I've really been trying hard to be more optimistic, focus more on the positives and what I do have, rather than what I don't. I've been trying to seek contentedness each and every day by not settling for humdrum but instead, pushing outside my comfort zone and doing things that a year ago would have scared me. For instance, I am renting a space at a local antique shop to display my photography. So far, it hasn't been a lucrative effort but the fact that I did it is huge.
But the truth is, I'm hurting. The truth is that I'm struggling again to find where I fit in and struggling against feelings of inadequacy and the ever-present notion of being left behind.
It's like quicksand. The more you wriggle and fight against it, 'it' being the pain of infertility that somehow slooowly creeps back into my life no matter how I try to change, the stronger the pull. It sucks me in and it manages to become a looming presence in my life. It only takes one bad day to get the ball rolling. But it's not consistent. I can push back against a bad emotional day and win and I do, most times. But then there's this one day that blindsides me with its strength and suddenly, sadness. Envy. Anger. Comparison. Like quicksand, I am pulled under the more I try to keep my head above ground.
So many little miracles are set to enter into the world in the coming days, weeks, months. So many announcements made, so many elated families. I just want our miracle to find us. I long to be a part of what I consider to be the greatest adventure: parenthood. But somehow, I'm still the one on the outside looking in, nose pressed to the window, my breath fogging up the glass.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Monday, May 12, 2014
A Different Kind of Mother's Day
Yesterday was Mother's Day (as if any of us had somehow managed to forget). It's admittedly not my favorite day of the year, for obvious reasons, but I was absolutely determined to not let it get to me as much as it has in year's past. This was my 7th Mother's Day since beginning the journey. Yep, 7th. 2008 - 2014 of Mother's Days. The first wasn't so bad because it rolled around just 3 months after we started trying to conceive so I didn't expect to be so lucky. But the 2nd stung because it had been longer than a full year of trying without any luck and I had been diagnosed with PCOS so I knew it was going to be a tough road. Just how tough I didn't yet know. The 3rd was rough in its own right because it was the one following my open heart surgery and, well, that's explanation enough. The Mother's day of 2011 was pretty status quo (the usual ache of not yet being a Mom after several years of medical upheaval) but Mother's Day 2012 was a fresh new phase of hell: the one after our loss. I was angry, bitter, pretty inconsolable that day. It also came just a few short weeks before our due date for the baby we had miscarried so it was painful on a truly visceral level. I don't remember what we did last year but I remember being in a funk all day and just feeling blah. So this year, I vowed to make it a different kind of day.
I treated myself with kindness -- what a concept.
I enjoyed a nice breakfast (pancakes, turkey bacon, coffee), went to the mall and did a little clothes shopping, ate nachos, made chicken pozole, took some photos for the community wind ensemble Jason conducts and plays trumpet in, and then we watched a cute little program about puppies. I kept busy, didn't check Facebook all that often (but I did post a tribute to my own mom, whom I am so incredibly blessed by each and every day), and just kind of let the day roll over me. I received a very sweet Mother's Day card earlier in the week from my cousin and her two little boys (who we think of as our nephews and one of whom is our godson), and I received very thoughtful messages from a few dear friends letting me know that I was in their thoughts and hearts, and that our angel baby was not forgotten, not by a long shot. I did have one well meaning friend tell me that perhaps when Jason and I move next year and get settled -- when my stress levels were reduced -- perhaps my body would cooperate...but, she had good intentions and I appreciated her concern for me.
Yesterday was Mother's Day, and even though I have not yet held our child in my arms, I decided that yesterday was also about me. About the women who have tried so desperately to be a mom but who have not yet succeeded in realizing that dream, that calling. No, I am not a mom but that is certainly not for lack of trying. So instead of punishing myself, I celebrated the valiant effort I've made.
Remember how I said I'm going to counseling? Well, it seems as though it's working. For the first time in 7 years, I didn't cry on Mother's Day. I teared up a bit when reading the kind messages from my friends and when my husband whispered, "Happy Mother's Day" to me when we woke up, but I didn't cry, not really, because these tears were born of gratitude for their compassion, empathy, and understanding. For their remembrance. And for me, that was a huge accomplishment, one that I'm more than a little proud of. Happy Mother's Day, friends. Your angel babies are with you, always.
I treated myself with kindness -- what a concept.
I enjoyed a nice breakfast (pancakes, turkey bacon, coffee), went to the mall and did a little clothes shopping, ate nachos, made chicken pozole, took some photos for the community wind ensemble Jason conducts and plays trumpet in, and then we watched a cute little program about puppies. I kept busy, didn't check Facebook all that often (but I did post a tribute to my own mom, whom I am so incredibly blessed by each and every day), and just kind of let the day roll over me. I received a very sweet Mother's Day card earlier in the week from my cousin and her two little boys (who we think of as our nephews and one of whom is our godson), and I received very thoughtful messages from a few dear friends letting me know that I was in their thoughts and hearts, and that our angel baby was not forgotten, not by a long shot. I did have one well meaning friend tell me that perhaps when Jason and I move next year and get settled -- when my stress levels were reduced -- perhaps my body would cooperate...but, she had good intentions and I appreciated her concern for me.
Yesterday was Mother's Day, and even though I have not yet held our child in my arms, I decided that yesterday was also about me. About the women who have tried so desperately to be a mom but who have not yet succeeded in realizing that dream, that calling. No, I am not a mom but that is certainly not for lack of trying. So instead of punishing myself, I celebrated the valiant effort I've made.
Remember how I said I'm going to counseling? Well, it seems as though it's working. For the first time in 7 years, I didn't cry on Mother's Day. I teared up a bit when reading the kind messages from my friends and when my husband whispered, "Happy Mother's Day" to me when we woke up, but I didn't cry, not really, because these tears were born of gratitude for their compassion, empathy, and understanding. For their remembrance. And for me, that was a huge accomplishment, one that I'm more than a little proud of. Happy Mother's Day, friends. Your angel babies are with you, always.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Longing: The Queen of Senseless Emotions
Sometimes, I am overcome with an intense feeling of longing. I look at my friend's children, their shiny happy faces, at my female friends' burgeoning bumps, and I just can't help but think, "Why not me? Why not us?"
Are we not good people? Are we not deserving of what so many of our family and friends have attained? Why must our path to parenthood be so riddled with hardship? I know it is futile to compare, to be angry, to be envious. It's not healthy, and it doesn't change what is. I know that. Goodness knows I have learned it the hard way. But I long to be a mom. I long to expand our family. Sometimes, I feel the longing so deep within myself that it's all I can do to contain it.
And it is in those moments that I must force myself to say -- to believe--, "Some day. Some day."
Are we not good people? Are we not deserving of what so many of our family and friends have attained? Why must our path to parenthood be so riddled with hardship? I know it is futile to compare, to be angry, to be envious. It's not healthy, and it doesn't change what is. I know that. Goodness knows I have learned it the hard way. But I long to be a mom. I long to expand our family. Sometimes, I feel the longing so deep within myself that it's all I can do to contain it.
And it is in those moments that I must force myself to say -- to believe--, "Some day. Some day."
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
The Odd Life
While dropping off some library books last night, I stumbled across a movie I had never heard of: The Odd Life of Timothy Green. I scanned the description and it sounded relatively intriguing so I thought I'd give it a watch. Jennifer Garner plays the female lead and while the acting is pretty sub-par, within a few minutes it is evident why I had been drawn to the movie in the first place. It's about a couple who, after many years of infertility treatments, is told they cannot have children. After receiving this devastating news, the husband asks if, for just one night, they can pretend they DO have a child. They spend the evening in their living room writing down every attribute they could ever hope or dream their child to have, even pretending they witness their kid's game-winning goal. They take each attribute -- written on an individual piece of notebook paper -- place them in a wooden box, and bury the box in the backyard, after which they agree to move on.
Rip my heart out, why don't you?
I don't think you can really appreciate the power of that scene unless you've been through infertility. Because it is the burying of one's hopes and dreams (if even temporarily) that is, at least for me, one of the hardest hurdles of this journey. It's like burying a piece of yourself. No, it's not LIKE you are, you ARE.
Throughout this journey, we bury many things. At least I did/have. For the benefit of the general public, we bury our true feelings. We plaster smiles on our faces when all we really want to do is cry, run, hide, scream, rant and rave. We quite unceremoniously bury bits and pieces of ourselves along this rocky path: our pride (being poked and prodded on a fairly regular basis can do that to a person), our self-esteem, self-confidence, body image, self-worth, our once good-natured selves. We bury {read: spend without result} thousands upon thousands of dollars. As aforementioned, we bury our hopes and dreams and we HOPE we can somehow find the strength within ourselves to regain what we've lost. With hard work, patience, love and the realization that I was worth more than just my ability or inability to create life, I have regained much of what I've buried over the last 5+ years but there are still frayed ends that need mending. I'll get to them, I know I will, but it won't be easy. Nothing about this journey is easy.
Back to the movie. The plot continues to unfold but it was THAT scene that made me pause the movie and open my laptop to write this post. It made me cry, it made me sad, it ignited feelings within myself that I've been wrestling with for years. And it made me think. I've often wondered what our child would be like, which attributes he or she would inherit, and which things would be uniquely their own, the combination of which would be imperfectly perfect. Even in the movie, they acknowledge that even if you could pick and choose what your child would be like, you wouldn't want a truly "perfect" child, because, well, I think we all know that it doesn't exist, and thank goodness for that. It's the imperfections that teach us, that mold us, that help us grow and make us who we truly are.
Anyway, the scene made me think. And normally when I think, I write. But I can't write it all. I tried. I sat down with the full intention of writing out what I envision our child would be like but I couldn't. My words, which I have come to rely on to process what I'm feeling and help me properly explain my emotions and share them with others, failed me. It turns out that there are certain things that cannot be put in to words; special, cherished things that are perhaps better off living in our dreams, if only for safe keeping. The image of our child is one such thing.
For now, I suppose I will keep that image of our child safe in my mind. And maybe one day, that image will materialize into reality, a dream come true in every sense of the word.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Time Marches On
Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep my positive attitude about where we are in this journey, keep my focus on the present and not get caught up in the unknown of the future. The more time that passes, the more children are born, and my Facebook and Instagram feeds are filled to the brim with the shiny, happy, beautiful faces of the children of our family and friends. Sometimes, it's all I can do to just keep it all in and keep it together. Other times, I'm doing pretty well and I find myself truthfully, blissfully content with how our life is now, the predictability and reliability of daily routines, the closeness that we share. But these moments of weakness sneak up on me, they get me down, and they seem harder and harder to shake off as time marches on. We've been yearning for our family for over six years now, dreaming about it for even longer if you count the years before we started trying. In total, since we made the decision to start trying to build our family way back in February of 2008, we have been on this road to baby for 74 months. Wow, that number even blows ME away, and I've been living it. The baby we lost in November of 2011 would turn two next month. Two whole years old. How I ache for that child, our child.
This is our life and what we've been dealt is what is meant for us. We may not always see why or agree, but that's the way it is.
There is an incredible future waiting for us. I need to trust in that. On the days when I doubt it, that's when I need to believe it the most. Besides, I am more than just my uterus.
So, here's to unknown futures and the belief that something incredible -- something miraculous -- could be just a year, a month, a week, a day, a mere moment away.
This is our life and what we've been dealt is what is meant for us. We may not always see why or agree, but that's the way it is.
There is an incredible future waiting for us. I need to trust in that. On the days when I doubt it, that's when I need to believe it the most. Besides, I am more than just my uterus.
So, here's to unknown futures and the belief that something incredible -- something miraculous -- could be just a year, a month, a week, a day, a mere moment away.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Learning my way around loneliness
Lately, more and more, I've found myself in the "down" category emotion-wise. I'm struggling with being 30 and not being a mom and the fact that the resolution to that situation is nowhere in sight; I'm struggling with some emotional issues I've put off dealing with for many years (but I'm proud to say that I am finally seeing a therapist for said issues); and...I'm lonely. I haven't written about my loneliness on this blog (or my other public blog, for that matter) but it's been a big problem ever since moving to Indiana. I miss home. I miss my family and my wonderful friends, even though they're spread out all over the country (and one even on the other side of the world) and I wouldn't see much of some of them no matter where I lived. But I miss the ease of those friendships, and the depth of them. I miss the familiarity and the reliability of them. Truth be told, I don't have any real friends here. Not one. I have a bunch of acquaintances (one or two that I've seen more of than the rest) but no one that I really hang out with, one-on-one, with any regularity. Yes, there are the occasional times when I've made plans to see a movie or share a meal with one of them, or do the occasional "girly thing" such as a shopping trip or getting our nails done. But they are very far and few between in occurrence (I'm talking usually months) and I just don't really click with any of them. We share very little in common. And we've lived here for going on 20 months now. That's a good chunk of time to be lonely. Of course I have Jason, but I also need a female friend or two. I was hoping that wherever I ended up working would yield me a friend my age but while my co-workers are nice people, the next youngest after me is 57. The four guys in Jason's program are great and all but one of them has either a girlfriend or a wife, but for whatever reason, friendships haven't developed and I normally just see them when we all hang out in a group. And, they're all graduating this year so they will all be gone come Summer.
Although I hesitate to say it's the true norm...normally, a woman who has been married as long as we have (coming up on 8 years in August) who is my age would have a child or two (or more) by now. Which means many of my peers are in a different stage of life, one I have wanted to badly to enter in to but instead, have found myself on the outside peering in, year after year after year. I don't have school social networks. I don't meet other parents at extra curricular activities or functions. I don't have "mommy & me" playgroups or play dates or birthday parties which might expose me and introduce me to other women my age. Because I don't have a child. Well, at least here on this Earth, I don't.
Moving to a whole new place so far from where we're from when you're our age can be a challenge. I tried not to dwell on that possibility or worry too much about it, usually telling myself as the time ticked on, "You've only been here {x number of months}, give yourself time. It'll happen." But it hasn't. Yes, I have Jason. Yes, we have a lot of fun together, and yes, I'm thankful that I'm not truly alone but he is gone a lot due to his various responsibilities and busy schedule so I spend many nights and weekends alone. Even when he's home, he has a lot of work to do and spends the hours in his office to work on his various assignments and projects. Again, this is all part of it. I am beyond proud of his accomplishments and how far he's come and how passionate he is about his career path and dreams, and quite frankly, he has very little "social time" himself, so I certainly don't begrudge him anything. Sadly, one of the negative bi-products of this situation is that I'm finding I'm becoming more and more introverted. You'd think I'd jump at the chance to hang out with people when I/we can but the opposite is proving to be true: I am losing the desire to go out and about, even when the opportunity does present itself. And that's just not good.
Jason begins his job search this Fall, and I can honestly say I am looking forward to wherever we end up next. Indiana is beautiful. I have enjoyed the seasons (with the exception of the tornadoes!!) very much and have discovered positive things about myself and our relationship. We have had some grand adventures and met some very nice people but this place is not my home. I cannot see us being here longer than the time we really need to be for his program and once his program is over, I will be anxious for the next stop on our life map.
I am hopeful that I will find my niche in the next place. But we have 15 or 16 more months to go and that just sounds...rough. I take comfort in the fact that I know there are far worse things in the world than loneliness, and that this too shall pass and then we'll be on to the next stop and while it will once again be a fresh start very similar to this one, fresh starts are just that: fresh. A new beginning with potentially unlimited possibilities. And although it's a bit daunting to think about, it does fill me with a sense of hope and excitement because even though it could be just like what I've experienced here (or perhaps worse...), it could be so much better. And that's what I'm anxious for. That's what I'm trying to focus on.
It has occurred to me that this time is supposed to be this way, that this time we're spending here in Indiana is -- for me -- carved out as a time for me to just BE. Be with myself and get comfortable there. I ran across this quote from Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love and it made me stop and think:
“When I get lonely these days, I think: So BE lonely, Liz. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person's body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.”
For me, that scratching post is being dependent upon someone else for my own happiness. Relying on others for joy, for feelings of worth, for self-confidence and enrichment. That's not fair, and it's not right. I alone am responsible for my own happiness. Yes, certain people will contribute on a regular basis but looking to important people in my life to contribute as opposed to relying on them and depending on them to make my world better are two very different things. So maybe that is how I will spend the next nearly year and a half: learning to just be with myself and deriving joy from within and from my surroundings -- no matter who is there to share it with me -- instead of dwelling on feeling lonely and connecting that loneliness to feelings of sadness and longing. It will be a challenge, but I'm up for it. I can't promise I won't still find myself lost in being lonely but approaching it from this angle seems healthier and more worth while in the long run.
Although I hesitate to say it's the true norm...normally, a woman who has been married as long as we have (coming up on 8 years in August) who is my age would have a child or two (or more) by now. Which means many of my peers are in a different stage of life, one I have wanted to badly to enter in to but instead, have found myself on the outside peering in, year after year after year. I don't have school social networks. I don't meet other parents at extra curricular activities or functions. I don't have "mommy & me" playgroups or play dates or birthday parties which might expose me and introduce me to other women my age. Because I don't have a child. Well, at least here on this Earth, I don't.
Moving to a whole new place so far from where we're from when you're our age can be a challenge. I tried not to dwell on that possibility or worry too much about it, usually telling myself as the time ticked on, "You've only been here {x number of months}, give yourself time. It'll happen." But it hasn't. Yes, I have Jason. Yes, we have a lot of fun together, and yes, I'm thankful that I'm not truly alone but he is gone a lot due to his various responsibilities and busy schedule so I spend many nights and weekends alone. Even when he's home, he has a lot of work to do and spends the hours in his office to work on his various assignments and projects. Again, this is all part of it. I am beyond proud of his accomplishments and how far he's come and how passionate he is about his career path and dreams, and quite frankly, he has very little "social time" himself, so I certainly don't begrudge him anything. Sadly, one of the negative bi-products of this situation is that I'm finding I'm becoming more and more introverted. You'd think I'd jump at the chance to hang out with people when I/we can but the opposite is proving to be true: I am losing the desire to go out and about, even when the opportunity does present itself. And that's just not good.
Jason begins his job search this Fall, and I can honestly say I am looking forward to wherever we end up next. Indiana is beautiful. I have enjoyed the seasons (with the exception of the tornadoes!!) very much and have discovered positive things about myself and our relationship. We have had some grand adventures and met some very nice people but this place is not my home. I cannot see us being here longer than the time we really need to be for his program and once his program is over, I will be anxious for the next stop on our life map.
I am hopeful that I will find my niche in the next place. But we have 15 or 16 more months to go and that just sounds...rough. I take comfort in the fact that I know there are far worse things in the world than loneliness, and that this too shall pass and then we'll be on to the next stop and while it will once again be a fresh start very similar to this one, fresh starts are just that: fresh. A new beginning with potentially unlimited possibilities. And although it's a bit daunting to think about, it does fill me with a sense of hope and excitement because even though it could be just like what I've experienced here (or perhaps worse...), it could be so much better. And that's what I'm anxious for. That's what I'm trying to focus on.
It has occurred to me that this time is supposed to be this way, that this time we're spending here in Indiana is -- for me -- carved out as a time for me to just BE. Be with myself and get comfortable there. I ran across this quote from Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love and it made me stop and think:
“When I get lonely these days, I think: So BE lonely, Liz. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person's body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.”
For me, that scratching post is being dependent upon someone else for my own happiness. Relying on others for joy, for feelings of worth, for self-confidence and enrichment. That's not fair, and it's not right. I alone am responsible for my own happiness. Yes, certain people will contribute on a regular basis but looking to important people in my life to contribute as opposed to relying on them and depending on them to make my world better are two very different things. So maybe that is how I will spend the next nearly year and a half: learning to just be with myself and deriving joy from within and from my surroundings -- no matter who is there to share it with me -- instead of dwelling on feeling lonely and connecting that loneliness to feelings of sadness and longing. It will be a challenge, but I'm up for it. I can't promise I won't still find myself lost in being lonely but approaching it from this angle seems healthier and more worth while in the long run.
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