How I Found Resilience in an Old Painting

“There is the mud, and there is the lotus that grows out of the mud. We need the mud in order to make the lotus.” — Thich Nhat Hanh

A bright, white lotus against a purple backdrop hangs on my bedroom wall. It’s a painting I did many, many years ago when I was dabbling with painting as a hobby. I’m by no means a visual artist, but I discovered this creative outlet that didn’t feel like it had to have a career changing endgame. I’m not good at it, but I enjoy the escape. At this particular point of my life, I was also dabbling in Buddhism and noticed a recurring theme of the lotus. Why is the lotus so prevalent in spiritual practices? The lotus is a symbol of regeneration, rebirth, and resilience. Even when its root are in the dirtiest, murkiest waters, it produces a beautiful flower. Furthermore, it’s a sign of creation. I couldn’t put my finger on why this symbol stuck with me, but I felt the need to paint it. I should add that I’m not religious or even spiritual. But this image spoke to me on what one may call a spiritual level.

Now, over a decade later, this flower couldn’t be of more importance. Today I’m struggling with the ability to find my own resilience. After many years of trying to conceive, I’m still childless. Not only am I unable to find regeneration and rebirth within myself, but I have failed over and over again to create life. I feel like I’m drowning in those murky waters, unable to come up for air. This trauma continues to sit with me daily.

I had finally accepted that I may not have children in my future when an opportunity fell into my lap. I was given the gift of donor embryos. Exciting, right? Not really. You can’t just erase all grief and anxiety with a new opportunity. The pain of the loss is still there. If anything, it just causes more anxiety because now I have to jump back on this roller coaster again. This constant push and pull between optimism and reality. This fear of getting too hopeful only to be pushed off the roller coaster again. I’m petrified. How is it that I finally get closer to my goal and I’m filled with so much fear? The old me would be been psyched. The old me would already be mentally marking her calendar for when the baby is due. The old me would be on cloud nine all day, picturing my life with a baby. The old me would see the lotus flower on the top of the water instead of the now me, still stuck in those muddy waters. I don’t know how to look forward to having a baby because I’m just waiting to lose it. My fear that it won’t work out is paralyzing. How I can possibly survive any more loss? But I have to tell myself I’ve suffered the losses before and I can survive another one.

It’s hard to do, but I’m trying my best to approach each day with a little bit of optimism. I had no idea over a decade ago that when I painted this lotus flower, I’d be giving myself the gift that I would someday need. I’m digging deep to find it inside me to be hopeful. I’ve been sitting in these murky waters of depression for too long. Maybe I can be more like a lotus flower, finding regeneration. I need to believe that this story will have a happy ending, that there will eventually be that beautiful lotus flower. After all, the mud needs to exist before the flower.