Not that I wasn't happy for whatever
milestone I was celebrating in someone's life. I was genuinely happy
for them. I never begrudged them anything that they were enjoying.
That happiness was absolutely overshadowed however, by the intense
sense of loss that I was feeling at that time. It is particularly
stinging to celebrate the exact milestones in other people's lives
that you wish for so much in your own. At times I would joke at baby
showers about how little I knew about babies or what they needed,
sometimes even making remarks that I wasn't sure if I
wanted kids. Anything to give the impression that I was okay.
Anything to get through the day.
This weekend I thought back to the
countless months when I would be certain that this was the month,
only to get halfway through my work day and find out that no, it's
not. I remembered that sinking feeling in my stomach and the hours
that would follow when I would google relentlessly if it was possible
to have this or that occur and still be pregnant. You find those
small glimmers of hope, where a woman would write that she had her
period for the whole first trimester of her pregnancy and you find
yourself praying that you could also be a medical anomaly like her. You hold
on to each and every small possibility until they have all been
exhausted yet again.
I remember one of the many days that I
had been certain that I was pregnant. I was sure of it. I had so
many symptoms and according to my chart our timing was perfect. On
my first bathroom break of the day at work, I learned that in fact, I
was not. As always, this realization yet again completely crushed
me. I returned to my office and sobbed. In my next session, I sat
with a client who has a very difficult family dynamic, in particular
with her sister who she feels is far too involved with her
children, often to the point where my client feels that they are being spoiled
by their aunt. “It's not my fault that she never had a family of
her own,” my client remarked in a huff. The statement cut me like
a knife. My mind immediately jumped to my own nephew, who was the
absolute brightest spot of my existence. Was this my fate? To
eventually be the aunt clinging to her nephew, who the rest of the
family views as a burden? The relative who is invited to holidays
and birthdays out of obligation and pity? My heart broke for that
faceless aunt out there who I had never met. Maybe it was her choice
to not have her own family and maybe it was a choice that was made
for her. Either way, I felt for her and identified with her in a way
that made me very sad for both of us.
Since starting this blog, I have had a
remarkable number of people reach out to me to share with me their
own struggles with infertility. My heart breaks for each and every
one of them in a way that only someone who has been there can really
experience. I have also been asked by a few people why I waited so
long to share my story. Some have suggested that it could have been
therapeutic to share the journey as I was living it. The truth is,
infertility is a very difficult topic to share. Unless someone has
also experienced it, I think it is a difficult conversation to have.
There are just so many landmines. There is very little that you can
say that will not be hurtful or offensive regardless of your good
intentions. This isn't anyone's fault. It just is what it is. It
is a very raw, vulnerable position to find oneself in and usually,
the advice or condolences of others is far from comforting or helpful
and borders on or absolutely straddles mean and hurtful. As I've
discussed in previous blogs, advice is always bad and most of the
other common responses feel like a blow off, so it's a tough
interaction to navigate. It's also not super comfortable having
people know that you are actively struggling with infertility because
it impacts the way that they interact with you so severely that it can end
up isolating you even more.
So, to answer the question of why now
for this blog, my answer is simply this: It was far too painful at
the time to write about. I was grieving at that time and that grief
was all encompassing. It was for everything that mothers experience
that I was going to miss out on. I grieved this little soul that I
dreamed about night after night. In fact, I have never mourned anything in my
life like I mourned for a baby that I had never held. I didn't know
that my heart could ache so fully. I grieved that not only would I
never have children of my own but also that this meant that I would never enjoy
grandchildren. I watched my parents with my nephew and the
immense joy that he brought into their lives and I grieved that Jim
and I would never get to experience that. I fixated on the fact that
I was going to spend my days watching the people around me have their
children and expand their families and that I would perpetually
relive the experience of each birth over and over again while my own
arms remained empty. These are the thoughts that run through the
mind of someone desperately trying to conceive month after month.
These are the feelings that rest in their souls. These are the
feelings that are so difficult to share with others because at the
end of the day, there is no sufficient answer. No real comfort to be had.
There have been many times in my life I
have wanted for things that were beyond my reach. I've failed at
countless endeavors over the course of my life but nothing ever felt
like infertility felt. It was different than anything I have ever
experienced. I have dealt with depression at different times in my
life. That inescapable darkness that rests over your mind and soul
that you just can't shake. I was fortunate however, that my depressions have always passed relatively quickly compared to most. While a unique experience for everyone, infertility felt different to me. For me, it felt
like more of a direct punch to my heart. It knocked the wind out of
me and dropped me to my knees over and over again. It followed me
from month to month like a lion stalks it's prey. Just as I would
begin feeling hopeful, like I had figured out the problem, it would
knock me down again. I never considered starting a blog about it
because in that moment there wasn't anything about that feeling that
I wanted to share. It wasn't funny or interesting or witty. It was
sheer pain. It was a gnawing agony that sat on my heart and
tormented my soul from within. I carried it on my shoulders and
within my thoughts day and night and at no point did I feel like
translating it onto the page for others to experience. All of my
thoughts centered on fixing whatever was wrong with me. That was the
only thing that motivated me at all. A blog written during that time
of my life would have been significantly different in tone and not
something that I would have wished to inflict on anyone.
My intention is that this blog can
offer some hope to anyone feeling hopeless. One thing that I noticed
often in my own search for answers is that I rarely ever read success
stories. Usually people would post until one day, they just
vanished. I assume some became pregnant and migrated to the
pregnancy blogs and chat rooms but there were never any answers to
what finally worked for them. Nothing that could offer any hope. This was true in particular for someone like me, who was trying to
conceive without a great deal of medical intervention. My hope is
that I can say, I was there and now I'm here and you will be too.
Just keep trying. It does happen. Pay attention to your body, read
up on the signs of different issues, chart, chart, chart and stay
hopeful even when you feel like all is lost.
Looking back from the place where I sit
now I can appreciate the experiences that I have had and their
significance in my life. I would be lying if I said that I am glad
that I experienced those 30 months of unexplained infertility. They
were the hardest of my life and not something that I ever plan on
doing again. But I will say that through that experience, I believe
that I am a more patient, attentive and appreciative mother than I
would have been otherwise. I can laugh off poop explosions, I can
shrug off sleepless nights and I can see the bigger picture in
experiences that I think I would have found very challenging had I
lived them a few years ago instead. I realize how close I was to
never getting to have these experiences and I never let myself forget
that.
Sitting on the floor yesterday, surrounded by babies, all I
felt was gratitude. Gratitude that I could appreciate and enjoy this
moment in my life, for the little man looking up at me with love in
his eyes and for the opportunity to share my experiences with others
now, when they can possible provide hope to someone else who is
having a low day and needs a reminder that their turn is coming too.
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