The scariest thing I've ever done is admit this. . .

The people pleaser inside of me is really worried right about now. As much as I want to come clean about why I've changed so much these last four years, I can't help but think "what will they think of me?"

I'm worried that everyone will be really uncomfortable, that they will think I'm revealing too much about myself. The fact of the matter is that I have been dealing with a lot during the last 1,500 days or so. I am pretty sure that I know what you will want to say to me. You'll say that I should "talk to someone about this." "Join a support group." "Lean on your friends and family, that's what they are there for." There comes a time, though, when that just isn't enough. I'm at a place where I need to start working things out, like, for real.

With the new year, comes the realization that I will be one year older. Duh, right? Each year since my husband and I have been married, we've thought "this is the year!" Only to be curled up on New Year's Eve feeling disappointed, old, and tired. I want 2014 to be different. I want to figure out a way to make this work, and if I can't, I want to work towards being okay with that.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. . .

So, obviously, I'm talking about infertility here. It's the elephant in the room. It is something that many people have never thought about. Well, at least 9 out of 10 of you. And to those people, I am so thankful that you never have to think about it. If you have a child, you truly should treasure each moment that you have with them, even if they are peeing on you while you change their diaper. I know, kids can test you, and kids have their "moments," but really, the fact that a human grew inside of you or your wife is something so incredibly amazing that it should not be overlooked as something that simply just "happens."

And if your child came out healthy? Well, you should probably feel like you won a major award or something. The fact that everything can line up and we can create these people and nurture them in our wombs is so incredible. Well, they may have grown in your womb, I suppose, and you nurtured them. I imagine it is a wonderful feeling to know that you have given life.

Ew. I feel like I'm getting all sappy and depressing here.

Anyway, infertility is hard, y'all. It rears it's ugly head at you around every corner and slaps you in the face when you're least expecting it. Think you're just going to a staff meeting at work? Surprise! It's a pregnancy announcement for a co-worker! Everybody slap that stupid smile on your face and clap while she runs laps around the staff room and high-fives everyone! Ohhhh, work party? Perfect! Your boss brought his new baby boy, why don't you hold him, what a smashing idea. You don't feel uncomfortable at all! And my personal favorite moment: Answer the phone and answer your friend's question of "How's it going?" by telling her that your latest IUI didn't work, and you're not sure how much of this you can handle, only to end the conversation with her in tears as she tells you she's pregnant. Winner!

Perhaps the hardest part of infertility is realizing that you just aren't you anymore. The things you used to be thrilled about: planning showers for your friends, picking out adorable tiny baby outfits with socks and bibs to match, holding a little one while their mom takes a well deserved bathroom break. All of these things used to get you excited about the future. Now? It's a tiny dig in your heart with a little shovel that is hauling away the excitement and happiness you used to feel about life and your future.

Sounds extreme, doesn't it? Yep.

I mean, what is life supposed to be like without kids? Obviously, I have a mom and a dad (technically, I have a mom and a step-dad, my dad lives far away and I don't see much of him). So does my husband. All I've ever known is living with brothers, and he living with sisters. All I've ever known for holidays is getting to my mom's house early to help with dinner, talking with other relatives, helping clean, sharing stories with neighbors. I'm not saying I can't still participate in family gatherings, but there is a piece missing when you feel like you can't contribute to, well, a family.

My face right now looks like I just bit into a lemon. I'm so hesitant to publish this blog. I'm so nervous about the reaction from my friends and family (if they even can read it). I have to say, however, that I am really tired of the topic of infertility being taboo. I am tired of having to explain to anyone that no, in fact, I do not have children. I don't think that those awkward moments will go away by pushing the publish button, but I wonder if I will feel any different in my own skin.

You see, there is a lot of shame associated with infertility. Shame that I am not living up to my potential. I want to be a mom, I want it so badly. I know that my parents and my husband's parents want grandchildren to spoil. The hardest thing, I think, is the fact that I know my husband would make such an amazing father, and I feel like I'm taking that away from him. It is something he so deserves. And I deserve it too. I deserve to be a mother. I have so much love to give. I am so ready to take on this role. I can't imagine my life without a tiny human in it.

Finally, I want this blog to serve as a place where family members, friends, and husbands can go to support their loved one with female infertility. I also want it to be a celebration of the good things in life. 2014 is going to be filled with ups and downs, just like the last four years, I am hopeful that when I look back on it, I will see more hills than valleys, and I hope to help some friends along the way.

All the best to you and yours this year!

Oh, and a little infertility humor for you all. . .