I hate relapsing.

That painful part in your journey when you suddenly find yourself falling 5 steps backwards, for no reason, and instead of feeling sad or tired, you feel angry. The kind of anger that burns your stomach and temporarily blinds you, like it’s a physical fury bubbling up through your veins.

Anger relapse is among the worst, for I would rather feel sad. At least when I feel sad I can be comforted. But no, anger is a different emotion. Anger makes me want to backhand anyone that heads into my path. My mind spews thoughts and words that can only be described as venomous. There is no logic with anger. I can understand the intent of everyone and still burn with anger. On my anger relapse days, I seethe. I am angry that I am still here, waiting, it’s been so long. I hurt. I am tired of my patience being tested. I am tired of being told just to trust God or that this will be worth the wait. These reminders on my Angry Days only bring frustration because don’t you think I know this?

I have moments where I want to go off on every person complaining on Facebook. Shut up! Don’t you realized how blessed you are? I am so sorry school is closed today and you have to spend time with your children. Boo frickin hoo.

I want to run around and find every piece of sugar, carbohydrates and gluten in my house and shove them in my mouth at a rapid fire pace. Don’t you see, none of this even matters? Still here. Still stuck right here.

I can’t answer my phone on days like today. My brain and lips are too closely connected. An innocent comment on the other end will only risk impulsive words being spoken.

On my Angry Days, the intensity of this emotion scares me. I am angry at myself, feeling foolish for the days I believe so fervently that this will one day happen. I feel angry that deep down, I still believe He is in control and has good, unpredictable yet perfect things planned for us. Even with that, it hurts so much … I feel angry that we keep getting passed, lapped, relapped, forgotten about. How is it so easy for some? And those it’s hard for, well, even they are making this look easy. (again “easy” – remember the logic factor is tossed on days like today.)

I am angry because I know how hypocritical all of this sounds. I am immediately slapped with guilt because I know we are the ones blessed. I know that every Facebook complaint I read has been echoed by a complaint of my own. Oh our house just doesn’t have a deck. Oh my husband has such chatty moments, always at the end of my cable tv show. Yes, my big tv, that I have to dust. Ugh. My life. It is so disgusting that I can even for a moment judge someone for complaining when I do it all the time. Add another anger coin to my stack, this time at myself.

I have two choices on Angry Days – feed the fire (let it burn baby, let it burn, let’s see how high we can get this flame) or douse it out. The later is less fun.

Feeding the fire: It’s been nearly 6 years. THEY have (1/2/3/4/5) children. WE don’t deserve this. THEY don’t appreciate their gifts, WE would appreciate it. That Superbowl commercial was insensitive, not everyone is a Dad. NO ONE GETS IT. I hate pity words, how dare they throw that insincere bandaid statement at me. This is never going to happen for us, is it? Have I just been strung along this whole time? Where have I missed the sign to get off this path? You know how many times we could have traveled Europe? My insurance sucks. How. Much. Longer.

Please tell me you have been here before. Oh it burns so bad. My anger isn’t directed at God, it’s a combination of anger at myself and then the rest residing in this cloud that is hovering above my head.

With the fury still burning in my heart (how could I forget my anger at my lame eggs, the eggs that clearly suck because we are still here), I do what any person trying to “douse the fire” does. I passively flip through my devotions, breeze over some Bible verses, completely uninterested in putting out the fire, because well, once the flames are flying high, the sizzle and heat feels strangely good and comforting.

But then, there it is. The verse that I was meant to read. Esther 4:14 “Who knows if perhaps you were made queen for just such a time as this?”

Just like that, a splash. A gentle reminder that maybe, just maybe, I am allowed to struggle with infertility for just such a time as this. For such a time as to be able to be right here, right now, writing this post. I do believe that our skies will someday part and that I will be able to look back and think perhaps it was all for this. If I am being even more honest, reading this verse makes me angry too, because I know it is true and it really rains on my flame-raising thunder.

I’ve been given a bucket today, but the fire isn’t out. The bucket is now in my hands to slowly make the trip back and forth, from the watering hole to the fire, dousing out each flame, each smoldering coal that wants so badly to burn bright. The humanness in me wants to continue to add lighter fluid, yet the part of me that has to continue to fight knows that it’s time to let the flames tame down. Self control with my thoughts is so very hard.

Relapse days. They offer us such choices. But the anger, well, it is only hurting me. (And whoever crosses my path.) It brings damage to relationships, it pulls off the scab on my heart and it takes a lot longer to let the coals cool then to make them hotter. I don’t want to deal with burning coals tomorrow. I want to put this day behind me, oh so far behind me.

5 steps backwards but now it’s time to take a step forward. Time to walk this well worn path, trailing in the footsteps of a stronger Chelsea who already cleared this road. Time to grasp His hand and allow Him to lead me away from the campside and down to the gentle stream. Time to move.

such a time