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. ;)