I recently went through my second endometriosis surgery in less than three years. Knowing the long road of recovery ahead of me, I decided I needed an anthem. I chose Shaboozey’s song “Good News” and it has carried me through surgery, recovery, and beyond as I continue to grapple with this disease and the accompanying cross of infertility. I am not, by nature, a particularly optimistic person, so the reserved nature of this song fits me well. I want to share an explanation of my choice as well as some inspiration I have drawn from it. I’ll focus on the chorus which goes: 

“I need some good news
Sittin’ here, sippin’ on cold truth
Nobody knows what I’m goin’ through
Bet the devil wouldn’t walk in my shoes

Wish someone told me
Livin’ this life would be lonely
Tryna get away from the old me
Still stuck singin’ these blues

All I really need is a little good news”

I need some good news; Sittin’ here, sippin’ on cold truth

I think this line aptly describes what it is like experiencing a season of infertility, especially when it is accompanied by complex health conditions. It feels like every day I have to wake up and face the cold reality of infertility, along with the many appointments and tests that accompany this cross. My daily experience can often include a lot of difficult realities. Sometimes I just want to sit down and ask when my good news is coming.

 Nobody knows what I’m goin’ through; Bet the devil wouldn’t walk in my shoes

Infertility is not always a visible cross – no one who sees me walking down the street can look at me and know that I am experiencing infertility. It is also an individual experience – none of us experience it quite the same way. People can also find it difficult to talk about or empathize with, so it can often feel like no one around us understands what we go through on a daily basis. On my cynical days, “bet the devil wouldn’t walk in my shoes,” highlights the feeling that if people really knew how it felt to be in my shoes, no one would want to trade places with me. But, on other days, this line gives me strength. It’s true – no one truly knows what it’s like to be me. But, here I am, out in the world, going to work, doing fun things, showing up for my loved ones. Through physical and emotional pain that others don’t see, I am here. While the devil is not interested in my suffering leading to my redemption, God is. I find solace in this truth. 

Wish someone told me; Livin’ this life would be lonely

Infertility is not something we plan on. I received my endometriosis diagnosis before my engagement, but even with that head start, my husband and I were not prepared for the challenges and sorrow that comes with navigating the cross of infertility. As I said before, we also each bring different circumstances and experiences to the table. We may share this cross, but it looks different for each of us. Even when we find community, there is no one-size-fits-all advice that will take away our pain and solve our problems. 

I know I don’t have to tell anyone here that infertility can be a lonely cross to carry. My loneliness often manifests itself by feeling like I am “set apart” or “othered”. I feel set apart from my friends who have children, during my husband’s family’s gatherings with the many kids running around, and when I am inevitably asked at events whether I am pregnant. I feel different and alone, in a category that no one, understandably so, is interested in joining me in. Oftentimes, I do feel my husband by my side, facing the loneliness with me, but there are times when the loneliness feels internalized and personal, as if it is meant only for me. 

These are the times when I am grateful for community. I may not have been handed a road map the day I got married, but I found Springs in the Desert. I have friends who listen to my experience and accompany me, just because they love me. I have a husband who loves me through our shared pain. I may often feel alone, but I have people around me that see me and say “You aren’t alone. I am here, too.” Most of all, I have our Lord. While it may not always bring me feelings of consolation, I know that Christ accompanies me in the midst of my suffering, walking with me every step of the way. 

Tryna get away from the old me; Still stuck singin’ these blues

I yearn to be Veronica, mom, not just the person I am today. The cross of infertility is cyclical and it can feel like I’m stuck in a never-ending monthly loop of hope, waiting, discouragement, sadness, repeat. Every month that my circumstances don’t change is another month of feeling trapped in the cycle. But, it’s also an opportunity for change. It’s an opportunity to cultivate a different outlook on life. One that doesn’t feel like the sorrows of infertility are the core of my identity. One where I am a woman of hope, where I radiate joy in spite of my suffering. One where I feel confident in my identity as a woman, wife, sister, friend, and beloved child of God. Which leads me to…

All I really need is a little good news

At the end of the day, what I need most is Jesus Christ, the Good News. That is why, despite the hard realities this song describes, it still fills me with hope. If I cling to Jesus, I will be okay. I may be sad, angry, feel alone, unloved, misunderstood, or struggle to find my place in this world. I may face true suffering that no one can take away. But through it all, and because of it all, if I hold firm to my faith and the heart of Christ, I know there will always be good news. 

Veronica Simon and her husband Austin married in 2023 and live in Virginia. Her hobbies include reading, cooking, sewing, watching too many instagram reels, and thrifting. She is grateful to have found the Springs in the Desert community.