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.