God,

I am so worn down by this season of waiting. Month after month, day after day, the cycle of hope and heartbreak feels heavier than before. I wake up each and every morning wishing that this might be the day, that I might finally see that second line on a test, that I might finally feel that fullness of life within me — but it hasn’t happened yet. 

And some days, I am okay — I know how to connect to a more patient version of my heart. I remind myself that timing is everything, that maybe it’ll happen next month, that I just need to keep believing in your miracles. But then there are days where I’m truly not okay, God. Days where I can’t stop the tears from coming, where I feel like my body has constantly betrayed me, where I wonder if I’m broken or if I’ve done something wrong.

It’s hard not to question things, God. Everyone around me seems to have conceived so easily. My social media is filled with baby announcements and hopeful ultrasound photos. And I’m just here, alone, feeling empty when I want nothing more than to bring life into this world. I am happy for everyone who is living my dream, I am genuinely so awed by their blessings, but each announcement stings, each announcement scratches on the intensity of my own longing, God, and it is getting hard to deny.

God, I know in my head that you’re good. I know that you have a plan for me, that you see me. But my heart struggles to believe at times, and I’m scared of holding onto hope because it hurts to have that hope crushed over and over again. It hurts to hold on.

So I’m asking for your help, God. Please love me in this season. Remind me in the quiet moments that I am not forgotten. Help me let go of the guilt, or the idea that I’m not enough, that maybe if I did this or that differently — I’d already be pregnant. Let me find rest in the truth that my worth isn’t measured by what my body can or can’t do. Let me find healing in the fact that I am giving this my all.

And God, if there is a reason for this waiting, if there is something I need to learn, or a path I haven’t considered yet, please just open my eyes. If there’s a different way you want to grow our family, give me the courage to see it. And if it’s simply a matter of timing — help me nurture my hope without letting it destroy me each time the answer is “not yet.”

I lay this dream before you, God, and I trust that you understand this journey even when I don’t. You feel the ache in my heart, you see the vision I have of holding my own baby, you witness the tears I cry when another month passes and I am not met with good news. Walk with me through each doctor’s appointment, each anxious day, each sleepless night. Let me feel your presence in the silent spaces where I struggle to keep my faith alive.

God, I believe that you are kind. And I’m trying to believe that someday, I’ll look back on this season with a story of how your grace carried me through such a difficult moment in my life, with a story that has the happiest ending because I surrendered to your will. 

But until then, I just need you to anchor me, God. I need you to remind me that I’m not alone. I need you to remind me that I’m not broken, that I’m not forgotten, that I am loved enough to be given the opportunity to pour all of my tenderness into my own child when the time is right.

Amen.