a read. Let’s help our teens avoid unhealthy relationships.

(These resources might also be helpful for adult women who think they may be in an abusive relationship.)

See also:

Indicators of healthy and abusive relationships.

Teen dating violence prevention statistics

http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=5782598“>Teen dating violence prevention toolbar

Please feel free to share other resources on this topic that might be helpful. We all probably know someone who has been in an abusive relationship. Let’s share information that can help women out there take care of themselves.

The post <i>Noteworthy News:</i> Resources and information about helping teens avoid violent and abusive relationships appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

Official LDS material:

LDS Family Services‘ book, A Guide to Addiction Recovery and Healing,found on the right-hand side of the addiction recovery support groups page. (The book can also be ordered online (A Spanish version is available here).) Support groups are available all over the world, and are designed to help both addicts and their family members and friends. (See this page for more information.)

“Hope, Healing, and Dealing with Addiction” — a recent article in the July Ensign, written by an LDS Family Services counselor

“Lessons from a Milk Jug” — a touching personal story about how one woman found strength and hope when struggling with the pain of her husband’s addiction and sin

“To Heal the Shattering Consequences of Abuse” — a powerful and sensitive talk by Elder Richard G. Scott (this talk by Elder Scott addresses the topic of healing from abuse as well)

“Healing the Tragic Scars of Abuse” — another talk by Elder Scott

“A Conversation about Spouse Abuse”

“Hope and Healing” — an article about healing from the tragedy of abuse

“The Journey to Healing” — victims of childhood sexual abuse share their stories

You can also search on topics such as ‘abuse,’ ‘healing from abuse,’ ‘healing from addiction,’ etc. at lds.org.

Current online discussion related to these topics:

There have been a couple of recent discussions about this at Blog Segullah. Segullah is a literary magazine, published three times annually, exploring faith and the complexities of life through the lens of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

There is power and peace in knowing that one is not alone in the struggle with the effects and pain of addiction and abuse, and the following posts may be of benefit to someone who is struggling. See here and here for others’ thoughts, including experiences of women who are dealing (or have dealt) with these issues in their lives.

The staff at Segullah and here at Mormon Women believe that there is great power in women coming together to support and help each other, and to open their hearts and share what has helped them through difficult times. If you are struggling with the effects of abuse or addiction (or any other trial, for that matter) and would like to share your story (particularly how the gospel of Jesus Christ has helped you find hope and healing), we welcome you to submit your story to ‘mormonwoman’ AT ‘gmail’ DOT ‘com’. Please note that for those who are concerned about discussion or comments about your story, here at Mormon Women, we do not provide open discussion or real-time commenting, so you could share your story without that fear. If you would prefer some real-time feedback, you might consider sharing your story at Blog Segullah. In either place, you can write without revealing your identity if that would be more helpful.

The post Dealing with — and Healing from — Addiction or Abuse appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.

As Mother’s Day approaches, the concept of motherhood and mothering cannot be avoided. Greeting cards for Mothers, Grandmothers, and even Fathers who have been the “mother” at home appear on the shelves. As usual, I search for the plainest, most dull card around- sometimes even getting a blank card with a flower on the front. I write on the inside, “Happy Mother’s Day”, sign it and send it to my mother.

I have had a strained relationship with my mother stemming from abuse as a child. At best, I speak to her twice a year- and that is plenty for me. When I was 15, and finally starting to overcome and look forward to exiting my painful home life, I was diagnosed with Mayer-Rokitansky-Kuster-Hauser Syndrome– in my case, I have no uterus (but I have fabulous fully-functioning ovaries). Quite in character, my mother began a series of lectures on how I was evil in the pre-existence, how children were being protected from me because I would be a terrible mother, how God choose to punish me in “this way”, how adopted children were violent/bad/sickly (therefore the reason they were up for adoption) not to mention accusations of unchaste behavior.

Soaking all of this in and fully believing that no man would ever want to marry me, I stopped going to church on Mother’s Day. I hated my mother and never would be a mother- so why go? I could not stand and receive a carnation as a “future mother”. I could not bear testimony of my adoration for my mother. If there was ever a place I did not belong, it was in church on Mother’s Day.

I did have a testimony, so although seriously doubted and disbelieved my own worthiness for membership, I kept attending church. Having left home a few years later, I queried an Institute teacher about how to not be sealed to one’s family. I did not want to be “sealed” to my parents, though I loved my father, my sense of betrayal, resentment and frankly, downright hated for my mother was keeping me from emotionally progressing. I didn’t date returned missionaries for fear they might see through what I thought was my inherit wickedness. I thought they would demand to know why I had not repented for whatever I had done to beg the infertility curse from God. I hated who I was and wanted to be free, so I assumed that other than apostasy, there must be some way I could be “un-sealed” from my parents. This query startled my sweet, almost elderly institute teacher, and he invited me in to his office to talk about why I might not want to be sealed to my parents.

The meeting was short, yet profound. I briefly told him who I really was. (Keep in mind, my mother taught me some very warped and incorrect things about sealings- i.e. children are sealed to their parents as virtual slaves for eternity). This sweet institute teacher told me that I need to be eternally grateful to my mother for giving birth to me. Beyond that, he said, ‘You owe her nothing”. I was knocked out. I owed her nothing but gratitude for birth. I cannot express how liberating that was for me… and yet, how difficult it was to come to terms with being grateful to her for giving birth to me. Since the age of 7, I had entertained ideas of suicide, finding myself jealous when I heard people being diagnosed with cancer, and being killed in car accidents (no kidding!). I thought I had no reason to live. Somehow, this advice liberated me. I was not trapped as an eternal slave. I was infertile, but not trapped.

Through the next few years, I learned that I can forgive, but not have a relationship with my mother. And I am truthfully VERY grateful to her for a number of things. Wacky doctrine and neglect aside, she taught me about the Book of Mormon, how to sew and how to drive a car. Those things deserve an annual card with the words, “Happy Mother’s Day”, nothing else.

But the Mother’s Day church thing… still wasn’t okay with that. I was very uncomfortable sitting in sacrament meeting with people professing such gratitude for their parents and children. I realize now that I was deeply envious; they had mother who the believed with all their heart loved them and I was infertile. What was the point for me? I felt like an orphan who would never be a mother. So, about 10 years ago, as another horrific Mother’s Day approached, I decided to focus on nurturing and mothering, not the ability to bear a child, but the ability to love a child. I wrote heartfelt letters of gratitude to the Young Women leaders who taught me, my seminary teacher who I loved deeply and an aunt who had always listened to my hopes and fears without judgment.

For the first time, Mother’s Day meant LOVE for me. I am eternally grateful to these women- who taught me about make-up, set marvelous examples for me, complimented me when I looked nice, encouraged me to pray and study and live the gospel, and more importantly- one brilliant YW leader who told me that being infertile meant that I would really, truly marry a good man who would love me for me, not for my body. A few short years later, she was right, I did marry a wonderful man.

Finally with an extraordinary man at my side, the emptiness on Mother’s Day ended and it simply became a day of primary talks, not directed at barren me. I could sit through the meeting without anger, though I still had sadness and a sense that perhaps if I were really a good person, I might deserve to be blessed with a child. It was all based on me being good…could I ever be good enough? How were these pregnant single mothers still “more blessed”, therefore more righteous than me? Then I read Following Christ. It hit me, somewhere in-between the pages of this book- that my infertility was a result of the fall of Adam- i.e. mortality. I had done nothing to offend God, I was not “blessed” with this challenge, I am simply mortal! I am mortal! That is all! Not good, not bad or otherwise- just human. 100% Dumb luck. What an epiphany! (I now think: “duh”!!!) But it took me ages to really learn this and apply it to me. Infertility wasn’t my fault. God didn’t hate me. He loves me. He wanted me to have everything, so He sent His Son. I FINALLY understood it, and begged His forgiveness for the past anger towards Him.

So now- Mother’s Day- I love it. My fabulous husband has always bought me cards, flowers and/or gifts on Mother’s Day because I am a mother in spirit, I am the woman of the house, I nurture, I love… and my husband is fabulous. I get to celebrate Mother’s Day as a holiday for me BECAUSE I am a woman. I understand now, that being a woman is all I ever needed to be maternal. I understand that not everyone is like me, emotionally, spiritually, physically. But we- as women- all are mothers in one way or another. Our potential for nurturing is beyond limit.

So this year, I am looking forward to Mother’s Day with a greater joy than ever. If I were not infertile, I would still be considered within child-bearing years, so I have time and ability to begin alternative processes of becoming a mother. I understand that infertility NEVER limited my ability to be a mother, it just meant I needed to take a different path. And there is nothing even remotely wrong with that.

One of the most profound conclusions that I have come to over these trying years is that a significant number of women also struggle with Mother’s Day. Perhaps they are adopted, feel unsettled, imperfect, have lost a child, lost a spouse, or feel motherhood as oppressing. For me, as soon as I decided that motherhood wasn’t about me and my experiences/limitations, but the celebration of nurturing in mother earth, in admiration of imperfect but loving women who set tremendous examples for me, it became a day of celebration. No honor, but celebrating the women sitting by me who church shush their babies, celebrating the elderly women who give me a kiss and a hug every Sunday just because they can, celebrating the character of nurturing, true motherhood. The celebration of nurturing and womanhood became more glorious and applicable to me than ever before.

Happy Mother’s Day to all women out there! All women regardless of our unique situations because we have the ability to love and nurture and are mothers, regardless of our mortal place in time.

The post First Person: Motherhood for the Motherless and Infertile appeared first on Women in The Church of Jesus Christ.