Anger is a natural part of our human Existence. We’re angered when things don’t go our way or when we feel we’ve been treated unfairly. We’re frustrated when we strive to achieve a goal that seems just out of our reach. Women who live through infertility and miscarriage walk through a cycle of emotions, but probably the most powerful is Anger.
When it began to be apparent that conception was not going to be an easily achieved goal, I began looking for someone to blame. Sometimes it was me, sometimes it was my husband, but most frequently, it was God. As with most problems in life, it is easier to be angry at their existence than to do what’s necessary to address them. There were times I remember sitting on the bed, rocking back and forth, burning tears streaming down my face, screaming: “I hate myself.” And I did. I hated this body, this feeble, dysfunctional body I was inhabiting. I was angry at my inability to control my own circumstances. I was angry at myself for wanting a child in the first place.
Sometimes it was my husband that felt the brunt of my anger. If he could just be a better sexual partner, perhaps our chances of conception would be greater. It seemed to me sometimes that he just didn’t share the same desires as I did; that having a child wasn’t that important to him. And I was angry that he didn’t seem to be suffering as much as I was.
Most of the anger I felt was directed at God. I had good reason, I thought. He was the one who created me. He was the one who gave me the desire to be a mother. He was the only one who could do anything about my situation, and He seemed to be sitting on His hands. This anger intensified after my second miscarriage. The day I found out that the pregnancy was failing, I attended a prayer meeting service at our church. Many men and women of God were there—people who were known as effective prayer warriors—and they prayed over me and my child, imploring God to intervene and calling forth life within the tiny embryo that was struggling within me. I left in full confidence that I was about to witness a miracle.
But days later, I left the OBGYN’s office in a flood of confusion, and anguish. My pregnancy, the one I had waited so many years for, was over. There was not even a trace of the tiny mass of life that had so quickly sprung into existence and faded away.
I had been betrayed. My anger burned so hot that I could feel it’s warmth rising up into my face and expressing itself in my tears. I had trusted God for a miracle and none had come. We wrestled with one another for days. I knew in the midst of it He was trying to speak to my heart but my ears were closed. What could He possibly say that could atone for this breach of trust between us?
It is important that I mention one thing: I tell this story as it was. It is tempting to sugarcoat it, to gloss over the uglier parts of my bitterness towards my Creator, but that wouldn’t do you or I any good. I do not condone my attitude during this time, but I also know that many of you reading this have wrestled with theses same thoughts and feelings. They are situations we hesitate to mention in our Christian circles because we are afraid of how we will be perceived, so we go about pretending that we don’t fight them until one day they consume us. The truth is that we are reactive creatures who too often find ourselves in a volatile situation. The head knows that God is good, but the heart is easily affected.
"Is God's comfort too little for you? Is his gentle word not enough? What has taken away your reason? What has weakened your vision, that you turn against God and say all these evil things?” Job 15:11-13
When it began to be apparent that conception was not going to be an easily achieved goal, I began looking for someone to blame. Sometimes it was me, sometimes it was my husband, but most frequently, it was God. As with most problems in life, it is easier to be angry at their existence than to do what’s necessary to address them. There were times I remember sitting on the bed, rocking back and forth, burning tears streaming down my face, screaming: “I hate myself.” And I did. I hated this body, this feeble, dysfunctional body I was inhabiting. I was angry at my inability to control my own circumstances. I was angry at myself for wanting a child in the first place.
Sometimes it was my husband that felt the brunt of my anger. If he could just be a better sexual partner, perhaps our chances of conception would be greater. It seemed to me sometimes that he just didn’t share the same desires as I did; that having a child wasn’t that important to him. And I was angry that he didn’t seem to be suffering as much as I was.
Most of the anger I felt was directed at God. I had good reason, I thought. He was the one who created me. He was the one who gave me the desire to be a mother. He was the only one who could do anything about my situation, and He seemed to be sitting on His hands. This anger intensified after my second miscarriage. The day I found out that the pregnancy was failing, I attended a prayer meeting service at our church. Many men and women of God were there—people who were known as effective prayer warriors—and they prayed over me and my child, imploring God to intervene and calling forth life within the tiny embryo that was struggling within me. I left in full confidence that I was about to witness a miracle.
But days later, I left the OBGYN’s office in a flood of confusion, and anguish. My pregnancy, the one I had waited so many years for, was over. There was not even a trace of the tiny mass of life that had so quickly sprung into existence and faded away.
I had been betrayed. My anger burned so hot that I could feel it’s warmth rising up into my face and expressing itself in my tears. I had trusted God for a miracle and none had come. We wrestled with one another for days. I knew in the midst of it He was trying to speak to my heart but my ears were closed. What could He possibly say that could atone for this breach of trust between us?
It is important that I mention one thing: I tell this story as it was. It is tempting to sugarcoat it, to gloss over the uglier parts of my bitterness towards my Creator, but that wouldn’t do you or I any good. I do not condone my attitude during this time, but I also know that many of you reading this have wrestled with theses same thoughts and feelings. They are situations we hesitate to mention in our Christian circles because we are afraid of how we will be perceived, so we go about pretending that we don’t fight them until one day they consume us. The truth is that we are reactive creatures who too often find ourselves in a volatile situation. The head knows that God is good, but the heart is easily affected.
"Is God's comfort too little for you? Is his gentle word not enough? What has taken away your reason? What has weakened your vision, that you turn against God and say all these evil things?” Job 15:11-13
