I love this week.

This week is exactly what I needed after the year I had. 

In July I realized I was doing too much. I was overworked and underpaid, got my heart broken by my family, and knew I was completely maxed out. It still took me six months to follow through with my commitments and pare down my schedule. Now that I've done that, it is crucial that I don't automatically load my schedule back up.

I did some serious journaling this weekend. I reflected on 2024 in a very thorough way so I don't have to revisit it repeatedly. I culled all of the lessons and bits of gratitude that I could, and I am moving further away from the toxic situations that I left. With every passing day, all of that negativity gets further in my past.

For the last several years I've developed a good practice of asking myself "What do I want?" and "What do I need?" When you are used to taking care of everyone else (my mother's feelings, my students' problems, my patients' needs), it can take awhile to be able to answer those questions for yourself. You may have to just sit with the questions for some time before any answers arrive.

This year I am adding a third question to ask myself: "Is this my problem?" I think it's genius! I think asking and answering this question for myself will save me so much time and energy!! I'm excited and relieved to have thought of this. 

Sooo many things aren't our problems. We didn't cause them, and we can't fix them. And really, we don't have to pay attention to them. Easier said than done. Just practice.

Free yourself.

So, yes, I love this week. The week between Xmas and the New Year. Where the country slows down for once, at least a little bit. Where I can cocoon and snuggle and hibernate, thinking and reflecting. And then also not thinking at all, just resting. In my world, this week is quiet. Still. Cozy. Peaceful.

It's my favorite week to be honest. It's the final lap of the year. Enjoy it.

This picture has nothing to do with anything, haha. 

It's a pair of stuffed animals, a chip and a bowl of salsa, that I bought for our home. They're magnetic and stick together. They are part of a "Better Together" series by Hallmark, and I thought they were perfect for my boyfriend and me this year. 💚

If you're interested, here is the self-care planner that I'm trying out this year. 

You can buy a digital version or a printed copy. I've used the same planner (with an annual refill, obviously) for 20 years, but this year I needed a change. My old planner breaks each day down by the hour with margins for daily lists, but I don't want to be that busy anymore. I have done enough. Plus, this colorful planner has good ideas and journal prompts. 

It just makes me happy. 💜

Reflecting, Resting, and Celebrating My World

If you read my last post, it was embarrassing but I needed to be honest with myself and confront my feelings. I'm not convinced it was a good or even decent post, but I wrote it and hit the publish button anyway. And now this post is a rambling road of meandering thoughts. Buckle up! Lol.

I like to read what Nedra Glover Tawwab writes and a question she posed recently was, "What do you feel entitled to?" I've kept it simmering in the back of my mind. And, I think something I feel entitled to is an easy relationship with my parents. I mean, they did their part (raised me with love, resources, and experiences), and I did my part (grew up, worked hard, and created a financially independent and sustainable life I enjoy). So why can't we just get along easily? 

Well, because it's not that simple. Nothing is. Everything is so layered and nuanced.

So I'll continue to notice and reflect. Change what I can, and practice accepting what I can't. 

So yeah, reflection... December is a good time for that. 

And in my reflection this morning I realized something: I was going through my first round of IVF this time of year ten years ago. Holy shit. How can ten years feel so recent and also so long ago?

I'm not going to regurgitate for the millionth time everything that's happened in the last ten years.

But I did take a moment to picture my life in a snapshot then and my life in a snapshot now.

Then: living in the beautiful house I bought for my children. Lost, vacant, empty... Lonely. Bored. Profoundly sad. Feeling traumatic loss and deep grief but not knowing that's what I was feeling. Didn't understand it, didn't have words for it, certainly had no support for it. Terrified.

Now: living in an old house I bought for myself. Warm, cozy, content... Thankful, proud, relieved. Enjoying the little things. Excited about the quilts I want to make. Resting for an extended period like the rest of my life depends on it because it does. 

Speaking of rest... Why is it so counterculture to rest? In one way, it's kind of trendy. "Live simply! Do less!" In another way, it's totally judged. "Oh, you have time for a nap? Must be nice." Why do other people want me to be busy? I've been busy my whole life and, while I've gained a lot of education and experience, how has being busy ever benefited my health, relationship to myself, or social connections?

Going through IVF ten years ago was horrible. Talk about being busy! The whole process is constant injections, blood draws, and ultrasounds. And that's just the physical part. There's also dealing with your own feelings and expectations, not to mention everyone else's feelings and expectations. It's too much to get into right now because I left all that behind for many reasons.

I couldn't fast forward through the last ten years, but I'm glad to be on this side of things now.

I like the life I've created for myself. I was reminded again yesterday when I went to the dentist. I ran into an acquaintance there who said she'd been meaning to get together but has been so busy with her kids. Then the dental hygienist was making small talk and, as a former teacher, I can easily banter about kids, school, and the ups and downs of it all. The hygienist was not complaining, but I could tell she was stressed. Parents need so much more support than they get. (But that's not what this blog is about! Lol.)

With those two conversations, I felt like I was living in the Parenting World for about an hour. And it felt really different. There were different routines, schedules, demands, and concerns. It's honestly pretty much completely different from my life. One isn't better or easier than the other. They are just different.

It just showed me how much my hard work has paid off. I didn't get to have kids, so I didn't make myself stay in that world. I created a life that I want to live, a life that works for me and my circumstances. I posted this quote on one of my first posts, but back then it was a process I was working through. It really rings true now.

Infantilizing Childless Women

My family isn't very nice to me. 

There. I said it.

I'm 45 years old and I am constantly criticized for all of my choices: where I live, what I do for work, who I choose as my partner, and how I spend my time. At this point, it is absolutely ridiculous. I am fine. I'm employed. I pay my bills. I am kind. I have hobbies. I volunteer. 

But I don't need to tell you all of this. I don't even need to tell myself. 

I am enough and I don't need to explain my existence or reasoning. 

It's just really, really sad.

I woke up in a bit of a funk yesterday morning. I knew my extended family was gathering for the holidays yesterday, but I chose to take care of myself, not travel, and stay home. I don't regret my decision, but I still missed seeing my cousins. I called my parents to visit and my mom was so mean. She's the kind of person that will insult you and then tell you, "You're overthinking it," when you call her out on it. That is exactly what happened yesterday. I tried not to let it, but it really soured my day. I am a high achieving, accomplished adult, and I am treated like I am an ignorant teenager making bad choices. It's beyond annoying.

I feel like I'm constantly having realizations about my relationships with my family members and learning how to interact differently. But it's a neverending evolution apparently. Hopefully, I learned some new things yesterday because I am really tired of feeling like a hurt and misunderstood kid.

Do I go low contact? I've tried every other strategy so far. I've done nothing wrong. But I am still insulted. My life and my choices are not respected. How my life is and how I am treated by my family is completely incongruous.

Is it because I'm not married? Because I don't have kids? Because I'm the youngest?

I thought as my niece and nephew grew up, the family would realize I was also growing up. But my young adult niece and nephew seem to have surpassed me in the family. They are not criticized for where they live or what they do. It is really, really, really fucking weird.

I am glad I stayed home this weekend. I am glad I did the best I could to take care of myself. I am sorry that I hung up the phone yesterday and continued to replay all of the criticisms lobbed at me on repeat in my head all day. I tried writing a letter to myself in my head telling myself all of the things I wanted to hear. 

I don't know what else to do. I feel like I cannot deal with this anymore. It's not good for me.

It's not right, and it's not fair. I survived my worst nightmare. I don't have kids after planning for them and structuring my entire life around having them. I've been through so much stress and dealt with so much grief: infertility, failed treatments, moving, divorce, a pandemic. I know I've done an amazing, awesome job, but I don't want to have to tell my parents that anymore. It should be the other way around. They should be telling me, not me trying to convince them. 

Did I mention that I'm 45??

And it's not like I'm trying to explain myself. It just happens in conversation. My mom will ask what I've been up to this week, I'll share things like "working and sewing," and whatever I say is always the wrong thing. Wrong job, wrong hobby. It's. So. Bizarre.

When I was a kid and she was mad at me, my mother used to smirk and tell me all the time, "I hope you grow up and have a daughter just like you." And to my credit, I would say, "Me too. Then at least someone in my life would make sense."

Yesterday was just another day in my life with my parents. But just like the acquaintance I wrote about in my last post (the "I know you don't want to see any newborn pictures, but do you want to see just one?" lady), people will say the weirdest shit to me. And out of all of the venting I did to my boyfriend yesterday, I still didn't even tell him the most hurtful thing my mom said. (He is so over it. I was grateful that he was listening to me, but I also wanted to spare him.)

Yesterday my mother said to me, "I know you don't like to hear this. But, as a parent, that's just how it [parenting] is." My MOM tried to parent-splain (that's my version of "mansplain") her treatment of me, her middle aged daughter, as reasonable because she claimed that's how parenting is while simultaneously referencing the fact that I have no children and inferring that I don't know what it's like. 

😳

Wow, lady. 

Just wow.

A Preemptive Text

I have an acquaintance who was about to become a grandmother. She was, understandably, very excited about it. I thought about the previous year when her oldest child got married. She was very excited about that too. She shared hundreds of wedding pictures with me, which I didn't mind. She was excited, the pictures were pretty, and it was a very happy event.

But I thought about those hundreds of wedding pictures of people I will never meet when she sent out a group text that the baby was born and all went well. Mother and baby were healthy.

I know myself. I know that newborn pics, especially where the new mom is holding the newborn, are hard for me. I limit myself to pictures of only people I care about, not people I don't even know. I thought I better get ahead of this.

So I sent her a preemptive text message. I wrote, "Congrats on grandmotherhood!! I'll have to catch you beforehand and request that you don't send me any newborn pics. I can explain in person if you're curious. Thank you!"

I felt kind of proud of myself. It was a polite text that didn't overshare. I didn't feel self-conscious for writing or sending it. I was glad I had the idea and sent it before I was bombarded with pics.

And do you know what this acquaintance said the first time I saw her when she got back in town?

She literally said, "I know you said you didn't want to see any newborn pictures, but do you want to see just one?"

"No" was my swift, immediate, and one-word reply. 

What the hell?? Someone sends you a text like that and you still try to show them baby pictures? She has no idea what my experiences are, and she obviously doesn't care. Or, she at least didn't stop and think for even one second.

My flat reply made another friend laugh. She was right there, knows my story, knows this acquaintance, and laughed out loud at my immediate "no." I did not feel laughed AT. I felt empowered. I said no, did not explain myself, and could not possibly have cared any less.

Geeez, what a clueless acquaintance!

Not Traveling for the Holidays

I'm not traveling for the holidays this year.

In 2016 I missed celebrating the holidays with my family for the first time ever. After enduring several painful holidays during infertility (including one where I traveled with my IVF medications), I finally realized that traveling for the holidays was exactly what I DIDN'T need and stayed home. It sucked and I was sad, but I still knew I was picking the least painful of my options. 

I didn't travel in 2017 either. Because of infertility.

In 2018 I went to my parents' home for the holidays and had a wonderful time with everyone.

In 2019 I missed the holidays with my family again when I was busy rebuilding my life and working two professional jobs in a different state. I was working five days a week teaching middle school and working the weekends at the hospital. I didn't have time to travel. I didn't have time for anything except to get myself established in my new state.

In 2020 there was the pandemic so, once again, I didn't travel to see my family for the holidays. 

I traveled in 2021, but I was terrified. Despite being vaccinated and masked, it took a lot for me to board a plane and spend time with loved ones from multiple households (especially knowing that nobody else was masking anymore). I was the only person in a mask all weekend and it was tough. But it was still good to see everyone.

I traveled for the holidays in 2022 and 2023 and had a grand ol' time.

This year I'm not. I'm not traveling for the holidays again, but it has nothing to do with infertility or the pandemic. I am flat out tired. I took nine trips this year, and I don't even like to travel. I'm grateful for the opportunities. I got to visit my best friend from college and meet her kids. I got to present my research at five different conferences. I saw my parents several times throughout the year. It was all great. I'm just tired.

And so I am done. For 2024. Hahaha. But seriously... 

I'm done with meetings and commitments and commuting. I am definitely done traveling. I warned my family when I saw some of them a couple of weeks ago that I was not going to be traveling anymore this year. We already have time planned together in February so I reminded them of that. My parents and older sister seemed to understand, and I appreciated it. It always feels good to feel understood, even if that feeling is somewhat foreign.

What do YOU need? 

What do you WANT?

They are seemingly simple questions but can be deceptively difficult to answer.

Just put those questions in the back of your mind.
Let them simmer. Let the answers come to you. You don't have to work for them.

I give you permission to rest. You have done enough.

The pictures above are all accurate depictions of me. 😂
They were all found in the public domain by searching "relaxing at home clip art" for images, and they represent my plans for the rest of the year: eating, sleeping, and sewing. Also, I recently found a video game that I really like (first one since, like, 1992!) so I'll be playing that too. And slowly but surely, I'll organize my house. But that's all fun for me. Of course I'll have to go to work too. But that's my only responsibility. Oh and a dentist appointment for a cleaning.
Anyway, I digress...  Do what you want to do.

Abundance

I did not mean to disappear on you, but I got extremely busy and could barely keep my head above water. But! As of today, I am no longer busy. I followed through with all of my commitments and meetings, and now I am done. I feel tired and proud. I will spend the next five weeks doing as little as possible: going to work, cleaning my house, and doing what I want. :)

My house is a wreck. I think back to the last time when I felt like my house wasn't a wreck. It was during a very sad, cold time in my life when I was married but lonely and trying to conceive. My house was clean because I never cooked or created any art. I was barely alive so I didn't make much of a mess. Everything had a place and was in its place because I didn't use anything. 

So the upside of having my house be a wreck is that my life is full and active. I might need to desperately sweep my living room and throw the quilts in the washer, but even while messy, my LIVING room (all caps to emphasize that I am truly living again) feels so warm and cozy. I love it.

Not being able to raise the children I had planned for my whole life upended my entire existence. I created a whole new life that I want to live, but I'm still dealing with the destruction caused by infertility. And one continued problem is I have too much stuff!! Books I'm never going to reference, clothes I'm never going to wear, mismatched pots and pans and kitchen items that don't stack neatly in the cabinets... From the outside looking in, I can be objective about it. I know it's all a grief response. I feel like I have a slight taste (like, 1%) of what dealing with a true hoarding problem might feel like. I'm holding on to so much because I've lost too much already.

And then I remember I used to have twice as much stuff. 

So I let myself feel proud of how far I've come and I give myself grace for where I currently am.

My mother's house is spotless. I would even say it's almost 100% dust free. She keeps a seriously clean house. But I cannot compare myself to her. One, we have different personalities. And two, while she's had her own incredibly difficult periods in her life, the last 15 years have not been one of them. It's much easier to function when you're not in the midst of grief and trauma.

So here I am. At the finish line of a truly challenging calendar year.
Which followed an incredibly harrowing 12 years. 

I am off of work for a whole week, and I am giddy. I don't know what I'm going to do, but it will probably involve sleeping, sewing, and cleaning my house. 

I am so grateful.

Picture above found at What is a cornucopia?

I am thankful for so much: 

a safe and stable place to live, good food to eat, 

hobbies I enjoy, and loved ones to share life with. 

Wishing you warmth, peace, and contentment this holiday season.

Love, Phoenix

Changes Over Time with My BFF

Out of all of my friends that I've written about on this blog, I haven't told you about the friend that I was closest to: my best friend from college. I met her within the first month or two of our first semester. She was so cool, and I wanted to be her friend. We were housemates the following year. She traveled abroad our third year and then we rented apartments in the same neighborhood our final year. It was so fun being her friend and I trusted her with everything. I was so anxious but outgoing, and she was so rational but shy in big groups. We were a good pair together. We complimented each other well. She helped me immensely.

We graduated college and continued to talk on the phone almost every day for the next couple of years. Then, inevitably, the demands of life increased and we no longer had as much free time to do that. But still, we were very much in touch.

When I got engaged, she was happy for me... But also sad for herself. She really, really wanted to be engaged. She and her boyfriend had been together for years and she was ready to get married. We talked openly about it and I said what we both already knew--that we weren't always going to be on the same timeline as each other. (Yes, this was some Real Life foreshadowing...)

My best friend and her boyfriend came to my wedding, even though it wasn't a destination they would have personally chosen. She was totally present with me and happy for me, and it was a great celebration. She and her boyfriend were engaged within the next six months, and my husband and I went to their wedding the following year. Yay! We were both newlyweds.

Then she called to tell me she was pregnant. And I was happy for her... But also sad for myself. I hadn't even started trying yet; my husband didn't want to. I also had a feeling of dread that it wasn't going to happen for me. And this was my best friend. She knew everything about me. She knew about my fear of infertility. I confided in her about it in college and she assured me I was worrying for nothing. She was the rational one. I tried to believe her.

And now she was pregnant. Which was great. But our lives were moving in different directions...

We didn't talk as much.

Several years and two kids later (two for her, none for me obviously), we were still loosely in touch. But she was busy with baby and toddler things. I was busy with fertility treatments and grief. I knew my life wouldn't be like this forever. Neither would hers. I hoped we'd reconnect again later down the road...

We always stayed in touch. But we lived on opposite sides of the country and did not have much in common, aside from our shared history in college. 

She had a third kid. I was surprised, but I'm sure she and her husband were more surprised, lol. They were already in the thick of things with parenting though, so, hey, what's one more? Haha. 

Anyway, the years passed by and life went on... Her kids and career were growing, and I was going back to school and moving a bunch just trying to find a place to land.

Then earlier this year, when I was going through the breakup (wow, that feels so long ago!), I texted her to let her know. She was so kind and supportive with her messages. And she also invited me on her family's summer vacation. Me with her, her husband, and their three kids.

And I realized, if I am going to meet my best friend's kids while they are still kids, I need to meet them NOW.

I couldn't believe she invited me on their freaking family vacation. We hadn't even seen each other in 12 years. I mean, I know her husband and I feel completely comfortable with both of them, but still... In a way, it was just a trip to see old friends. But with infertility, in another way, the trip was a lot to consider.

I did it. I went. I flew across the country and spent a week with my best friend from college and her family. And it was so awesome. Amazing. No regrets. So much fun. 10/10 will do it again.

(Obviously, working through everything and getting back together with my boyfriend was the best thing about the breakup. But the second best thing was going out of my comfort zone and taking that trip to see my best friend!)

Were there hard moments? Yes. Was it bittersweet? Also yes. But this is my life and I want to live it. I want to see my best friend and meet her kids and spend time with her family. Like I said in my previous post, it's the person that makes the difference in a situation. And my best friend is awesome. And so are her kids.

The Person Makes the Difference

I will always take certain events and situations into consideration.

My last two posts were about a wedding I went to and a shower I'm going to.

When it comes down to it, whether or not something is cool to go to depends on the people involved. If I feel dismissed, insulted, or marginalized, guess what, I'm not that interested in your wedding or your shower or whatever. If you're cool (i.e., kind), then yes I'm happy and excited to celebrate with you. 

For years, everything stung. Weddings, showers, birthday parties. Every invitation. Every non-invitation (i.e., every time I wasn't invited). Everything hurt. Even (especially?) with the people that I cared about most. I avoided things because it was all I knew to do to protect myself.

Over time, I worked on my life and myself--both of which were empty after years of infertility.

Over time, things changed. Not quickly. It felt more like the pace of the Colorado River carving the Grand Canyon. Very, very slowly. But still, things changed over time.

Remember when I met an unlikely friend? 
Maybe that's when the tiniest of monumental changes started.

I'm happy to share I got to see him. His family was on vacation nearby so I met up with them for dinner. It was great to see him and his wife. Their 10-month old is now almost 9 and they have two other kids under 5, so I got to meet them too.

It was really cool. The last time I saw them was 6 years ago. When I met my friend 8 years ago, we both had plans to move. And we did, and here we are. We live several hours apart, but we'll hang out again. He and his family will be back in my area occasionally because it's a nice spot. And my boyfriend and I will be in their area when we visit my boyfriend's family. It'll be nice to see everyone over the years.

I don't have a lot of friends that are currently raising children. However, I have spent time around a couple of friends and their kids twice in the last six months. It's not like how it was. How it used to hurt. It doesn't feel like that anymore. Maybe a part of me will always be sad about not having kids. But not everything is devastating anymore. Not all events and situations are hard or hurtful. 

If it's people I really care about and that care about me, I enjoy the moments. 

Got a Shower Invitation

Yesterday I got an invitation to a baby shower, and I immediately responded with a yes. I knew the invitation was coming, and I had already decided to go. I'm sharing this because it shows how things can change over time.

After my experience with infertility, I swore I'd never go to another baby shower again. But then I ended up organizing a baby shower, haha. Now, five years later, I'm going to another one.

This baby shower is different from the others though. It is not for a friend. It is for a friend's daughter. Yes, because time marches on... I am no longer the age where my peers are getting pregnant. But I am at the age where my peers' young adult children are.

This is a new friend I've made in the last year, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't know about my infertility. I mean, obviously, she knows I don't have kids. But we've never talked about it. Maybe she has picked up on what has led me to this point in my life, or maybe she hasn't...

But I'm definitely going to her daughter's baby shower. It wasn't a planned pregnancy, which doesn't matter, but the whole family is very excited. The shower will be a simple affair. My friend is hosting it at the library of our community college. (I'm excited to see the library! Lol.) I'm sure we'll play games and eat snacks and watch the mom-to-be open presents. Obviously, there will be talk about the baby that is coming and babies in general. Other women there will probably talk about their pregnancies and parenting experiences.

And I don't care. I'm excited to be invited. I'm looking forward to celebrating my friend's daughter.

I'm not making plans for after the shower in case it stirs up my emotions. But it might not. The truth is, I don't want to be pregnant anymore. That's not where I am in life. I don't think the shower will trigger an unmanageable yearning like it has in the past. Yes, I still get sad sometimes, but I also love my life. (And I also love that I finally have several friends in real life again that I can meet up with for dinner and gatherings.)

I'm even making a simple quilt for the baby. None of it makes me sad. 

And that is worth celebrating!

Attending Weddings Alone and Childless

How do you feel about weddings? Are you invited to any? Do you love them, dread them, or do you not feel strongly one way or another? Have your feelings changed over time? I'm just curious.

Maybe I've been lucky but most of the weddings I've attended have been great. I've never been stuck in a long, boring ceremony, and most of the receptions have been a lot of fun. But when I think about it, most of the weddings I've been to were quite a while ago. I think I've only been to two in the last decade. 

I used to love weddings. I still like them, but I don't love them the way I used to. 

I think infertility changed them for me. I always associated marriage with having children for myself because that's what I wanted to do: get married and have kids. It's the norm in society. So weddings often reference future children and that always stings because 1) it sucks that that didn't work out for me and 2) I hope the newly married couple doesn't have to go through infertility if they want to conceive children.

Interestingly, I don't think divorce changed weddings too much for me. I loved being married. And I love being divorced. However, whereas getting married was really fun, getting divorced was obviously not fun. But still, my experience with marriage and divorce doesn't change my feelings about weddings.

I will say this though. I gave everyone a plus-one to my wedding. If you were going to come to my wedding, I wanted you to enjoy your time with someone, whether it was your boyfriend, girlfriend, best friend, or mother. I didn't care. 

When I think of the last two weddings I've attended, they were weird. I attended the last two weddings alone. Even when you know people at the wedding, it feels weird to go to one alone. I mean, the whole thing is a celebration of a relationship. (I don't have to be in a romantic relationship, but it's more fun to enjoy the event with someone. Twenty years ago I took my best friend to a wedding for another friend, and she and I had a great time.)

The first wedding I went to alone was because my husband didn't want to go. So he didn't go. So I traveled out of state to go to my cousin's wedding by myself. I stayed in a nice hotel room by myself and attended the ceremony (where future children were definitely referenced and I was going through infertility at the time) and then the reception by myself. Earlier in the day I went to lunch and a museum with my dad, and at the reception I ended up getting to know and hanging out with the wife of one of my cousins. I had a good time, but it felt weird to be childless and alone at the wedding.

The second wedding I went to alone was recent. I went alone because my boyfriend was very rudely and explicitly not invited. I was hurt but went anyway because it was a person very close to me. Well, it was a person who I thought I was close to. Anyway, I went. And I was the only person there in a relationship whose partner was not invited. I felt like how I feel during the holiday season sometimes, like I'm a person just looking from the outside in on everyone else's families during a joyous time. Again, it felt weird to be childless and alone at the wedding. Not to mention the hurtful things that were said.

I still like weddings. I don't know how many more will be in my future. But if I'm invited and able to go, I will. I love love. And I love the team approach to life. So I love to celebrate two people getting married and becoming a team. The ceremonies are usually short, and the receptions are fun because it's just happy people celebrating.

I still enjoy weddings, but I doubt I'll go to one alone again.

Pervasive Assumptions

I don't expect others to "get over" their parented status. Once you're a mom, you're a mom. It doesn't change. Why do I feel like some people want me to "get over" my childlessness? It's a part of me. It's who I am. It's not the entirety of who I am, but it has a big influence on my life. 

Just like having children can change everything for someone, not having children can change everything too. Having children affects your life in major ways, from the big stuff down to your daily routines, and so does not having children when you planned for them your whole life.

I am not sad every day like I used to be. Far from it. Being sad every day was a part of it for me, but I am no longer in that place. I have moved along the road of my life. But it still affects me. 

It affects what I do for work (I changed careers), where I live (I moved out of the suburbs and to a different state), and how I spend my time (no sports practice, birthday parties, or carpool lines for me -- two of which I was actually looking forward to). Involuntary childlessness affects everything.

And people don't seem to get that. Although they do seem to make quick assumptions.

Why do I get hate for taking a nap?
(Parents can take naps, eventually anyway. Their kids grow up.)

Why do I get judged for spending time on hobbies?
(Plenty of women throughout time have raised children and quilted.)

Why am I assumed to not have an important schedule or responsibilities?
(I still work, run errands, have appointments, eat, sleep, shower, and stay on top of dishes and laundry like everyone else. I have things to do, whether I like it or not. And I also do not have unlimited energy.)

It's just short-sighted. And annoying.

*****

The holiday season starts this week. It's an easy time to feel dismissed or misunderstood.

I used to love October, November, and December. Then they were extremely painful for years. Now I love them again but only because I've reclaimed the parts I like.

As your family and friends start to make plans for the rest of 2024, pay attention to what you want to do and what you don't want to do. You're allowed (and encouraged!) to make decisions based on what fits YOUR life, not everyone else's.

💜

From Burnout to Boundaries

If you read my last post about my burnout, thank you. It feels nice to be heard. Plus, we are never alone. If I'm feeling that way, someone else out there is feeling it too. I write to connect because feeling alone really sucks. I like *being* alone; I enjoy my own company. But *feeling* alone feels really lonely and like nobody understands.

So, anyway... I'm managing extreme burnout right now and that's okay. A lot of us are. We do what we can and rest when we can. For me, what's left of 2024 is scheduled with work, trips, and research goals. And I'm not making any more plans. And I will keep making sure I don't commit myself to a whole lot for 2025. 

I think I will need to look for a new healthcare job next year. The commute is getting harder for me. It's getting longer, both with congestion and construction. It's a big drain on me after a demanding work day. I've commuted for most of my working life. But just because I CAN do something, it doesn't mean I have to.

My in-town part-time job is still going well. I do not make very much, but it pays for my half of the bills and I'm so damn happy. I really enjoy it. The place, the people. I like what we do there.

I've just been thinking about a lot... Between work stuff and family issues, July 2024 was one of the hardest months of my life. And that's saying something. Because we all know going through infertilty is the worst. (Plus, I went through a big breakup at the beginning of the year. At least that terribleness was followed by a massive effort of communicating and working through things with my boyfriend and us getting back together.)

So I've been thinking... What is working for me? What isn't? What is in my control to change? What's important to me? How do I want to spend my time and energy?

I read an awesome book. It's called Drama Free by Nedra Glover Tawwab. It's subtitled A Guide for Managing Unhealthy Family Relationships. I learned a lot of good information and strategies from this book. I treated it like a textbook. I highlighted and wrote in it as I read it. It was a lot. I finished reading it and felt like I had finished taking a course. (I skipped the chapter about parenting.) I was very glad I read it, and I was very glad to be done. I mean, it's not like anyone in my family is doing any self-study to improve their communication or relationships with me. I just don't want to focus on this topic anymore. 

So it's the end of another month. The next four months are my favorite. I love the fall (especially Thanksgiving) and winter. I plan to follow through with my commitments and enjoy working on several different quilts. I'm not making any more plans than I already have, and I am prioritizing my physical and mental health. Not work. (Although, yes, working is not negotiable; I have to work. But that's why I'm so thankful for my part-time job.) Not family. Not anyone or anything else.

Me. What I want. What I need.

And what does any of this have to do with infertility?

Well, before that devastating, traumatic, and life-changing experience I NEVER put myself first. It was always my family first. And then it was my friends. And then my boyfriends/husband. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I also internalized society's expectations and prioritized what I was told to be important. (Do you do any of this? It's worth thinking about.)

But after living a life that literally nobody else I knew was living (i.e., childless not by choice), I finally truly realized that my life is MINE. Nobody else may understand it and they don't have to. I don't owe anyone anything, including any explanations.

So I'm gonna take the rest of the year to really think on all of that. I want to move through burnout by resting, re-evaluating what I let in, and establishing new boundaries. I really want a new mindset to settle in and take hold in my subconscious. My 18 year old self never cared what others thought. I want to reclaim and reintegrate her.

This is Mia Zapata from The Gits. Photo by Charles Peterson, retrieved from this article. Her voice, her energy, her lyrics... She was incredible and tragically taken too soon. I've always loved this picture. It reminds me of how I used to feel, wayyy before I ever experienced infertility. 

I want to feel like this again.

Extreme Burnout

For the duration of this blog (8 years next month!), I have written about how tired I am.

You know my story...

Infertility, failed treatments, and realizing I won't be raising kids in this lifetime wiped me out. For a couple of years I didn't do much. I volunteered Wednesday mornings and went out to dinner with my husband every Friday night. I wasn't working because I assumed that I would eventually get pregnant. I wasn't socializing because all of my friends were getting pregnant and having kids. I was too anxious and depressed to actually enjoy doing anything, so I wasn't doing anything for fun. At least I had my dog at the time.

Then I decided, since I couldn't have kids, I was going to have to completely change my life or resign myself to always feeling like walking death. From the house we bought to my chosen profession of teaching, every major decision I had made in life was structured around having children. But I didn't have children, so the life I had created did not make sense. In fact, it hurt me deeply in every waking moment. Grief is exhausting, especially disenfranchised grief because it's so isolating.

I decided to sell the house I bought for my children, go back to school to change careers, and move out of state. I did all of that and then got divorced. Everything was exhausting. I also kept moving in search of a place where I wanted to live. Then the pandemic hit. 

Throw in more school (a privilege but still stressful) and several more job changes due to hazardous conditions at one place, an untrustworthy co-worker at another place, and being grossly underpaid at the last place...

I have been very tired for a very, very long time.

And I think I have reached my limit.

I tried giving myself a three-month sabbatical several years ago. It helped at the time but not overall. So now I am just following through with what I've already said I'd do and not committing to anything new.

I went out of town the last two weekends. One was a quick but stressful overnight family trip. The other was a days-long professional conference. Then this week, despite getting enough sleep every night, I have felt sick. Waves of nausea come and go throughout the day. I am worn out.

Infertility took so much from me. It is more than losing my kids and not getting to be a mom. It's also all the time lost to fear, anxiety, stress, depression, and exhaustion. It's the arduous recovery from the whole experience. It's the picking up the pieces of what's left and figuring out what to do with myself instead... and then actually doing it. I HAD to get up every day and do the things that I needed to do to get to where I am now. Nobody else could do it for me. But damn it was hard and I am still so, so tired.

I am trying to renew my health. I have exercised once a week for the last three weeks. That's not a lot, but it's a start. I am about to begin a new sew-along for a new quilt, and that community is fun. The season is changing and I love the fall and winter. I will feel better in time, but it is going to take an extended period of decreased demands on myself.

I am grateful I am in a good place. I like myself and I like where I am. But damn, I can just barely deal with life anymore. I am doing the bare minimum and giving myself a lot of grace. 

It's been a long 12 years.

Take good care of yourself.

I like to color. It's calming, and it requires no thought or precision. 

You don't even have to stay in the lines if you don't want to.

My Different Life

I recently traveled to see family. It was great to see people. I will never take our collective health and availability to get together for granted. However, I noticed that I did not feel completely at ease.

Last week's trip really showed me how I've completely changed my life. 

It's not something I can totally put into words yet, but all of the mixed feelings are right there under the surface just waiting to be sorted through.

I am so different from my family. The biggest difference is that I am childless. I am also divorced and have not remarried. I do not make a lot of money. I do not live in a city with all of its conveniences. I do not even live in the same state as most of them. (And trust me, cultural differences between states definitely exist.) 

My life is fundamentally different from those I grew up with. It is structured differently. It has different demands and requirements. I do not have their same routines and milestones. Therefore, I cannot live life the way they do. I have to live my own life, whether my family understands this or not.

It was just really apparent to me recently in a way it has never been before. All of the criticisms, all of the suggestions that were given to me... They just don't make sense anymore. They don't relate to me. I no longer listen to them.

You know how you can sometimes feel lonely even when you are surrounded by love? In those moments while out of town, I would remember my home. I would think about my sewing room and my new friends (all of whom are either childless or their children are grown, so we have the same rhythms in life right now). I thought about my boyfriend who comforts me and makes me laugh all day long. 

I love my family so much. I also love my completely different life that I've worked so hard to create.

Comic retrieved from https://www.boylecounseling.com/see-life-side/
(This website is shared for photo credit; I am unfamiliar with and do not endorse its services.)

Yes. 100% Sure.

I thought about a colleague I hadn't talked to in about a year. (And by "talked to" I mean texted.) We went to school together and I was wondering what she was up to and how she was doing. It had been a year since graduation so I texted her to check in. 

She's going through IVF.

Oh... Yay!!! Oh no... I'm hopeful!! But. Oh... I don't miss that. 

Those were my thoughts within the first second of me reading her text.
My next thoughts were along the lines of "What can I say that's supportive?" 

And also, I thought this: that, no matter what, I knew she was going to be okay. I mean, hopefully she gets pregnant! That's what she wants. That's what she's going for. But if she doesn't... I know she'll be okay. (I didn't share that last thought though. I kept it to myself. It wasn't the right time.)

So I point out all her data that looks good and give some sincere, encouraging words. I also validated that IVF sucks and no one understands. She shared that it's really hard to manage all the adjustments--waiting, expectations, protocols, etc. It felt good to be able to support a friend in a way where I knew at least a little bit of what she was going through. It felt good because I know she feels alone in the process and it didn't hurt me to provide that support. (She has a loving husband. But you know what I mean.) It was just a text exchange, but I hope I helped.

But I gotta tell you.
She asked me, "Are you sure you're not going to have kids?"

And, without a single doubt or hesitancy, I texted her back: "Yes. 100% sure."

And... It felt good to say that.
Because being in limbo SUCKS.
And hey, it didn't work out for me, so here I am, and, nope, it's not going to happen now.

I'm not having kids. I'm 100% sure.

When I feel grief, I really feel it. I let myself. When I feel joy, I really feel that too. I allow it. My grief comes from the loss of my children; my joy comes from my continuing to live anyway.

Am I sure I'm not going to have kids?

Yes. 100% sure.

Personal Update & Peer Support

Hello! Hi! How are you? I've missed you. 

And quite honestly, I need you. Thank you for being here.

In my last post, I didn't know if I was ending this blog or not. Well, actually, I thought I was done with it. I thought the theme had run its course. I mean, I achieved my goal. I created a life I want to live. And now I am living it.

What happened is I got my feelings hurt. By two little anonymous comments that really weren't that big of a deal, just strangers spouting their opinion on what I'd written without full context or understanding. The first time it happened I engaged. The second time I did not. But I thought, life is hard enough, I don't need this. And I don't. None of us do. So I took a break from blogging.

But guess what.

It's not the strangers that can hurt us the most. It is the people we know and love. Or rather, it is the people we thought we knew that can cut us deeply... 

Over the last several months while I haven't been blogging, I had a close family member say very mean, rude, and unnecessary things to me. I don't want to write about it yet because I would hate for anything to go viral when I am still struggling with processing and navigating the whole thing. I apologize for being vague. You're not missing anything juicy or interesting. A close family member said some things and made a very short-sighted decision, and I am very very hurt. Like, this will permanently affect our relationship. What the future will look like, I do not know. But I do know that things will never be the same. There was Before and there will be After.

So if a stranger is hate-reading my blog, whatever asinine and judgmental comments they leave me behind their "anonymous" shield won't really affect me anymore. They can't hurt me. I don't even know them.

It's the people we love that can hurt us the most. Being deeply hurt is the biggest thing that's happened to me this summer. It's changed everything.

Other important updates are that my boyfriend and I are back together and have been for a while now. We worked hard to communicate, we're each making our own changes, and we are happily back together! I am not surprised that we got back together because I knew we loved and liked each other so much, but I was surprised by how quickly it all happened.

Also, I quit another job. I loved that job, but I was very underpaid. It didn't feel good. I grew a lot professionally in that position, but it was definitely time for me to move on. It was scary to quit, but I knew I needed to so I did.

I still have my other job that I love. It's in a nursing home and I only work every now and then. 

But I already have a new part-time job and it has nothing to do with caregiving!

For the past 27 years, I've worked in education and healthcare. I have taken care of thousands of other people's children, parents, and grandparents. It's wonderful, awesome, rewarding, and a privilege to be a caregiver. It is also exhausting. And lacking in reciprocity. (Just being honest...) But when I'm giving my all to students and patients, I don't really get that much back. They're not MY kids or parents or grandparents. It is a professional relationship that does not involve unconditional love or even fellowship outside of our appropriate setting. Plus, caregiving jobs are typically done by women and are extremely underpaid. It's a lot of giving without getting a lot in return. I hate to say all of this, but it's true. And knowing all of this makes me appreciate this new job opportunity working for a small, family-owned company. I don't think I ever want to fully step away from healthcare, but I don't think I will ever be able to do clinical work full-time. It's extremely demanding, and I need to honor the sensitive constitution that I was born with. 

These have all been good realizations for me.

It's a lot of change. I had no idea that year 2024 was going to be so transformational. It feels like I'm letting everything go (relationships, jobs, old behavioral patterns) and seeing what comes back. My life is restructuring itself. Again. 

And amidst all of this, I have returned to working on my research about involuntary childlessness. Here's something interesting. I found it was harder to go through the narrative data this time around compared to previous periods of data analysis. It's taken me by surprise. I've had to slow down, work in shorter bursts, and give myself emotional recovery time. It's hard reading about other women's difficult experiences and all of the things that have been said and done to them. Really hard. Especially when it's all so relatable.

But I am committed! And I am grateful. What an opportunity and privilege to be able to conduct an international qualitative pilot study. I am looking forward to sharing the results of my research at several different state conferences this fall. Then I will draft an article for publication in an academic journal to get the research officially documented and accessible!

But I need you. I need this community. I have myself, my understanding boyfriend, and my supportive friends. But there's my family that always invalidates and infantilizes me. And there's a whole, big pronatalist world that makes so many assumptions about me and my life. It's just hard being so misunderstood. I know members of other marginalized groups feel the same way.

We need each other.

(Image taken from a company website that provides website support.
I know nothing about this company, just giving credit to where I found the picture.)

Well Received

I am happy to share that the research I presented last month was well received. It was a great opportunity to conduct the research in the first place, and it is just as important to disseminate the information. I plan to share the information at future conferences. I will also write an article about the study and submit it for publication to an academic journal. I want to get the information in the hands of people who will use it.

Which is everyone. Nobody is untouched by infertility and living childless not-by-choice. Everyone has a family member dealing with it. Or a co-worker that you don't know about. Or a client. Or an acquaintance. Or a friend. Whether we know they're going through it or not, odds are we all know someone, at least peripherally.

In order to develop effective support programs to help people transitioning to involuntary childlessness, we need to understand the lived experience. We need to know: what are the common experiences, factors, and needs among this growing population? Research exploring this phenomenon can help get the ball rolling for future program development.

So, back to it being well received... It was! I wish you could have been there. It's not like a ton of people stopped by my little spot, but if just one person stopped by and asked me a question, the trip would be worth it. And it was worth it. Everyone was interested in the research results for different reasons. People were interested in everything from the methodology to sharing they were going (or went through) the experience to asking how to support loved ones who are going through it. Connections were made and many meaningful conversations were had. 

And then I crashed. I slept so hard that night. I don't know why I didn't think to anticipate it, but talking about infertility and involuntary childlessness was exhausting. 

It was also awesome. I'm so grateful for the opportunity. It's priceless to feel so well received.

On the opposite of that, I have received some unsupportive comments on this blog in the last several months. I don't know why someone would want to read what I write unless they're trying to cope with their worst nightmare. I definitely don't mean to sound like I'm judging fertile people. I'm just working through my own anguish. But, I also have learned I don't need to explain myself.

So I'll be stepping away from this space for a while. I've made some really good friends here, and I encourage anyone reading to reach out and build a community for yourself. There are other people out there who will understand. 

You are allowed to grieve. You can heal. You deserve to enjoy your life.

I will leave my posts up for now. Maybe I'll take them down eventually or maybe they can hang out in the ether forever. I don't know yet.

Thank you all. Thank you for saving my will to live. I love my life, and I don't take that for granted.

Above is the March Hare with his spilled tea for The Mad Quilt Party at Art East Quilting Co.
I've had a lot of fun doing this sew along with the monthly mystery block since September.
It ends next month and I'm looking forward to learning what the next sew along will be.

Underlying Assumptions Get Old

Experiencing infertility and being childless not-by-choice changed me in too many ways to count. After living my whole life with my own personal problems (depression and anxiety) but pretty damn good and lucky circumstances (loving family, stable housing, etc.), going through infertility and involuntary childlessness gave me the experience of being part of a marginalized, even invisible, population. It made me more aware of society's assumptions and more sensitive to some of the struggles other people experience (though I would never claim someone else's hardships and lessons as my own). 

But now I know how little I know. 

And I am grateful to know what I do know.

*****

Here is a very small thing that is another example of the pronatalist assumptions in our society. 

(By the way, in the draft of this post, the word "pronatalist" was underlined in red, so I just added it to my blogging dictionary of recognized words.) 

I was at a work training. It was just me, a co-worker, and our manager who was leading the training. The topic was skin integrity and the different products we have at our facility. Our manager was describing under what circumstances you would use each product. For one of the products, she said you would use it when the patient's skin "looked like diaper rash." 

During our break, I turned to my co-worker. Our jobs do not involve working with babies. I asked her if she had ever seen diaper rash. She said no. I said neither had I. I asked my co-worker, "Why would she reference diaper rash if she is training two women who don't have children?"

Pronatalism strikes again. Not all women are mothers.

I suppose it's sexist too, assuming that all women have taken care of babies at some point...

*****

It's not the small, individual comments that hurt or even annoy me anymore, not at this stage of my healing. It's the overall onslaught of all of them. It's all of the underlying assumptions. It's the constant feeling of having my existence invalidated in a way that I can't explain to people who don't experience it themselves.

And that gives me some insight as to how much I don't understand other groups' marginalization.

I want to use what I've learned and experienced to try to better see and connect with others.

Picture found on an unrelated article here:
https://diversityq.com/the-great-disconnection-is-costing-340-billion-every-year/

Knowing I Won't Have Kids

I will never have children. This was an unfathomable nightmare/reality for me to face at first, but it has gotten easier with time. For 35 years I thought I'd be a mom and I planned my life around it, including the career I chose, the man I married, and the house we bought. It makes sense that I could not change my lifelong thinking overnight. 

Knowing I am not going to have children is easier than trying to get pregnant. Living my life knowing that I won't have kids is easier than coping with the initial years after the realization. My life is not easy, but it's a whole lot easier than it was.

I still get sad. Moments come and go throughout the week. Several days ago I saw an acquaintance with her two little kids. They made a cute picture, the three of them walking off into the sunset. I felt nostalgic for something I've never had. 

Then last night I cried. I had a moment where I was very sad about not having children and so I cried for a couple of minutes. It came after a fun night out with friends. With food, drinks, music, conversation, and a late night, I think I was overstimulated and that's what triggered it. I'm just so dang sensitive. Oh well. 

But I feel happy too. There are things I look forward to. I feel joyful, enthusiastic, and grateful. Not all the time of course. That would be weird. But it's nice to feel positive feelings when all I felt for many years were negative feelings and emptiness. It's no small feat to enjoy the life we're living.

I will never have children, but now that I know that, it frees me to live the life that I do have. 

My 9th Survivor Anniversary

Wow. Nine years already? It's so true: the days are long, but the years are short. 

My first IVF failure was definitely the worst of all of my failed treatments, but my three IUIs and second IVF sucked too. You just put so much into the process. Time, money, hope. Driving to appointments. Bloodwork. Ultrasounds. Facing your fears and giving yourself injections. Facing your worst nightmare and not knowing how to get through it.

And for what?

To feel more empty and broken than before? 

I was completely lost nine years ago. For 35 years, I knew I would be a mother. I'd get pregnant and have kids. If that didn't happen, there was IVF or adoption. Something would work out.

I was wrong.

Being childless not-by-choice shattered my beliefs. It interrupted and completely derailed my life. It destroyed the perfectly reasonable future that I had planned.

Now what. 

How was I going to deal with this and what the fuck was I going to do with the rest of my life?

I didn't know.

And now, nine years later, I know: I'm gonna change careers, get divorced, move a bunch, and buy a house. I'm gonna discover a new hobby I love, love the spot where I live, appreciate the jobs that I have, and start to feel the peace and contentment I deserve.

But back then I didn't know. I was devastated, depleted, lost, sad, lonely, isolated, and clueless.

I'm not even saying anything in this post really. I'm just reflecting on my 9th survivor anniversary and how I felt back then and now. And my 9th anniversary means next year will be my 10th anniversary. A whole decade. What feels like many lifetimes. 

Back then it was year 2015. Think about that. How much has changed in the last nine years. How much the world has changed, society has changed, and we have changed. It's been so nearly insurmountably difficult. All of it. But daaang the resilience. That I have. That we have. 

I am so proud of us.

Photo retrieved from https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/purple-flower-growing-on-crack-street-soft-focus-blank-text-gm896570168-247562291

Finally Resting

I am getting so excited. I get to share my research about involuntary childlessness later this month. I'm nervous too, but mostly excited. If just one person stops by my poster to ask about my research, I will be so happy. My presentation handout has been submitted, and I have my poster printed and ready to go. One of my professors recommended getting a fabric poster, and I'm so glad she did. It will be easier to carry on the plane. I'll share next month how it goes!

That's pretty much all that is on my mind. 

Other than that, I'll be honest, I am enjoying living alone so far. It gives me the space for the rest that I desperately need. I'm going to work, paying the bills, doing the dishes and laundry, cooking a little bit, eating delicious leftovers, and doing something social every week. I will figure out how to add housecleaning and exercising to my routine as well.

Other than that, I am resting. 

Radically resting. 

Profoundly resting. 

When my last round of IVF did not result in pregnancy, I felt an extreme urgency to figure something else out for my life. I had planned on being a mother for 35 years, but then I had to completely switch gears, think of something else, and make it happen. And I felt this strange urge to start THEN. Not wait until I felt better. Not wait a minute longer. 

And I never stopped. I just kept going. 

And now I am resting. I'm equally tired and grateful. I have my home. I get along with my family and see them several times a year. I like where I live and what I do for work. I've got hobbies and interests. I've even made some new friends over the last year. I'm part of a professional association and a monthly social group. And I'm not making any more commitments than that. 

My life is so full. 

But for so long, my life felt so empty...
It began with empty arms and spread to my very existence.

I am glad to be on this side of things now. Eternally grateful.
There is always the other side to things... Keep moving through it.

And be sure to rest.

For me, resting looks like this: giving myself permission to do less, making warm tasty food at home, taking baths, taking naps, sewing, reading a book or magazine, looking out the window, taking slow deep breaths, relaxing my shoulders, and telling myself that I'm proud of myself. 

How do you rest?

It Doesn't Always Hurt

There's a lot going on in the world right now. A lot of it is really bad. I've started to just be completely honest in my conversations with my friends. This time period of my life is a bit of a struggle. Life is hard, and I need more good news in general. And when I share how I'm feeling with my friends, they share with me. They are feeling the same way too. Tired and overwhelmed. 

We are not alone. Keep reaching out.

So amidst lots of terrible things, I have a tiny piece of good news from my life that I'd like to share.

I got caught off guard with another baby picture this week. This one was over text from a new co-worker who knows nothing about me personally. (Yet! Haha. She'll probably learn in time. These days I'm pretty open about being childless not-by-choice. I figure if I've reached a place where I can talk about it, then my talking about it will help raise awareness and reduce stigma and assumptions.) Anyway, I was texting about work with a co-worker when she sent me a picture of what she was doing at the moment--feeding her baby at home in her living room.

And... It didn't hurt.

I can't really tell you why sometimes these unsolicited baby pictures hurt and why sometimes they don't. I think, like most things, it's a combination of factors. Who the parent is, who the baby is, how I'm feeling that day...

This co-worker is new, and I am very grateful she joined our team. I will learn a lot from her. I think she is only a couple of years younger than me, based off of the year she graduated. 

And... Well... Quite honestly, I don't want a baby anymore. 

My kids would be anywhere between 8 and 12 by now. Way past the baby stage. No longer a toddler. Not even a little kid anymore. Those warm baby snuggles would be long gone, and my new way of demonstrating love for my kids would be driving them all over town to school, appointments, and activities. 

So yeah... 

It doesn't always hurt. 

I just wanted to share that. 💜

Doing Things Differently

The past couple of weeks since my last post have been a bit of a whirlwind. 

I spent my first full week alone at home, although I stayed in communication with my ex.

I went out on Valentine's Day with a friend. She and I celebrated a belated Galentine's Day by splitting an amazing charcuterie board at a cute little wine bar. I don't like wine and had a cocktail. My friend ordered a non-alcoholic beer. We had so much fun.  

I worked a lot. I worked probably more than I should have considering the energetic demands of the last couple of months but work needed me and I needed work, so that's how that went.

I saw my ex-boyfriend when he came by to pick up something he needed.

And I got covid for the first time.

Seriously. 

I don't know if I caught covid while working, playing, or seeing my ex. But after two years of quarantining, a third year of masking, and a fourth year of staying up to date on booster shots and overcoming the mental blocks I developed over the aforementioned three years... I was pissed I got covid. I hate being sick. I did so much for so long to avoid it.

My ex-boyfriend stayed and took care of me. I'm really grateful. He kept me on a regimen of food, fluids, and over the counter medicine. He didn't feel well either but never tested and didn't get as sick as me. We assume he had it too. I didn't get terribly sick, but I didn't feel well for four days. As of this evening, I'm starting to feel a little better. We are still isolating though. There's not much information, but the CDC still recommends a five-day isolation period. So we're doing that.

This too shall pass.

I didn't do anything for the first three days, and it felt weird. I just ate food, drank fluids, took ibuprofen or acetaminophen, and tried to sleep as much as I could. 

I thought about how if I had kids, I would still have to take care of them even when I'm sick. But I don't have kids, so I don't have to take care of anyone else when I'm sick. Different lives, different problems. Different advantages and disadvantages.

I thought about facing my fears. How you think you could never deal with something but then you're forced to deal with it. You don't have a choice. I really didn't want to get covid and spent four years trying to avoid it. Now I have it. In the bigger picture of my life, I really didn't want to be childless. But here I am. 

I thought about how there's so much I want to do, and I don't take my enthusiasm for granted. There's so much I want to learn. Changing careers mid-life is challenging. I knew my old job extremely well. I had a lot of knowledge and experience. But with a new career, well, I am new. I have a lot of knowledge and experience to gain. Plus, I love what I do. I want to know more. 

I thought about quilts. There are so many quilts I want to make. I know of three quilts I definitely want to finish this year. There are two more on the forefront of my mind that I look forward to starting. And then there's all the rest of my fabric and patterns to keep me entertained, haha.

But I digress... Those were just some thoughts I had. I got sick and couldn't do anything, but I had some time to think about things. And things have been different.

I didn't have a post in mind. I just wanted to write something and check in. The last couple of weeks have been out of the ordinary. But other than being sick, things have been pretty good. Well, different. And even though I'm a creature of habit, different can be good.

Artwork by Pink Shark Scales

A Valentine for You

The last time I celebrated Valentine's Day was in 2009. It was the last Valentine's Day before my then-boyfriend (now ex-husband) and I got married. He wrote a very thoughtful letter, and it is one of the most memorable gifts I've ever received from a partner. A handwritten letter doesn't cost anything to write and it came from a man of few words, so it was priceless to me.

After we got married, I figured we had our anniversary, Xmas, and our birthdays. I didn't need Valentine's Day too. It was easy not to celebrate a holiday that was never very important to me. After we divorced, even when I had a boyfriend, I never picked the holiday back up. Valentine's Day isn't on my radar screen much. 

But don't get me wrong, I LOVE chocolate and stuffed animals. 

Now that I think about it... Maybe I *should* be celebrating this holiday every year. Maybe I'll start next year. Maybe I'll host a drop-by snacks party for friends to remind everyone I love them.

Ooh, I actually like this idea. Maybe I'll start a tradition for Valentine's. Decorate my house, fill the table with food, and maybe even give away stuffed animals as party favors, haha. I have a lot of love to give. and I might as well share it with my friends. Make some food and invite them over. Valentine's 2025.

Until then, we will celebrate right now. Ourselves and each other.

A Valentine for You. You are loved by me. Be where you are and enjoy the little things.

This Anonymous Blog

I've stopped doing Word of the Year. I did it for several years, but my interest in it and feeling connected to the whole idea just decreased. So I let it go. That said, I still love SelfLoveRainbow's word of the year for 2024. You can see the graphic she created for it at the end of this post.

How is your February going?

Mine is okay. A pre-holiday breakup when he is still living here almost two months later is very challenging, but it has also given us time to support each other, communicate, and let go. That all sounds very nice, but it has been very messy and hard.

But infertility taught me to deal with reality and this is my reality right now.

I've always shared honestly here. I've written about my shame with infertility, my embarrassment, my jealous thoughts, and my dark feelings, in addition to my realizations, changes, growth, and renewed enthusiasm. I've tried not to share too many details when writing about others and their stories as I'm writing about my own experiences. I've written about sooo many loved ones (family and friends) and not always in a positive light. For me or for them. But I didn't know how else to deal with infertility. I was at a loss and I was trying to save my life.

I really want this blog to remain anonymous.

(Side note: Does anyone else have a problem with the word hope? It makes me cringe. I went to write, "I really hope this blog remains anonymous," but I am no longer on friendly terms with the word "hope" and it is very difficult for me to write or say it. There's a blog post for another day...)

I really want this blog to remain anonymous.

I have awesome news to share. My proposal to present my research at a national conference was accepted! This means I will get to talk about the international study I got to do about the lived experience of involuntary childlessness after infertility. I am excited to share my research with others, but the best part is this will lead to the research getting published! Then other people can find it, cite it, and build on it!! I am ecstatic. And so, so thankful for the opportunity to conduct research for our community.

So back to my anonymity...

My research is tied to my name. I am the primary author. There is no mention of the blog, but it would not be hard to put the two together if you know of one and discovered the other.

So... If you ever recognize me out there in the world, please protect my blog's anonymity. Feel free to share it as a resource because I have written very honestly and it may help others feel less alone, but please do not connect it with my real name. 

And if my mom or one of my sisters or one of my friends ever does find my blog and read an unfavorable post, I will own up to it. And they will probably give me grace. They all saw me when I was walking death. I'm sure they will allow me this space to grieve and grow.

But it's fine if that never happens! :) I'd like to stay anonymous.

Thank you.

Unexpected Moment of Grief

I feel compelled to state the obvious: it's the last day of January 2024. Is it just me or did that month seem to go by pretty fast? I wasn't even having that great of a time and it still flew by. February tomorrow. Huh. How about that.

I've written so much about how far I've come from my devastation of not being able to raise children. I like to share what changes I've made and what makes me happy. I like to share that I like my life. But I also like to be real. And the truth is that I still grieve. Something will trigger my pain and then I feel the losses that come throughout life when you're involuntarily childless.

Someone showed me a picture the other day. It was someone I know very well that showed it to me. I thought they'd know better. The picture was of a baby of someone else I know very well that is now grown up. I'd never seen a picture of them as a baby. I burst into tears. 

Whoa. Didn't see that coming... 

But, I know I'm low on emotional resources these days. Plus, I'm in my season of grief, that time of year where I was undergoing IVF nine years ago. The body remembers. I give myself grace. 

You know what I did. I felt my sadness, and I let myself cry without judgment. Then the moment really did pass. It took an hour or two, but that was it. Things like that no longer incapacitate me.

But I want to acknowledge that the moments of grief still happen.

And time marches on.