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.