Responding to Those We Love When They Hurt

For many months, I have wanted to write this post. If I had written it after our infertility diagnosis, it would have been laced with anger, resentment, and bitterness. I knew I needed time to process through my grief and new reality.

Even though adoption has ALWAYS been a part of plan A for us, it was still adjusting the future we imagined in our minds. It is only natural to mourn that our bodies don’t work the way they are supposed to. It is only natural to want to see a little part of you and a little part of the person you love in this world. It is only natural to wonder what this child would look like, act like, dislike, etc.

And when you hear loved ones say that your little niece or nephew looks just like so and so in the family or acts just like so and so, it is only natural to pause, to think, and to realize that those comments won’t happen as naturally with your kids. And that’s okay.

And it’s okay that B and I grieved. Actually, it is necessary and healthy.

Grief isn’t pretty. Grief is messy. Sometimes, grief doesn’t make sense. There were many days I did not feel like myself and wondered why I could not course correct. “Come on M, snap out of it!” Some days, it took everything for me to get ready for work, go to work, turn on my computer, teach class, and go home. Every day, I went home right at 5:00. I was needed at home. I needed to be home. We were hurting. B voiced this same experience.

Like me, I am sure others wondered, “What’s wrong with her? Why can’t she snap out of it?”

In a culture obsessed with immediate gratification, we want others to immediately be okay. But, to expect that of people who are grieving is not healthy. Yeah, sure, it is uncomfortable to see people grieve, but it is necessary that we allow those we love to grieve–to get angry, to be sad, to hurt, to ask the tough questions that don’t have answers, to ask tough questions that YOU cannot answer. In a world of immediate everything, we want to provide immediate answers and reasons why. But, we cannot. We should resist the temptation to.

And most of all, it is important that we do not make light of their situation. On the outside, you might wonder, “Why is it so hard for them to accept their infertility diagnosis?” However, that is easy when you haven’t received that diagnosis–when you have not been in their shoes. And even if you have received that diagnosis, every person is different.

We know that people were sad for us and hurting for us, but that is different than the hurt and grief we had to process through. They are different.

This is not the only traumatic thing we’ve experienced in life, but for us, infertility has been the hardest–not to make light of other things we have experienced. Every infertile couple I’ve talked to has said, “I would not wish this on my worst enemy.”

And this is where the blog post takes an uncomfortable but important turn.

Sometimes, the stuff we say adds to the hurt. Sometimes the stuff we don’t say adds to the hurt.

Walking through this road of infertility, I became aware of my own ridiculous ways of responding to other people in a time of grief. I recognized things I had done (or not) and things I had said (or left unsaid) that can add hurt.

I realize that when people we love are dealing with grief, we feel lots of pressure. I know people around us felt pressure. “What do I say to them?” and “Do I say anything?” “Do I act like I know or is it best to act like I don’t know they are infertile, even though I know they are?” “Do I give them advice?” or “Do I send them scripture?”

Each person is different, but I want to share some of the positive and negative ways people we LOVE responded to us. Why do I write this? Well, I have been overwhelmed by the sheer number of women I know who are infertile–amazing women. There are a lot of us. And, there aren’t many books that give advice about what to say and what not to say to a loved one who is infertile. Second, it is the holiday season, and research suggests that the holiday season is especially hard for those who are going through fertility treatments or those who are infertile and not going through treatments.

So walking through this, I have learned a lot about how I want to respond to those who are hurting. Some of this might only pertain to infertility, but, a lot of it relates to other types of grief. Let me say this, the most rewarding part of infertility has been that B and I have experienced such healing love from people we did not really know before this. However, just as frequently, we heard hurtful things from people. We aren’t angry, but we were.

So what do you do when a friend is told she/he is infertile or (insert other bad news here)?

– Ask what your friend needs. Communicate that you want to be the type of friend that he or she needs and that you want to know what help looks like for them. Then, even if it is uncomfortable for you, be that type of friend.

– For example, both B and I did not want people to send us scripture. That might seem absurd to others, but it felt so cliche. On our own, we were reading through Scripture privately and as a couple, but it seemed like a lot of people just wanted to email us Romans 8:28. Only a couple of friends asked what type of help we needed, and when we said, “Please don’t send us scripture” they listened. This might only be us, but it felt so cliche–that the cliche “Christian” thing to do was to google “Scripture for grief” and copy and paste that into an email. However, there were times when others told me about something they were learning at Bible study, like anguish, and how it was important to process through this–that did not hurt us. It felt like they were saying, “M, it is only natural to feel anguish.” That helped. I think this highlights the importance of my first point–ask your friend what kind of friend they need–and know that this will change during the different stages of grief.

– Don’t make jokes about their infertility diagnosis or light of their pain (even if they do at times). Many times, people said insensitive comments such as:

  • Wow, think about how much you’ll save now that you don’t have to pay for birth control (B and I are still making payments on all of our infertility tests. These tests cost far more than birth control, and most insurance plans don’t pay for these.)
  • Oh, I am so jealous that you never have to worry, “Am I pregnant?”  That would be awesome to just have fun and never worry.  My spouse just said, “M and B are so lucky.”
  • Just think about the millions of dollars you will save by not having children
  • Meh, children are a pain anyways. They aren’t really worth it.

– Resist the temptation to tell your infertile friends about

  • Your friend of a friend who, once she adopted, got pregnant.  Resist saying, “I bet as soon as you adopt, you’ll get pregnant.”
  • Your friend of a friend who, once she stopped trying to get pregnant, got pregnant.

– Don’t tell your friends your personal beliefs about surrogacy, IVF, IUI, Clomid, adoption, etc. unless they ask.  Don’t tell them what you think they should do unless they ask.  The *only* infertility treatment that *might* work for us is IVF, however, the chances are not good for us because of things I don’t want to say online.  We talked about this at length with our doctors, we did our research, we talked to each other, we talked to wise friends, we talked to other couples who’ve walked through infertility, and we made a decision for us–just for us.  There were a lot of people who offered unsolicited theological arguments of why we should or should not consider certain options.  These comments were never helpful.  However, I am so, so, so, so, so, so grateful for all of the families who privately shared with us which fertility treatments they chose or did not.  I am thankful they let us ask questions.  I am so thankful that these families celebrated with us when we made the best decision for us at this time in our lives, even when that was different from their own personal decision.  Walking through this, I learned that each woman needs to listen to her body, and do what she feels is right.  I will never criticize another woman for choosing IVF over adoption or adoption over IVF.  It is a personal choice.  Women, we should support one another.  Infertility, without the criticism from others, is hard.  Being a woman is hard.

– Don’t say, “Just be strong. Be strong.” Yeah.

– Don’t say, “You need to be joyful” or “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”  Some people made it seem like it was not Christian to be sad.  Being sad and experiencing grief are different than not experiencing joy.  Also, I never realized how many women in the Bible are infertile.  The Bible highlights their grief and anguish.  The Lord uses this in profound ways.  He only criticizes Sarah’s response of laughing at God–not Hannah’s and not Elizabeth’s.  They hurt.  They are angry.  I mean, read the story of Hannah.  She is in so much anguish that the priest thinks she is drunk.  Sometimes, I was drunk with grief.  My world was spinning,  It did not make sense.  I was slower to react and respond.  I did not always make sense.  For healing to take place, we have to experience grief and anguish.

– I needed to know that people supported me no matter what decision I made.

– When people said, “I’m sorry” it helped.

– When people acted like they did not know, even though we knew they did, it hurt.  It was like that big, hairy moose in the room that everyone sees, but no one acknowledges.  Just say, “I am sorry.”  It is more awkward not acknowledging it, than acknowledging it.  If you are worried about bringing it up at work, send a card.  That way, the couple can open it when they are ready.  I think there are times people don’t want to bring up pain at work, which is legitimate!  So, send a card.

– Don’t try to tell them why God is allowing this to happen.  A lot of people told us bad theology of why this was happening.

– Just listen.  Too often, our tendency is to offer advice–crappy advice.  Just listen.

– It is amazing how healing food, dessert, etc. are.  When people made me food, I felt comforted.  Then, making dinner was one less thing to think about.

– If your grieving friend has the courage to say, “When you say ‘______’, it hurts me because of where I am in my grief.”  Don’t respond out of anger.  Listen, they are trying to tell you ways to love them, and if you love them, no matter how hard it is to hear, you should honor what they said.  Thank your friend for telling you this.

– If you invite a friend  to your shower, a friend who you know is going through infertility testing or treatment, be understanding if they cannot attend your shower.  Now, I could totally attend a shower.  Before, it would have been harmful.

–  The hundreds of notes and cards were healing.  Lots of you said, “I’m sorry. And, I don’t know what to say.”  Thanks for being honest.

– I am so grateful for my tight knit group of friends who would ask, and still ask, “How are you doing with your infertility?”  And then they listened.  Even if I sounded crazy, they’d say, “That’s a legitimate feeling.”  When I decided not to go to a shower, they’d say, “I am so proud of you for making that decision for yourself.”

Walking through the pain of infertility, I became embarrassingly aware of the hurtful things I said to other people, and this experience taught me how I need to change.  At one point, I called one of my close friends to apologize for saying hurtful things to her during a life changing event in her life.

If you read any of these, and are fearful you said them to us, don’t worry.  B and I are guilty of these.

Please understand that the spirit of this post is not vindictive.  I just know so many women and men who are infertile, and I know many more of us who love people who are or will be.  We all need help responding to those we love when they hurt.

I’m Thankful

For my adult years, I worked hard to do things responsibly so that I was in the “perfect” condition to be a mom (paid off our enormous amount of student loans, got in shape, got a doctorate, had some adventures, etc.).  During the lonely nights in my office when I wanted to quit my doctorate, I would tell myself, “M, someday when you hold your babies, you can tell them how hard you worked to get to the day you could hold them. You can tell them how badly you wanted to be a mother, and waited to be one.”

And if you know how loving my husband is — a natural nurturer — you know I dreamed of the day I’d see him embracing a child of ours.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how appropriate my self-talk was given my upcoming infertility diagnosis, “M, someday when you hold your babies, you can tell them how hard you worked to get to the day you could hold them. You can tell them how badly you wanted to be a mother, and waited to be one.”

I am so grateful that the Lord gave me an infertility diagnosis.  I am so grateful that each week as I look through the waiting child list, God is breaking my heart for so many kids that need a family.  I am incredibly humbled that the Lord would choose us for an infertility diagnoses and lay the calling of adoption on our hearts at 13. He cares so much for orphans, and He is entrusting some to Our care.  Thank you, Lord for that calling.  I am thankful that so many of you are burdened to pray for our child and for us.  I am grateful for the difficulty of this journey, because the Lord is shaping me into a woman of substance.

Dear child of mine, 

I pray that you are safe.  I pray that you feel hundreds if not thousands of people praying for you.  I pray that you feel the love of your Creator.  I pray that your caretakers are loving, patient, tender, gentle, kind, trustworthy, compassionate, and give you hundreds of hugs every day. I pray that the Lord would shape B and me into the people God wants to raise you.  I pray for our journey to you, and long for the day we bring you home.  I pray that God would expedite that. I pray that God would comfort your heart.  I pray that you will attach to us, and that you would always know that we will never abandon you. I know that you are precious to our Father, and I am so thankful for the opportunity to care for you.  I cannot wait for you to meet your dad–he was made for this.

The Moores have so much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.  We are thankful for this season of waiting.  The Lord is faithful in the seasons of plenty and those of want.

For those of you who are prayer warriors, please pray for us and our adoption this week.  It is a big week.

Thank you

This morning, I woke up, and the first thought that popped into my mind is that I am so thankful that God chose us to experience all of this heartache and growth.

For the past 11 days, or since my “trauma” post, I have had dreams almost every night.  Most women I know indicate that the first sign they have when they are pregnant consists of dreams, lots of vivid dreams.  Well lately, I have been dreaming vivid dreams of our children.  Perhaps, I am expecting?  No, no, there is a 0% chance that we will ever achieve an actual pregnancy ourselves, but, I sense that the child(ren) meant for our care is/are out there or perhaps in the womb.

And, I’ve even found myself nesting.  I know, you probably think I am crazy.  But, if you know me, you know my urge to clean and organize my house must be Divine intervention.

Well, throughout the past two weeks, we gave ourselves a break from all of the research, paperwork, and adoption talk.  We intended to continue this break until the end of November, but, on Halloween, both of us looked at each other and said, “It’s time.”

During the past two weeks, it seems our grief has turned into a different place–Acceptance.  While journeying to Indiana and back on a recent business trip, it seemed that every person I sat next to was pregnant and gushing about it.  And it did not hurt.  I wasn’t sad for us.  And when one person sitting next to me asked, “Do you have kids?” and then, “Well, why not?”  It did not hurt like before.  The burden on our hearts has morphed into a burden for orphans and a deep appreciation for those who are called to provide care for them–whether as caregivers, foster parents, adoption agencies, social workers, and adoptive parents.

B and I both feel as though our children are in Ch!na.  Lately, I cannot stop dreaming of Ch!na.

So today, we will interview one more agency.  And then we will begin the 6-9 month process of paperwork to see if Ch!na will accept our application to adopt.  If everything goes according to recent time estimates, we could have a child/children in our arms in 12-15 months (but in international adoption, very few things move quickly…so this is just an estimate).

Please continue to pray for us and our kids.

Lord, thank you for this journey–this hard journey.


Lately, I have been praying for direction.  That’s not a surprise.

For years, B and I felt so strongly about adoption that we prayed for God to make it clear whether we should have biological kids.  We feel that He made it clear.

But, for those who have researched adoption, you know that we are just at the beginning of a new mountain.  Where do we adopt from?  I know, I know, plenty of people have told us, “You know, there are plenty of kids right here in the United States of America that need a good home.” Right, clearly, my husband who had 20 foster siblings knows this.  We know this.  But, we are prayerfully considering where to adopt from–domestic and international.  There are millions of kids, in fact 153 million, who need a good home both domestic and abroad.  That weighs heavily on us.  When people tell us, “You know, there are kids here that need a good home,” I want to ask, “Why is it up to the infertile couple to solve this problem?”  Because it’s not.  It takes all of us — the infertile and the very fertile.

Now off my soapbox.

Lately, we’ve been pleading to God to show us where.  And so far, nothing.

Some of you might be thinking, “Oh M, how naive.”  But in the big stuff in my life, God has worked this way.  My doctorate, my dissertation, even how I met B, the stories behind this are amazing, too amazing.  I am so dumb, so blind, so distracted that when the Lord answers, he has to answer loudly.  He has to yell at me and say, “M, hello, M, right here.”

Yesterday, I was rushing to a meeting and I was multitasking!  While walking across campus to the meeting, I was checking my work email and replying to urgent matters.  Suddenly, I looked up and I was headed down the wrong sidewalk 100 feet beyond the building I needed to go to.  Right there, I started cracking up at myself.  It reminded me of this woman.


And then today, I noticed it wasn’t just a M problem.  Once again, I found myself walking across campus to a meeting.  Two students nearly ran into me because they were doing something on their smartphones.  Clearly, there I was, in full view.  They never saw me.  I stepped off the sidewalk to let them pass.  They  had no idea that I did this.

And so I wondered, how often are we all too busy, too distracted, too hurried to miss seeing God’s face and his goodness all around us.  How often are we too distracted to see that someone is hurting, lonely, and in need of encouragement?

I don’t know about you – but, I know that in my own life, when I am too distracted I end up in the wrong direction…and I miss out on the opportunity to really love others.

So what is that distractor for you?  I think it is an us issue, not just a M issue.

So while I am praying for direction, for the Lord to make his path clear, I am making sure that I am running away from the distractors in my life.