A Table is not the Hearth of the Home

I'm tired of furnishing temporary places. When my boyfriend and I moved together for the first time, we knew we weren't staying there past our lease but I didn't understand why he didn't unpack his boxes. I understand now. When you know you're not staying somewhere, it doesn't make sense to totally unpack everything. And now, in addition to not unpacking, I no longer want to buy or acquire things for temporary spaces either.

I've had three homes that I thought I would be in for a long, long time. When I got married, he already had a house and I was fine living there. Then we ended up buying a house for our future children that was closer to his job. I thought we'd be there for at least a decade. Then, when I bought my own little house in a small town, I thought I'd live there forever.

Obviously, I don't live in any of those places anymore, but I'm lucky that I had them. They all felt very happy and secure at the time. Then it was time to move on from each place.

And now I am in my current rental. When I first moved in, I daydreamed about loving the place, buying it, and never moving again. But as much as I like and appreciate my rental, I don't love it. Plus, it's not for sale. Plus, I probably couldn't afford it. So that's that.

I don't have a dining room table in the rental. I gave away the one we had before we moved. We used it for eating, and I used it for sewing. It was fine, but I didn't want any furniture from my former marriage anymore. It was one less thing to move. Then, when we moved here, I bought a new table. It was necessary. It's a work table though. For my sewing machine, not for eating. 

My mom really wants me to have a dining table. She thinks it's important. But it's not important to me. (See the first sentence of this post.) She said something along the lines of, "You need a table. It's important to eat dinner together. It's where you talk about your day."

So I reminded her: "I'm not raising kids." 

"Oh," she said.

I assured her that my boyfriend and I are well aware of each other's days.

She said, "Yeah, when it's just your dad and me, we eat in the tv room a lot." My mom's inability to see my life continues to surprise me. Part of me feels hurt; part of me understands.

And I do want a table. I'm just not buying or acquiring anything for this place.

Happy Other's Day

On this day that doesn't celebrate me in a world that doesn't acknowledge my experiences, I will share with you a couple of things that happened at work this week.

I think we can all agree that I have pretty much stopped giving a shit over the years. I mean, I still worry too much and I still get anxious, but so much that I used to worry about no longer bothers me. And that is a good thing.

Take infertility and being childless not-by-choice for example. I used to be so embarrassed. So ashamed. I would never talk about it. Never admit it.

But things change over time. I am no longer embarrassed. I am no longer ashamed. It's not my fault. I tried my best. This is my life, and I deserve to live it. Like, really live it. Not just go through the motions.

So, now when it comes up in conversation, I just own it. I am involuntarily childless. I wanted kids, and it didn't work out for me. I'm healed enough to where I can speak freely to help normalize it. That means that many of my new co-workers already know that I don't have kids and it's not by choice. I haven't gone on and on about it, but it has come up in conversation.

One of my co-workers is pregnant. She's due in less than a month. I've enjoyed getting to know her. She's really cool. And honestly? I've enjoyed hearing about her 2 year old and her pregnancy. It's not sad for me anymore because that's not where I am in life. At this stage, I don't want a 2 year old or to be pregnant. But I can be excited for my co-worker.

Last week she mentioned that some other co-workers wanted to throw her a baby shower. So I just told her straight up. I said something like, "Oh cool, that's awesome, but I won't be there. I love you and your baby, but I don't go to baby showers." And she was all, "Oh yeah, that's fine. I don't even know if it's going to happen." It just felt so normal. Neither one of us was sad or defensive or uncomfortable. It was all just a matter of fact.

Then, later in the week, one of my other co-workers (a guy, that's an important detail) said at the end of a meeting, "Oh yeah! It's Mother's Day this weekend!" I know he's married but doesn't have kids. So I was confused. I asked, "I don't mean to sound rude, but... Why do you care? Why do you care if it's Mother's Day?" And he said so he could remember to call his mom. Of course! "Oh, yes, that makes sense," I said. And he laughed and said, "Oh yeah, I'm definitely never going to be a mother." And I immediately laughed and said, "Yeah, me neither!" He quickly looked down and looked like he felt kind of awkward. He learned I couldn't have kids a couple of months ago. But the awkwardness didn't linger (I don't think). Well, anyway, any feelings he had about the situation are his. I thought it was pretty funny.

And then at the end of the week, I ran into another co-worker in the break room. It was just us two. She had previously asked about my research and, when I told her it was about involuntary childlessness, she quickly replied, "I could be in your study!" That's all that she shared, but I think it's safe to assume that she has tried or is trying to get pregnant. I know that she doesn't have kids. So, anyway, when I saw her in the break room and it was just us two I told her that I told the other co-worker that if there was a baby shower at work I wouldn't be attending. And this co-worker said that she had forgotten about that and that she needed to plan something before our co-worker was out for maternity leave. So I leaned in and said, "Or not. You don't have to do that if you don't want to. And if someone else plans something, you don't have to go. I'm not. Of course, you can go if you want to. But I'm here to remind you that you never have to go." She smiled and said thanks.

And that was my week at work. Taking up space and not being silent. I'm not a crusader for childlessness, but I'm not invisible either. I am worthy. My experiences are worthy. My life is worthy. It just looks different from a lot of other people's.

Happy Other's Day! I see you. I like you. I love you. You're wonderful.

You are worthy. 

 

Finally Doing Less

Today I went to work, did my job, and came home. That's it. No errands, no chores. My boyfriend made dinner. I sat on the couch with a kitty on my lap. It was great. I loved it.

I'm taking the time to recognize that I just had a day that I've wanted to have for a very long time.

I'm not recovering from burnout. I did that for a year. I'm not following through with a bunch of previous commitments I made. I got through all those. I'm not looking for a job. Luckily, I found one. I'm not moving. I did that already. I'm not creating a new department. I did that too. 

Now I get to go to work and come home and live my simple life. I'm giddy.

I'm finally doing less. Not running myself ragged. 

I've been feeling good about myself lately. I've always struggled with the never-ending household stuff. But I started doing my laundry on Sundays a couple of years ago, and now I find myself doing laundry, cleaning the kitchen, going to the grocery store, and cooking a meal (with planned leftovers) on Sundays. It started with one habit and grew. 

I'm doing less, but in other ways, I'm doing more. With ease.

More Thoughts On Change

I've heard something interesting from women since I started seeing clients over the last couple of months. When their kids aren't with them (like, they're at their dad's because the parents are no longer together), the women find it harder to take care of themselves and their home. I've heard more than one woman tell me, "It's easier to do what I need to do when I have to do it for my kids." These women love their children. Even when their health is not good, they power up for their children. But when it's just them? They don't/won't/can't.

I can relate.

It's honestly validating, although I don't say anything to my clients in the moment. That wouldn't be appropriate. But I always thought it would be easier to do the basics, like prepare dinner every night, if I had kids that I needed to feed. If I had a routine that was dictated by my kids' schedules. To hear other women say that raising children actually makes some things easier is a message I don't hear a lot. I appreciate their honesty with me.

I assumed I was going to be a mother for 35 years. Now I've known I'm not going to be a mother for 11 years. Lately, I've been noticing my growth and progress and, quite honestly, I've been feeling so good about myself. I never stayed where it felt wrong for me. I went back to school for a better career. I got divorced. I moved around. I quit bad jobs. I bought a house. I moved again. Now I'm selling that house. I'm maintaining my laundry and dishes. I've kept up with my annual check-ups. I go to work and I pay my bills. I eat breakfast and lunch and meal plan for dinner twice a week. I have a good relationship with myself and my boyfriend. I text lots of girlfriends throughout the week. I'm doing it. I'm living life.

It's a total change from 12 years ago when I wasn't showering regularly, eating well, working, socializing, or doing anything fun.

I've been thinking a lot about motivation lately. Why do we sometimes do what we don't want to do in order to get the things we want? Why do we sometimes just think about what we want but never do anything differently? What helps us change? What impedes our change? What, why, how?

And... I don't know. 

But I'll probably be thinking about it for the rest of my life. I'm thinking it's a combination of individual factors and societal systems. Biology, psychology and sociology are so interesting. The interplay among the three is fascinating.

But, yeah, if you have any thoughts on the topic of change and/or motivation and/or anything else related, I'm all ears. I'm always collecting information to share with others. We all deserve to enjoy our lives.

Change is Hard but Worth It

I went for a walk. It was wonderful, but even doing something wonderful that's new requires doing something different. I haven't gone for a second walk yet. It's been raining and then I got sick. But, I'm going to! It felt so good to be outside, move my legs, and look at the grass and trees.

New habits are hard to create.

New lives are heard to create.

But like I always say, what's the alternative? 

Stay where I was? Live in the beautiful 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom, 2-story house with my husband who drank at the sports bar 3 - 5 times a week? Um, no. Absolutely not. Living in my children's house without my children was not an option for me. Not if I wanted to stay alive. I am that serious. Staying married when I could be lonely by myself was also not what I wanted for myself. I deserved more than that.

I gave myself a better life, and I did it by myself. I haven't received any emotional support from my family of origin for my lack of children, my divorce, or the loss of life as I thought it was going to be. I forged the way forward on my own at first, and then I found bloggers in front of me, beside me, and behind me along the way. 

Change isn't easy. That's why most people don't do it. Changing your life takes a lot of work.

That first step can feel impossible.

For me, it was registering to take Anatomy & Physiology I and II at the local community college. The task felt so ovewhelming. There was doing it, like figuring out how to sign up for the class, which overwhelmed me. Then there was following through with it, like actually going to class and doing assignments, which also overwhelmed me.

So I didn't do it. I didn't register for the classes. I didn't go and I didn't have to do the homework.

Then another year passed. And I was in the exact same position. Living in my children's house without my children. Bored. Lonely. Depressed. Still dreading Anatomy & Physiology I & II.

So I did it anyway.

I went online. Created an account. Figured out how to register. Showed up for class. Did my homework. And cried every night.

I didn't want to, but I did it anyway.

Both classes eventually ended. I passed. I applied for grad school, got in, and the rest is history. While I didn't love grad school, I now have a job that I don't hate. Not only do I not hate it, I actually love it. I mean, it's still a job. I work too much and I'd rather not, but, hey, at least I like it!

Change can't wait until we are ready. Change can't wait until we are comfortable. The comfort we're seeking is on the other side of change. Just like with grief, we have to do the work. Well, we GET to do the work. We don't HAVE to do anything. We are totally allowed to stay where we are.

But if you want something different?

You have to cross the street.

You have to take that first step that gets you to the park. And then you have to walk at the park. And then you have to keep going back. And then later, much later (muuuch later than you want, but also time flies so it'll be here sooner than you know it), you'll feel better.

Time passes either way. You can take the class. You can walk at the park.
Or you can stay where you are.

You get to create your life, one decision and one small action (or inaction) at a time.

Change takes time. The Colorado River didn't carve the Grand Canyon in a day.

Picture found here

Unexpected Disclosure

I used to feel very weird disclosing my infertility at work. Well, anywhere really. But especially at work. It felt very weird to disclose something so personal in an environment where I prefer to keep the topics to recipes and the weather. Over time though, like with most everything else...
I just don't care anymore. 

😂😂😂

But here's an interesting story. 

They did a lot of work on my office at my new job. They had to change out some furniture, and they ended up repainting all four walls. Then I got to choose from an approved list and they hung artwork in the hallway. So, I got to know a couple of the facilities guys while they were working.

One day it was just one of them there. He would say "we" when telling a story. Like, "We made homemade chili for dinner last night." Or, "We live outside of town on a lot of acreage." Without thinking (really, without thinking, I can't believe I had a lapse in judgment and I actually said this) I asked, "Who's 'we?' You got a wife and kids?" 

And I swear there was a barely-there pause, a fraction of a hesitation...

He replied, "Oh, I'm married. But no kids. That didn't work out for us."

I whipped my head around so fast and rambled, "Really?? Me too. I mean, I'm divorced. Not married. But kids didn't work out for me either. For us. Oh my gosh, I can't believe I just asked you that. I am so sorry. I never ask people that. I'm so sorry I just asked you that. I can't have kids either. How's your wife? Is she doing okay?"

I can make an awkward situation feel even more awkward. It's a skill I have. I'm a natural.

He just looked at me for a second. I'm thinking maybe he's never talked about this with another person other than his wife before. Maybe one or two other people. A brother or a best friend. But I get the feeling that this isn't something this guy talks about freely. He just looked at me. 

"I always wanted to be a dad."

"Yeah... I always wanted to be a mom."

And neither one of us tried to make it better for the other. Neither one of us tried to fix it with adoption or IVF. Neither one of us offered the common response of "At least you get to travel/sleep in/spend all of your money on yourself!" We just stood in silence in the hallway at work for several seconds.

I thanked him for sharing that with me. I told him that he knows my email address, since we work together, and that I'm available if his wife ever needed support. I said I did not expect to ever hear from her but it's totally fine if I do. 

Then we moved on to our usual conversation, which is where we've had good tacos around town.

But that was a pretty meaningful connection. About infertility. At work.

My 11th Survivor Anniversary

I can barely believe it's been over 11 years since my last fertility treatment didn't result in pregnancy. In one way, it almost feels like it never happened. I'm no longer trying to get pregnant or adopt anymore. I don't live in that house anymore. I'm not married to my husband anymore. It's not even "Who am I?" anymore either. 

Everything has changed. Where I live, who I'm with, what I do, and, oh, WHO I AM.

Yet, my 11th Survivor Anniversary came and went without much fanfare this year. 

Oh wait, that's not entirely true. I had finished the draft of my research article the weekend or two before, so I decided to submit my research ON my Survivor Anniversary. It felt great. It was not anticlimactic at all. It was a huge relief to submit it. I felt so damn proud.

And then the next day I received the rejection. (Really?? The journal editor didn't even sit on it for 24 hours?) And, guess what, I barely even cared. Of course I was disappointed. But the rejection email I received was so tone deaf, so freakin' RUDE that it actually made it easier to process the rejection. I read the email, rolled my eyes, and moved on.

I am not the same.

Infertility, failed treatments, and not getting to be the mom I always wanted to be changed me.

That's just the first academic journal I submitted my research to. Oh, it's on now. I will continue to submit my research until it's published. That first journal I tried? Their loss. Big time. 

On my 11th Survivor Anniversary all I could do was laugh at my nerdy self for living through my worst nightmare and then conducting RESEARCH about it. Hahaha. Nerd!

Have you seen Pretty Woman? This shopping scene is what I immediately thought of
when I read that rejection email. I found this pic on an old tumblr post.