THE Hardest/Best Thing??

I got irritated listening to the radio yesterday. It was an interview with two musicians, but they veered off track from talking about writing songs, playing instruments, and touring and started talking about motherhood. I should have just changed the channel, but I figured they would quickly return to talking about music. They did but not before I felt affected. :(

It was short, but they talked about being a mother and a musician. A touring musician no less. Which I imagine is very difficult. But then they touched on motherhood in general. The interviewer described having children as "the HARDEST thing EVER" and really emphasized it. Then she followed with the somewhat predictable "BUT it is absolutely the BEST thing EVER too." 

Ok, whatever.
We've all heard that before. 

But for some reason my brain got stuck on it yesterday. THE hardest thing ever?? Now I know she wasn't talking to me directly or even to a population of childless not-by-choice women, but I immediately thought, "Yes, parenting is extremely hard, but I don't think it's harder than not getting to parent when you wanted to do so."

I agree with my immediate thought, and I disagree with my immediate thought. I agree with it because I think involuntary childlessness is just as hard, if not harder, than parenting. I disagree with it because it's not a competition. And the two are hard to compare. They are opposites.

When really... Maybe people should stop describing parenting as The HARDEST but BEST thing Ever. Maybe that's not the best message to give to everyone. Maybe it's the hardest thing for YOU. Maybe it's the best thing for YOU. But these are not absolutes that apply to everyone.

I went for a specialized breast exam last week. (Results were fine! I'm good for another year.) The woman doing my exam was great at making conversation. She asked, "So, what's your story? Where are you from? What do you do? Do you have any kids? Pets?" I answered her questions briefly, skipping over the kid question. She came back to the kid question and I quickly filled her in that it didn't work out for me.

She got quiet and then apologized. She said, "I am so sorry. I can tell you would have been a great mom." I agreed with her (haha) and said, "Oh I know, I was born to be a mother. Except I wasn't." And gave her a smile.

She got quiet again and then said, "It doesn't make you happy."

I met her where she was, lowered my voice, and said, "I'm sure it doesn't." 

She said, "But that's what we were told. Get married, have kids, be happy. And, oh my gosh, don't get me wrong, I love my kids." (I interrupted and said, "Of course you love your kids! But whatever you say is safe with me. I won't judge.") And she just sighed and said, "I love my kids, but it's not what I thought it was going to be. Having kids doesn't make you happy."

And that is the kind of honest conversation we should be having with each other. Having kids IS hard. NOT having kids when you wanted them is also hard. Parenting can be the best experience for some people but not everyone. Being a mom doesn't guarantee happiness.

Just Feeling Good and Living My Life

I don't have any saved drafts for this blog. For each post I just open up a new post and start writing. I read over it a couple of times and then hit publish. So every post catches my thoughts as they come.

Lately, I've been noticing how involuntary childlessness has been integrated in my life. It's a formative part of my identity, but it is not the entirety of my being. Things that used to hurt deeply only sting now. Things that used to sting don't always even register anymore. I can't tell you how nice it is to be on this side of things. I know I'm not going to have children and I've changed my entire life from what it looked like when I thought I was going to have kids. Every single thing I've done was hard, but it all helped.

I love my life. In fact, this is my most favorite age yet. I'm 45 and I've been so damn reflective that it's almost starting to get on my nerves haha. I've read several good books about boundaries over the last couple of years. I've observed my lifelong behavioral patterns and relationships. I've thought about how I want to be and what kind of relationships I want to be in. I've given myself and my loved ones a shitload of grace as I did the behind-the-scenes work that I desperately needed to do as an extremely sensitive person in order to live and enjoy the rest of my life. Everything has changed. Every single thing. 

My home. My jobs. My relationships.

And it's awesome.

And it was so, so hard.

But it all supports who I am now and what my life is like now. 

I made a new friend. She's so cool! She's my age and funny and smart and awesome and... pregnant. I am not kidding. But guess what. We see each other almost every week. I don't want to be pregnant anymore, but she does. I can acknowledge the fears and worries she may have while everyone else around her is celebrating. I can also give her "a break" from her pregnancy because we actually don't talk about it. Hahaha. Maybe that's a nice break for her. 

But who would have thought I'd have a new friend at 45 who is also 45 who is pregnant?

Unexpected. (No pun intended but I'm leaving it in there, ha!)

Oh yeah... I also got another part-time job! It's working with kids. Haha. Yes, after I wrote that recent post about not working with kids (full-time), I interviewed for the position I mentioned and it honestly sounds like a perfect fit. I am so excited. It feels good to be excited. The job pays well and I'll be able to use my experience and expertise to support kids and their teachers. It's a low-tech school where they still teach phonics. (Both things were requirements for me to work there... I mean why try to work with kids in an environment where they are always on screens? That wouldn't work for me. It's essential to know yourself.)

I am so excited.

Do you know how good it feels to be excited about things?

I went to a quilt guild meeting last week. There was a woman there who showed eight different quilts during show and tell. She and I were talking during the break. She was in an accident several years ago that changed everything. She is not able to work full-time and will deal with the repercussions of the accident for the rest of her life. But she discovered quilting and is able to quilt in short bursts at a time. Like me, she is so excited to be excited about something again.

Enthusiasm is priceless.

So as I reflect on the first 45 years of my life and think about how transformative last year alone was, I think about how I want the second half of my life to be. Obviously, I can't control what happens, but I can somewhat manage how I interpret and experience whatever happens. I've realized that I've encountered a lot of abuse in my life and, while that is not my fault, I can now realize how I can be a part of some situations while excusing myself from others so that I don't deal with abuse anymore.

It feels good to look forward knowing that I'm taking all that I've learned with me. It feels good when things that used to bother me (related to childlessness or not) don't bother me anymore. It feels good to get a new job doing what I used to do and feel so excited about it.

I knew I wouldn't be in a dark hole forever and I'm so glad that's true.

A light in the dark. 

Pic retrieved from Wikipedia.

Childless Father's Day Weekend

I was sitting at the bar of a restaurant this weekend, having a pint and a pizza with my boyfriend amongst the friendly faces of a neighborhood joint. A family of four walked in and the young son, probably age 5 or 6, joyfully greeted one of our friends at the bar. He was a cool kid, not shy, and clearly comfortable with our mutual friend, a guy of about 50. The kid told our friend that he'd been at the pool and now they were going to eat. His little sister looked about 2 and joined their parents at the table while the little boy chatted. Cute kid and cute scene.

The little boy wrapped up his conversation and joined his family at the table. I enjoyed occasionally hearing their chatter while they ate pizza. They seemed like a nice family. When they finished and paid their bill, the little boy shouted goodbye as they left the restaurant. The four of them walked out the door, one parent each holding a child's hand. I was wistfully thinking how sweet the scene was when our friend, the 50 year old, spoke out loud to no one in particular.

"Yeah, I've done a lot of things in my life... A lot. The Navy, the police force... I've done a lot and I've seen a lot... [somewhat of a long pause] But I never had kids. I always like seeing that, watching families together. Because... Yeah... I never had that."

It was bittersweet. I could relate to him and was reminded how childless men are affected too.

Pronatalism Legislated

I am going to keep this post as objective as I can.
I am writing this post to share this information, because this is what is happening. 

The state legislature of Texas just passed House Bill 229 where the legislators codified the definitions of male and female based on reproductive ability. Among other claims and descriptions, the bill defines a woman as "an individual whose biological reproductive system is developed to produce ova."

😳

Am I not a woman?

"We should not be boiling down a human's existence into one's ability to reproduce, because this is harmful, it is dangerous, and it is really freaking insulting."
-Dallas Rep. Jessica Gonzalez

Note:
This month marks three years since Roe v Wade was overturned.
I wrote about my opinion on that here.

Mid-Life Navigation

It's been ten years since my last failed treatment and I still feel like I'm in uncharted waters.

I think I really wanted to be "healed" from involuntary childlessness in a way where I could work with kids full-time. I wanted to be "cool" and unbothered by anything. Before trying to get pregnant, I taught special education in various public, private, and charter schools. I also worked in child advocacy roles for non-profit organizations. Since my last failed treatment, I have taught preschool, taught middle school, worked in K-12 schools as a districtwide service provider, and worked in outpatient pediatrics at two different hospitals. 

I'm even going to reach out to an area private school that has an opening for a part-time specialist. I like kids and they like me. Plus, I have decades of experience working with thousands of kids ages 5 and up. And honestly, I need to make more and I'm interested in what they pay.

It's hard to quit what you know.

But it's not good for me. I can admit that now.

Infertility really impacted me and my life.

Other people's parenting bugs the crap out of me. If I could manage a classroom full of 20 kids that weren't mine (where a minimum of 5 at all times were on behavior plans), why can't parents manage the one child that is theirs? Yes, I know about attachment theory and all of the other reasons why children will act differently with their parents compared to other adults. But still... 

In my moments of frustration in the past, I would console myself with the fact that I would get my own opportunity to parent. That I would get to make my own decisions and make my own mistakes. That I would get to feel my own unconditional love and excitement and frustration and overwhelm as a parent. That my day would come.

It never did.

And as I've dealt with other people's parenting since ending all efforts to try and get pregnant, I don't get to give myself that same consolation. I know I will never get my chance. 

It's really fucking hard.

And it really, deeply affects me.

And I can only share this honestly a full year and a half after my last stint working in outpatient pediatrics. Between the horrendous management and the rude and judgmental parents, working with kids in the fall of 2023 was very damaging for me.

(Maybe if there had been any respect from my bosses or the children's parents at the time it would have been different. But I got more respect from my bosses and the parents as a first year teacher at age 23 than I did at that last job as an educated and experienced 44-year-old. It was SO weird.)

I didn't know what I was going through at the time, but the damage spiraled. I felt awful on the inside and I was very unhappy. I was judging myself and feeling very angry. I carried all of my frustrations around with me at all times. I took it out on my boyfriend and his young adult son that was living with us at the time. I have since apologized, but it was a very terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time.

And I don't like to admit ANY of that.

I LOVE kids. I love working with kids. I love parents. I love supporting parents.

But the truth is, I don't like a lot of people's parenting. I don't like permissive parenting, and I don't like authoritarian parenting. And I hate the way that screen use is changing childhood. 

And I don't have kids. So I don't have to fight these battles.

One of the reasons why I went into teaching in the first place was to start collecting stuff for my kids. After over ten years of collecting, I had thousands of kids' books, games, toys, and projects. I was an elementary school waiting to happen haha. Then, after that last job in outpatient pediatrics ended, I re-homed all of my materials. Every single thing. I kept nothing.

Now I feel drawn to working with older and elderly adults. I can empathize with bodies not functioning as expected. I want to learn about the other end of the spectrum of life. We are all aging, and it's practical information to know. I also realized: we grew up the same. Only generations older than me had pencil, paper, and the telephone on the wall in the kitchen. 

So that's where I'm at with that. Working with kids. It's what I know and in a way I love it, but it's also not that good for me. It's not where I want to grow, not what I want to learn more about. I haven't completely ruled out ever doing it again, but I'm extremely hesitant to get into another pediatric situation.  

Acknowledgment and acceptance without judgment.

It's not my fault infertility changed everything. 

I'm just navigating this life I have.

Picture found on a blog post about navigating a boat

Six Month Check-In

It's been almost six months since I took the month of December off and did as little as possible. After a very, very hard year that followed a very tough 10+ year period, I was not well. I was physically exhausted in a way that required extended rest. I pretty much just went to work and came home to my recliner. It wasn't a party. It was necessary.

I was reminded of this when I finally started watching the documentary Simone Biles Rising last weekend. The short series started out with footage from the Tokyo Olympics where she had the twisties and could not safely compete. She said our bodies and minds can only take so much before we break. It's an important reminder to listen to ourselves.

"We have to protect our mind and body,

rather than just go out there and do what the world wants us to do."

-Simone Biles

I experienced major burnout last year. The symptoms were physical, emotional, psychological, spiritual, you name it--it affected me. I felt like I was going to break. I felt like either my body or my brain was going to give out or maybe both. I had to conserve as much energy as possible.

So for the whole month of December I did as little as possible. I went to work and I rested. I did not travel for the holidays. I did not pick up any extra shifts at work. I did not make any appointments or attend any meetings. I kept myself fed and I slept a lot. I managed to sew the monthly quilt block for my sew along group but only because I wanted to.

In January I had the opportunity to work more shifts so I did. I also scheduled some necessary home repairs. And I continued to rest, which meant missing a lot of fun stuff, but I knew I wasn't going to feel better until I took an extended period to do less.

I finally found some routines and rhythm to my life by the spring. I noticed I was feeling better.

Over the last several years, I've made a conscious effort to learn more about boundaries. During my recovery from burnout, I was able to practice a lot of what I've learned. Boundaries are magical. You learn what they are, why they're necessary, and how to have them, and it's a total game changer! You feel lighter, more at ease. Of course, you have to do the work to get there...

But daaang, is it worth it.

So I have spent the last six months recovering, and I feel A TON better. I'm still not at 100% and I'm starting to realize, with age and experience, that my "100%" may have changed too.

And I'm fine with that.

Life is a lot. There is a lot to do. A lot to deal with, a lot to manage, a lot to maintain. It can be easier or harder by yourself, in partnerships, and/or in communities. There's just no easy way. 

But if you've been going too hard for too long, examine where you can do less. Prioritize what's most important (e.g., your annual checkups) and leave the rest for the fall or even next year. 

Take a season to do less. Eat, sleep, and hydrate daily. Go to work and do something you enjoy weekly. If possible, don't schedule more than one or two errands or appointments a day. Is there a whole day of the week where you can just be at home, take out the trash, clean out the fridge, and do some dishes and laundry? Can you put on your favorite movie or music while you do this? Throw some ingredients in a slow cooker and let the smell of a home cooked meal comfort you.

Rest. Recover. Restore. That's what I've been doing. I don't want to break this early on. 

I want to feel good and be well! I've got things I want to do!

Image above by Self-Love Rainbow

Make Room for Both

I've had several moments lately where I have felt the pain of my childlessness. 

When it happens, I let myself feel it. It's a deep pain and I don't know a salve. I just feel it when it comes and ride it out like a wave. I don't judge myself. I don't feel stupid for still feeling sad.

If I'm being totally honest, nowadays I feel proud of myself. I *know* how sad I used to feel all of the time, and it is so awesome that I experience so much joy in the little things now.

For example, I'm so truly happy to go to work and see my co-workers that I try to tone it down haha. It's not like I can tell everyone how sad I've been and what darkness I've overcome and now I'm just so content to show up for my jobs and my life. But it shows. I know it does. 

I feel like a weird happy girl who's obviously been through some shit.

But I'm genuine. I'm not here to be fake. Or to give unsolicited advice. 

I just like to talk. I like to visit about whatever people are into. Weather, recipes, and pets are always safe topics. But I love to hear what people like to do for fun. I like to hear about anything they are working toward. I just really like hanging out--talking with and listening to people.

As a woman (or a person?), that means I end up talking to a lot of mothers. Even though I'm no longer teaching or working in pediatrics, other people's motherhood is still within the realm of my experience. A lot of women have children. 

And it's awesome (and a miracle?) that I no longer live in a place of constant pain. 

However, every now and then, I notice a cumulative effect of interacting with others who got to be parents and feel sad. That happened this week and I felt it. 

I'm glad I can recognize it now. As with a lot of things, it gets better with practice and experience. I knew I had been around a couple of situations and a couple of conversations at a time when I was feeling more sensitive than usual, and, yep, I felt sad.

I had a good cry mid-week. I felt some relief afterwards, but it sucked feeling it and crying it out.

Anyway, all that rambling to say:

• Sometimes what hurts us, well... It hurts.
• That's okay.
• Feel the hurt.
• Don't stay there.
• Move through it.
• That part kinda sucks because it hurts to feel it.
• Make room for sadness and happiness because both can exist.

*****

Contributing to my good cry-- I've also been anxious for the last couple of weeks. I leave for a trip tomorrow. I don't like to travel, but I appreciate it. I live in the middle of nowhere, so traveling enables me to see family and friends. However, I like living in the middle of nowhere :) so it takes a lot of energy for me to pack and leave my house. I am so comfortable here at home. ;)

Important Annual Exams

Here's your friendly reminder to get your annual exams done. 

I got a mammogram earlier this week. I scheduled it back in January after my annual exam. I don't like doctor's appointments (who does?), but they're important. Early detection can affect the prognosis. Mammograms are kind of awkward, but all of my experiences have been very positive. The technicians have all been nice, friendly, gentle, and knowledgeable women. It doesn't hurt. You just make the appointment, go to it, and then you're done. 

I've had a couple of follow-up ultrasounds, which made me nervous of course. But it's good to get stuff checked out. Modern medicine knows how to take care of so many things now. 

Go ahead and take care of yourself.

I'm also due for my first colonoscopy. I will make that appointment, but one thing at a time. 

I get overwhelmed medically somewhat easily. I've always been a nervous patient and then infertility didn't help. But whenever I'm nervous or scared, I remember what all I've survived. 

Then, I still feel nervous or scared, but I do it anyway. :)

Picture retrieved from istockphoto.com

(M)Other's Day Next Month

I just learned about this awesome sounding event in Chicago next month. It's called The Other's Day Brunch. I can't go this year, but I'd honestly/seriously like to go next year. Make a trip out of it. My boyfriend likes Chicago. I've been a couple of times. Do some shopping (maybe) and eat some good food (definitely). See some sites. And go to this brunch! Why not? One of my favorite strategies in life is to have things to look forward to.

I can't go to the Other's Day Brunch this year. I already have Mother's Day plans. Sigh... 

For years, Mother's Day was on the forefront of my radar screen and I made sure to stay home that day. I didn't want to go out to eat or even run errands. I could not handle anyone wishing me a Happy Mother's Day. I just stayed home and ordered pizza instead.

Over time, Mother's Day dropped off my radar screen. Some years I forgot about it completely. And now I just don't care. I don't feel bad or sad or bitter. I just don't care.

But we'll see how I feel this year... 

Because this year I will be on vacation with my parents and sisters. One of my sisters lives in a tourist town, so it's a great place for us to meet to visit. My mother is very excited about going out for a Mother's Day lunch. She is calling the whole trip her Mother's Day Weekend trip, which, sure, I guess it is. She's a mom and she'll get to spend Mother's Day weekend with her three adult daughters. That is something to celebrate, and I am not being sarcastic.

So I actually have Mother's Day plans this year, but I really want to go to brunch in Chicago next year! This year should be fine though. I think I'm going in with the right attitude. I will be there to celebrate my family's health and our ability to get together. I don't expect anyone to think twice about what the day might mean to me. If any strong feelings arise, I will tuck them safely away and feel them later when I'm by myself... Preferably on the beach. :)

Picture found here https://www.franklinarts.com/blog/entry/summer-beaches

After Ten Years

Making sense of things was a privilege I had before enduring infertility. 

The illusion of certainty, of logic being ever-present, of things working out are long, long, long gone.

I have no hope and very rarely use the word anymore.

This foundational shift in my existence prepared me to handle a pandemic. The shattering of my beliefs is helping me live alongside whatever the hateful hell is going on around me. 

But this blog has never been about the bigger picture. It's always been about me and my little life and how I dealt with what was the worst thing I could ever imagine (i.e., not getting to be a mom).

I'm okay. My little life is okay. I don't know about the future. I have no clue. I feel secure with my house, but, considering all of my jobs have been in education, healthcare, research, and non-profits, I'm not sure what employment will be available to me over the next several decades. 

It's just really weird to work so hard for so long to create a life I want to live and when I finally arrive and can take a year to just breathe and be, the institutions and infrastructures within my country, not to mention our international relationships, drastically change.

How can someone be so hopeless and exhausted but still be content and, for lack of a better word, happy? I don't know that answer either, even though I'm living it. I AM happy. I'm also sad, frustrated, and angry. I'm also at a place where I realize I can't do anything about anything. 

I've been fighting uphill battles my entire life. Here's just one. My first year of teaching was 22 years ago. I sounded the alarm then. Our kids need to learn to read and write! Our kids need more time to play! It fell on deaf ears to the people in charge. Parents didn't listen. Administrators didn't listen. And I can't fight and stay mad throughout the duration of my entire life. It will kill me.

So here I am. A Gen X woman, divorced, couldn't have kids, on her third career, still underpaid, and tired of shouting into the void about what society needs.

I'm done. But I don't count it as giving up. That would be giving in. I'm not doing that. I am not going to sit here or lie around and hate my life. I am going to find the parts I like and enjoy those things. I will continue to feel all of my feelings, but I will always come back to the three questions I've learned to ask myself.

What do I want?
What do I need?
Is this my problem to manage?

Because, eventually, after ten years of redesigning your life, you get to a point where, really, the problems aren't yours. You've addressed your problems, worked through some, accepted others, and moved on. Most of the problems are society's or other people's. Not yours.

Do your own work.

And you will be free.

a soaring phoenix found at stockcake.com

My 10th Survivor Anniversary

Welp. It's officially been ten years since I stopped fertility treatments, stopped tracking my cycle and every sign and symptom, and stopped trying to conceive. I would go on for another year, silently yearning for a miracle pregnancy, but, surprise, it never happened. I do not have children. 

You can read posts from previous Survivor Anniversaries in March of each year of my blog.

So. That's thirty-five years of assuming I would have children. Thirty-five years of thinking about my children, longing for my children, and already loving my children. Ok, well, maybe I didn't start thinking about them until I was 7 or 8, but that still brings us to over twenty-five years of holding my children in my heart... The point is I ALWAYS wanted to be a mom.

But not everyone who wants to be a mom gets to be one. 

But now... Now I have had ten years to wrap my brain and heart around the reality that I am not going to raise children. I got to be a teacher for a long time. I volunteered with so many different camps and mentorship programs over the decades. I have worked with thousands of kids. I loved it. But they weren't mine. I didn't get to feed them and comfort them and take them to sports practice/art class/whatever they liked. They never lived in my house. I may have spent 8 hours a day with a lot of them; I may have worked with some of them for several years. I contributed to their growth and development. We had fun together. But other people's children are not mine.

Ten years on... I know this. I have healthy boundaries. I am grateful for the experiences I did have with other people's children. I also know that I am, for sure, not raising children in this lifetime.

It's almost unbelievable. But ten years can help one get used to the idea.

Think about it. Ten years ago it was 2015. It felt like a different world then. I stopped trying to grow my family in 2015 not knowing what all was to come. It's just so weird. All of it.

So anyway, my specific Survivor Anniversary date came and I was prepared to feel whatever feelings came. And really, all I felt was relief. Immense, overwhelming relief. I am relieved that ten years has passed. With the passing of time, I have felt my feelings, grieved, and healed. I have discovered new interests and different parts of myself. After thirty-five years of thinking and living my life one way, I have had time to change my entire existence.

None of it was easy. A lot of it is still hard. Involuntary childlessness has a way of deeply affecting almost everything. Certainly every relationship. Your work. Your interactions with your peer group. Your day-to-day life. Your plans for the future.

But it's massively better today than it was back then.

I had big plans to celebrate with a cake and a houseplant. Hahahaha. Plans. Yeah, so... 

Well first, I didn't feel like going to the store so the houseplant still hasn't happened yet. I like the idea though. I'd like to get something kind of big and tall. My boyfriend is good at keeping plants alive, so I'm going to enlist his help.

Secondly, there was the cake. I decided to make muffins instead of cake, solely because of the muffin mix I had previously bought. See the pic below. I mean, come on, they're Dolly Parton muffins! What better way to celebrate my 10th Survivor Anniversary other than with Dolly??

But did I tell you we got a new oven? And that I don't cook very often? So these muffins were actually the first thing I made in our new oven. And when I went to use the timer and entered the wrong time, I hit the cancel button to start over. It turns out that the cancel button was for the oven, not the timer, so I actually turned the oven off. Doh!! So after 20 minutes I was confused why my muffins were still batter... I was also confused why the oven didn't feel very hot... I realized my mistake, turned the oven back on, and cooked the muffins longer. They were edible but not nearly as good as they could have been. I ate one. My boyfriend ate the rest.

Hahahahaha.

My plans to celebrate my 10th Survivor Anniversary didn't go as expected. Just like the whole TTC thing didn't go as expected. (Yes, pun intended... Feel free to roll your eyes, ha.) 

I cracked up. I wasn't even sad. I was glad I learned that lesson about our new oven with the muffin mix and not some expensive, time-consuming meal I had prepared. I actually bought two muffin mixes at the time, so I will just make the muffins again sometime soon.

Hilarious. My imperfect celebration was perfect. And I recommend Dolly's muffin mix. I can tell the muffins are going to be amazing when they are properly cooked.

A Tribute To Bamberlamb

Today I am wearing purple. It's St. Patrick's Day and I usually wear green, but today was Bamberlamb's funeral and she loved purple. I've been thinking about her all day. My life is so much better because I got to know her just a tiny bit.

Bamberlamb wrote the blog called It's Inconceivable where I learned so much. I got to be on several different zoom calls with her too, and she was even funnier and feistier "in person" than she was in writing. She lived life out loud. She was unapologetic, and she knew how to have fun.

Bamberlamb was childless not by choice and she wrote very honestly about her experiences. 

She taught me that I'm not alone. At a time when I felt all alone, long before I realized how common the loneliness and isolation of infertility can be, I had her blog to read. 

She taught me to invest in worthy relationships. Not all relationships are worthy, but the ones that are, are definitely worth investing in.

She taught me to think ahead about aging. She had so many good ideas and plans in place.

Most importantly, she taught me to do what I want. She explicitly told me that if there is an activity that I enjoy that is separate from all of the family/kid-centered stuff in society to go out and do that. And to do it a lot! I'm always saying that we deserve to enjoy our lives, and I learned it from Bamberlamb.

What an incredible woman. We are all better for her existence. 

May she rest in peace, power, and irreverent profanity!

Bamberlamb loved to ride her motorbike. 

Although the woman in this drawing looks a little older, 

I think this picture captures a bit of Bamberlamb's essence. 

💜💜💜

(You can purchase the image here.)

Mid-March/The Rules Have Changed

When I was married, March was my least favorite month. My ex-husband is a huge sports fan and March Madness had a way of dictating our entire schedule for the month. In all honesty though, that wasn't any different from the other 11 months. Sports always dictated our schedule. And considering all we did was go to sports games and the sports bar, it never really changed. Sigh... But I digress...

Now I can go two whole weeks in March before I even remember that a bunch of guys in college are playing a lot of basketball this month. It's wonderful. 

Nothing against basketball, I just didn't like always coming after sports (and work and money and beer). I wanted to feel more like a priority in our marriage. Again, I'm digressing... Maybe with the 10th anniversary of my last IVF coming up and the 6th anniversary of my divorce next month I am feeling a little reflective...

But with time, the pain of some things decreases. With time, the memories of some things fade. And that's okay. When my brain prunes negative experiences from my past, I am fine with that.

Because here is the thing: I have spent ONE-THIRD of my life grieving. 

Holy shit.

I just realized that yesterday.

One-third is a huge portion of my life. 

I don't fault myself for it. I didn't choose to spend 15 years grieving. But that's what it took for me to process losing my children. 

I never got to meet them or hold them. They never got to physically exist outside my body, but I thought about them my entire life. I have always loved my children. And in my heart I know their names. I know what I would've named my boy and I know what I would've named my girl. Those are the names I think of when I think of my children that didn't get to be with me in this lifetime.

A lot of people would probably be surprised to learn that I still think about my children. I'm sure many people would think, or even say, "You're not over that yet?" Those people are short-sighted and emotionally stunted. 

No, it is not a consolation for me to be able to travel or sleep in or do whatever everyone else can do when they are outside of the formative child-raising years. (Seriously! You're only actively parenting for 15 - 20 years. Turns out, parents can sleep in and travel too!)

However, one thing that is different is I absolutely refuse to kill myself for a job. 

I will no longer work for free. (Maybe that sounds obvious to you--who would work for free? But the majority of my jobs have included soooo much unpaid labor. I will never ever do that again.) I am not providing for my children, and I only have to take care of myself. I don't have to work 40+ hours a week, commuting 10+ hours and coming home exhausted only to work more for free. 

I have to make enough to pay my mortgage, insurances, home/car maintenance, and monthly bills. That is still a lot of money that I require every year but I don't have to give up all of my down time to make it. For me, not having kids means I don't have to work long hours for little pay.

Instead, I work as little as possible. Ha!

Don't get me wrong. I like to work. I actually love to work. But maybe a part of being middle-aged is feeling so tired after working so much for so long for so little.

And, for me, another part of it is I have been doing caregiving jobs since I was a teenager. I've written about it before, but caregiving jobs demand a lot without giving much back. They are awesome and rewarding, but I am learning they are not sustainable. My part-time job at the family-owned business where I work is saving me from burnout so I can keep working my other part-time job that involves intense caregiving.

What is this post even about? 😂

I guess I'm sharing more changes I've experienced from enduring infertility and living involuntarily childless. The rules I grew up with no longer apply. I need different things from relationships and my jobs than other people on a more normative path. I'm only beginning to see how these different needs of mine affect other people's perceptions of me.

But I finally don't care about other people's opinions. They don't know my life at all. They don't make an effort to learn and they are very quick to judge. I'm over it.

(And since this is such a random, rambling post... Here's another random thing! Remember the acquaintance who asked if I wanted to see a picture of her new grandbaby after I had texted her preemptively to request she not send me any baby pictures? I saw her last week. And the first thing she did was shove her phone in my line of sight and show me several baby pictures. Thankfully, it didn't hurt. It only pissed me off. How rude.)

Ok, The End. Hahahaha. To recap: I enjoy the month of March a lot more since I've been divorced. I've spent one-third of my life grieving. Grief has changed me. One of those changes is I refuse to live a life where I just work and then collapse at home at the end of the day. Most people don't understand me or my life. And a lot of people are just thoughtless and clueless.

Now... Go do something fun! It doesn't have to be big or expensive. Just do something you like.

You deserve to enjoy your life. 💜

I found the quote above here when searching for "misunderstood" images online.

Unimaginable Good & Bad

Well, here we are... wherever this is. 

The calendar says March 2025 so there's that. 

January and February flew by in a haze of work and home repairs. Work was hard but good. I like my jobs. Coordinating and paying for the home repairs was not a lot of fun, but I'm grateful there were parts available and labor to do the work. I am relieved to have several big To-Do items off my list. So that's what took up all of my head space for the last two months.

And that brings me to March. March 2025. But I think I already mentioned that. ;)

...It's hard to believe that it's been ten whole years since my last IVF. 

I want to celebrate in some small way on the actual day toward the end of the month, but I don't have any ideas. How do you celebrate recovering from profound loss? Maybe I'll just buy a little cake from the grocery store. I like cake.

Pic retrieved from https://www.vecteezy.com

Ten years ago I could not even imagine the next day, much less the next year or even further into the future. And even if I could have, I would have never imagined any of this. My life. The world. 

What a contrast. While my new life came together, so much around me fell apart.

Pic retrieved from https://www.vectorstock.com

It's Up To You

My thirties did not go as planned. I got married at 30 and planned to wait a year before getting pregnant and having a baby. A year passed and my husband wasn't ready. I waited a second year. Then I tried to conceive for two years before going to a doctor. I was scared. Things only got scarier. I did three IUIs with injectables and two rounds of IVF. By 35, I knew I could not have children. At 36 I went back to school for a new career. By 39, I was divorced. 

Just to reiterate, my thirties did not go as planned.

That meant my 40s were up to me. 

Where do I want to live? What do I want to do for work? What do I want to do for fun?

I knew it was going to take years to feel at home, meet people, and make friends. I was right. 

But time will pass anyway.

What do you want to move toward?

Whatever decade you're in, your next decade is up to you. Of course there are a billion things out of our control, but there are also a lot of little steps we can take to move in the direction we want. 

🔮😎

Last Sadurday

I felt my sadness this weekend. My boyfriend asked what was wrong and I told him that I usually choose happiness but I just can't do it all the time. And I felt sad, so I felt it. (Also, it would be weird to feel happy all the time.)

I am sad about things bigger than me that are out of my control, from my family dynamics to the current events in our country. I am sad that I have worked so hard and make so little. Plus, I know I am not alone with any of these thoughts and feelings. And that makes me sad too.

It's also my season of grief and I am sad that I don't have children. Along with sincerely loving the life I have created for myself, a part of me may always be sad about not having children.

Being childless not by choice is unique. Things affect me unexpectedly. Like Winnie the Pooh.

I am participating in a 100 Acre Wood quilt sew along and the latest block is Kanga and Roo. It's adorable. It's little Roo peeking out from Kanga's pouch. I picked out my fabrics and cut all of my pieces and... Felt such strong resistance to sewing the block. I put it off until this past Saturday when I faced the fact that I was dreading sewing that particular block.

But... I want to make the quilt and it would look weird with a whole block missing. I told myself to just plow through it and get it done in a day. So I did. And once I got started I had fun. And now it is finished. And I am glad it is done.

I wonder if sewing that block triggered anything for anyone else in the sew along.

I admit; I engaged in some retail therapy this weekend as well. 

I bought four books from Thrift Books. I always save a lot of money by buying through them. Then I ordered just a little bit of fabric from Fat Quarter Shop, including a yard of the picture above. I love the juxtaposition of the rain and the sun. 

💜🌞☔🌈

(Links are shared if you're interested. I'm not affiliated or paid. I just like to shop at both places.)

The Importance of Rest & Friendship

For the first time during the duration of this blog, I feel caught up on sleep! Finally, I am not physically tired. However, I am still tired... 

I picture myself as a video game character with a health meter. After the last 15 years I've had, my health meter has shrunk. It's only 6 hearts as opposed to 10. As in, my capacity has decreased over time. I want to expand my capacity back to what it was, but that will take time. Or maybe, this is how it is now. Time will tell. 

All I can do is my part to take care of myself, which is a tall order these days. Current events are awful and that's an understatement. The price of everything keeps going up while my paycheck stays the same. I am still feeling hurt from events with my family from last year. I also hit the ground running in January because I'm sick of thinking about all of the home repairs that need to be done and I'm finally dealing with them all.

So I'm glad I'm not physically tired, but I still require a lot of rest.  

Rest to restore. It's my theme.

I'm thankful for friends, for the people that really see me and know me. It's invaluable to have people in my life that acknowledge what I've been through, are proud of me, and cheer me on.

It goes both ways too. I helped a friend with a stressful move a couple of weekends ago. I showed up on a Sunday and we loaded up my car and the truck she borrowed from work. It was a move out of necessity, not a move to be excited about. But I was thankful I could show up for her. She's a good friend, she asked for help, and I could give it. Although the circumstances were not ideal, I was thankful for an opportunity to be a friend to her. She and I are both trying to build community in our lives.

And then Elaine sent me the image below. I felt seen, and I felt known. 

Take the time to rest. Make the time for friends.

Drawing by Charlie Mackesy

Recover, Then Restore

I went through more of my stuff this weekend. I am determined to get home repairs done and feel decluttered. It's my personal mission for 2025 and the sooner the better. This is an example of where I like the end result, NOT the process.

I finally got my closet organizer built and installed. I ordered it over a year ago. But hey, there's no time like the present. There's a remodeling company in town, and they were grateful for indoor work during this cold month. A couple of different people came over to do drywell patching, toilet fixing, shower caulking, door knob replacing, and, my favorite, building the closet organizer. 

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: it's the little things that are the big things.

I haven't had a functional closet since my apartment six years ago. And I was a little distracted back then, what with my husband not moving with me after we had planned to move out of state for three years. Yeah... My headspace wasn't exactly where I could appreciate having a closet.

But now. Oh... Times are different, I've adjusted, and I'm just trying to get functional so I can live the rest of my life, whatever the world brings...

So I spent the weekend unpacking a couple of boxes that had been packed since I sold the house I bought for my children. It was shoes, clothes, and jackets. I tried everything on and was pleasantly surprised that about half still fit. I mean, it's been a long nine years full of sedentary activities (going back to school twice and enduring a pandemic) and a slowing metabolism.

I hung some clothes up! I put other clothes in a giveaway pile! I got rid of more boxes!

Slowly, but surely I am getting more functional. I am honestly revving up here at the end because I am OVER IT and charging forward until all this shit is DONE. 

Because it's exhausting. Trying on old clothes because they're still in good condition and you might want to wear them but thinking about the person you were when you wore them when you were living a completely different life... It was a lot. So, I kept what fit and what I liked and I'll give away the rest. 

That was Saturday. Then on Sunday I faced my desk. When I hit my limit back in July, everything just piled up on my desk. And today I faced it. Because it wasn't going to be done until I did it. 

So boring but true. That's life. There's a lot to manage and maintain.

And when you're going through infertility or grief of any kind or debilitating stress of any kind, it massively affects your ability to function. It's amazing that we can do anything at all. 

I feel like I'm playing catch-up from my 2024 burnout when I never got caught up from my 2012 - 2015 infertility. Again, I know that's life. I'm not complaining, just acknowledging.

Today I texted a friend some pictures of what I've been quilting. She said, "It's nice that you have time to do that." I really don't think she meant anything negative by that but I still replied, "I make time for it. I feel less anxious when I sew."

And that's where I am. Trying to maintain. Trying to get shit done. Coordinating home repair services isn't my favorite thing to do, but I'm always grateful when there are people available to do the work. Decluttering. Still shifting through remnants of my past life, of the life that didn't go as planned. I'm getting closer to the end of my stuff and I'm glad. I'll be relieved when it's over. 

I decided to call it. I'm done recovering from burnout. I took six months to commit to nothing new, follow through with what I'd already committed to, and rest as much as possible. I did that. Now I'm still not committing to anything else new, but I have my jobs, things I have to do, and things I want to do. I'm still resting a lot, but now I'm also incorporating things like cooking and exercise. I'm no longer recovering from burnout. Now I am restoring my health.

And that's what I'll be doing, to the best of my ability, for the rest of the year.

Image found on a gemstone repair service website when I searched images for "restoring a gem" 

A Surprising Conversation

I used to be so embarrassed and ashamed that I couldn't have kids. That I didn't adopt. That I wasn't raising children. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed anymore. I tried. It didn't happen.

I used to see being infertile and childless not by choice as my primary identity. I wanted to be a mom and I wasn't. So what was I? I was involuntarily childless. The end.

I don't feel that way anymore either.

It wasn't the end. It wasn't the end of my life, my desire to live, or my vibrancy. It was just a completely traumatic and devastating change from what I had planned, wanted, needed.

Now, ten years later, I have processed so many thoughts and feelings and hurts and losses. I have integrated my experiences with infertility and not having kids. It's no longer how I mainly see myself. I identify as so many other things now. I am a quilter, a healthcare professional, a former teacher, a friend, and a woman who is determined to enjoy her life amidst the good and the bad.

I am still childless not by choice. It's a significant part of who I am, so I am glad I am no longer embarrassed and ashamed. Now it's just part of my conversation, even when I don't realize it.

Take yesterday for example. I was talking to my co-worker. He is a 22 year old guy, so we are very different. Different sexes. Different generations. I'm actually older than his parents haha. We both have our own quirky personalities though. We both get really into our niche interests and love to talk about them. So he and I get along great as we visit while we work. 

Yesterday he brought up a news story from several months ago about a social media parent being convicted of child abuse. (I swear, it's not often serious conversation. We usually talk about our hobbies.) I was just listening but then he said, "And it's stories like that make you stop and think, 'And these are the people that get to have kids?'" 

And without even thinking I jumped in and said, "Oh I know! It's so angering. I wanted kids really bad, but I couldn't have them. And then you hear stories like that and the world just isn't fair."

There was a slight pause in conversation as I realized that I had disclosed my infertility to a young kid (ok, young adult, but still... a kid, haha) at work. As I was hoping I didn't put him in an awkward situation, he cleared his throat and said, "Oh well, there's still time. It could still happen." And I simply replied, "No, I can't have kids. And now I'm too old."

Most people stop there, right? Not this guy. Did I mention that I really like my co-worker? He's a little awkward sometimes (aren't we all) and doesn't always say what you expect. So imagine my surprise when he followed my reply with, "Well, enjoy the little things."

Now that comment might be the wrong thing to say someone on a certain day depending on where they are with things and how they are feeling. But let me tell you, it was exactly the best thing he could have said to me in that moment.

I excitedly replied, "YES!! That's exactly what I'm doing!" And smiled.

I did not feel dimissed, diminished, or discounted. I felt seen. I felt heard. And oddly, in a way, I felt understood for a second. By my co-worker that's young enough to be my son.

Pic retrieved from https://www.istockphoto.com/illustrations/enjoy-little-things

Ten Years Ago

How has it been ten years already? How does it feel so recent and so long ago at the same time?

Going through IVF sucks. It's traumatizing. And when it doesn't result in pregnancy, it can destroy you. And a lot of us did it multiple times to try and get pregnant, have a baby, and raise a child. When you want children, when you want to parent, it's a primal need that can't be described.

Ten years ago I went through my first IVF process, crying with every shot, blood draw, and ultrasound. Terrified for egg retrieval. Dreadfully waiting to see how many eggs fertilized and grew. Feeling so defeated and hopeless by the time it came to transfer the only two that were left, although I was grateful for those two. And more waiting for another ten days to see how it went. And then the phone call. 

And then nothing.

Emptiness.

Hollow.

*****

Wow, that is not how I thought this blog post was going to go. But I sat down to write about ten years ago and that's what came out. I can still have a visceral reaction when I think about that whole experience. Thankfully, I don't think about my actual IVF experiences in depth very often. But, wow, when I do, the awful details can really rise to the surface.

I want to post this to honor what all IVF survivors went through. It was hard and it took so much to go through it. It demanded so much from us. It took so much from us. When most of us had very little support.

Now it's ten years later. Thank God. I'm thankful for time passing, the results from working hard to change my life, and the fruits that can come from doing the arduous work that is grieving.

I wrote a brief post five years ago.

Then I wrote about coping with trauma anniversaries last year.

This year I spent the anniversary finishing a quilt I made for a new friend. Several months ago she was going through a stressful time, so I brought her some quilt tops I had already made to see if she liked any of them. She loved one of them. I have been working on finishing that quilt for her since then, and I happened to finish on the actual tenth anniversary of my first failed IVF. 

I thought it was an interesting coincidence to finish that quilt on that day. I thought about her stress, my stress, and both of our determination to enjoy our lives anyway. The importance of friendship between women. The comfort that quilts can give. The healing that quilting can bring.

This is my first attempt at a log cabin quilt. I like it, but there are things I would do differently next time. I love the fabric. It's Elizabeth Hartman's Berry Season with her coordinating solids. The blocks' red mushroom centers honor the traditional design, which typically had red centers to symbolize the hearth of the home.

Collective Waiting

There's a weird feeling in the air and it feels pretty terrible. I'm feeling it from almost everyone around me, and I know a variety of people. All sides. I do not live in an echo chamber.

I know what it's like to wait. We all do. And if you've ever tried to get pregnant or adopt, you know how awful it can be to wait. Especially the kind of waiting where you hope for the best but your gut is filled with dread and despair. 

When you're on your own in feeling this way, it is very lonely and isolating. However, experiencing such strong feelings isn't any better on a collective level. We learned that during the pandemic.

We wait to see what will happen.

Some people are preparing. In their own ways for their own reasons. There are so many different lines of thought out there. Yet, some people are living regularly like nothing is on the horizon. 

It's weird times.

I didn't ask for any of this. The unsettling times. The childlessness. None of us did.

I'm no longer in the waiting room for anything regarding childbearing. I'm not trying to get pregnant. I'm not just realizing that I can't get pregnant. I'm not even in the process of creating a life completely different from the one I had planned for 35 years. I'm done with all that. All of that waiting is over.

But the collective waiting? That's ongoing. We're in the middle of it. Or the beginning. Or the end. Who knows. 

Which is a good reminder: who knows. Remember that nobody knows. We can imagine the worst. We can imagine the best. We can prepare in our own ways in an effort to ease our minds. 

But really, we just wait. 

The world is always changing. It always has and it always will. We do not know what will happen and it's okay that we don't know. For those of us that have experienced the total destruction of the illusion of certainty, we know that we never actually know. 

And that oddly gives me comfort.

From Rest to Routines

Well, here we are. 2025. Let's see what happens.

As I've already written here, I hit extreme burnout midway through last year. Then I wrote a post called From Burnout to Boundaries where I thought out loud about how I was gonna deal with the burnout. I planned to follow through with my commitments, not make any more, and rest as much as possible for the rest of the year. 

And that's what I did.
And now the year of 2024 is done.
And, to be quite honest, I don't feel totally ready for a new year.

Oh well.

As sad and depleted as I was, I still really liked the resting phase of my burnout recovery. It's easy for me to rest. I can be productive, but I'm also really good at being lazy. I can watch tv, read, or sew by hand in the comfort of my recliner for hours. With a cozy quilt on me of course. And now that we have my boyfriend's son's cat temporarily, with a cat on my lap too. It's heaven.

But just like we can't work all of the time, we can't rest all of the time either. Life requires both. So I'm looking out at a brand new year and thinking... What do I want to do without doing too much? 

For the first time in my life, I am not working toward something. I am not trying to graduate, get a job, find a husband, or have kids. I am not trying to recover from grief, study for a new career, move out of state, get divorced, or find stable housing. I am not even enduring a pandemic anymore, just living in a post-pandemic world. 

I can maintain.

That's all I have to do.

Take care of myself. Take care of my home. Take care of my relationships.

So the next phase of my recovery from extreme burnout is to establish new routines for myself. 

I am keeping this very loose. There are no hard and fast rules or parameters. I know what I want to do this year (pay my bills, exercise regularly, and sew) and I know how I want to feel (calm, nourished, and content), so that's what I'm going to remind myself as I add in little things to my days. I'm already making it a habit to eat breakfast in the mornings instead of waiting until lunch. That helps me feel better overall. I've practiced very light yoga at home for 15 minutes a couple of times this year. That always helps me feel better too. I guess it's good to be a hedonist, haha. I'm motivated by feeling good so I feel confident I'll create some new routines for myself this year.

I don't know if my recovery process is helpful to you or not. Just sharing in case it is. 

I've recovered from so much. The loss of my children, my marriage, and how I thought life was going to go. It was overwhelming, and the recovery continues. Now I'm recovering from burnout.

Phoenix's Formula (so far) for Recovering from Burnout:

1. Recognize burnout.

2. Stop adding anything new.

3. Rest when you can for as long as you can.

4. Establish new routines slowly.

5. To be figured out...

And always, always, always, make time to do the things that you enjoy. 

This is my boyfriend's son's cat. He is a total goofball. 

He has a big personality and I am loving every minute that he is at our home.