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.