Disenfranchised Grief

Hello friends. How are you doing? I am up and down. I know that's life. But it feels more intense this year compared to others. It's different. It's scary. It's sad. My heart aches for myself, and my heart aches for everyone. It doesn't have to be like this, but here we are.

I can't talk about it all of the time, but I have to acknowledge it occasionally. Times are weird. Things are not normal. Not the norms that we grew up with.

I miss a lot of things. I miss landlines and human decency. I miss the more distinct division between the days as opposed to this ongoing 24/7 stream of news and emails and expectations from others. I miss affordable gas, groceries, and housing. I miss the illusion of stability that I used to have. 

None of that is uplifting.

But, like I said, it's important for me to acknowledge it. 

I need to connect with others. I need to connect with others who see what is actually going on (as much as we can understand it). I don't want to talk about it all of the time. But I feel uncomfortable when I think about spending time with people who think everything is fine and dandy. I don't want to hang out with people who don't get it.

I know both kinds of people: those that are concerned and those that are not. I know a lot of both kinds of people. Quite honestly, it's a mind fuck. It's so weird to know so many kind, loving, and hardworking people that are not concerned. It's WEIRD.

So I'm sad, mad, and confused. (I am also happy, grateful, and excited about a couple of things, but that's not what this post is about.)

And that brings me to disenfranchised grief.

• From Merriam-Webster's dictionary:
• disenfranchised--deprived of some right, privilege, or immunity
• grief--deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement
  
  
• From Wikipedia:
• disenfranchised grief--describes forms of grief that are not acknowledged on a personal or societal level; term coined by Dr. Kenneth J. Doka in 1989
• a mourner's loss may be viewed as insignificant which can be lead to feelings of isolation and doubt over the impact of the loss experienced
• there are few support systems, rituals, traditions, or institutions available to those experiencing grief and loss

Sound familiar?

I've been here before.

 
Infertility and being childless-not-by-choice gave me so many tools I never asked for. 

Also, I give myself a shit ton of credit. I didn't have to pick up the pieces of my soul and figure out what to do. I didn't have to pick up those tools that infertility left lying there in the wake of its destruction. I didn't have to pick them up, I didn't have to sharpen those tools, I didn't have to hone my skills. But I did. So many of us have. You can too. 

It sucks. It sucks when life sucks. And I don't mean the I'm-bored-and-life-is-hard-and-this-sucks kind of sucks. I mean the I'm-alive-but-don't-want-to-be-but-I'm-hanging-on-but-don't-know-why kind of sucks. It sucks BAD. So bad that there really aren't words for it. 

It makes it even harder when others don't realize we're grieving. Or worse, they judge our grieving.

When you're living in one world and others are living in a completely different one, it's disorienting. It makes you question yourself even though you only have your perspective and experiences to go off of. Whether the different worlds are on a micro-level or a macro-level, I'm learning, it doesn't make a difference. Both experiences are equally destabilizing.

So.

Just throwing all that out there. In a moment of acknowledgment.

My experiences with disenfranchised grief during my darkest years are informing how I'm coping with disenfranchised grief during our current international economic and sociocultural climate.

It sucks to have those experiences, but I'm glad I developed some skills from them.

Holy crap this is a great article! It's quick, easy to read, and has great content about how to build and use your own mental health toolkit. It's where the picture above came from.

Dealing with Reality

My views are back to normal. They have been for 30+ days now. Instead of thousands of views, a post may get a hundred. Not only is it an interesting observation, I think it's important to report.

In related news, my personal world is upside down. Things are good with my relationship with myself and with my relationship with my boyfriend. I know I can get through anything on my own. Infertility and failed fertility treatments taught me that. With my partner by my side, I can get through anything with laughter, support, and understanding. I prefer the team approach to life.
As long as you have the right team member that is...

But back to my upside down world: I can't find a full-time job where I am that pays a living wage. I'm about to lose my affordable health insurance. I hope that's not controversial to say because it is an objective fact. I cannot afford the expected increase on my monthly premium. At all. But I also don't want to post anything that catches any bots' attention. I even deleted several posts from my blog to increase my chances of staying under the radar. I don't believe I'm overreacting.
I truly believe I am being proactive.

So what does one do when all of your jobs have been in schools, hospitals, nursing homes, and food banks when you live in a country where the people in charge are dismantling the Department of Education, making healthcare unaffordable, and denying assistance for those who are food insecure. Some people think I'm crazy for worrying. I'm just being realistic.

If you are living involuntarily childless you know what it's like to have a plan that doesn't work out. You know what it's like to live a life that looks completely different from the one you envisioned and planned for. Like I say, there is the life we wanted and then there is dealing with reality.

So I am dealing with reality.

Actually, I had an entirely different post in my head that I thought I was going to write. Let me digress and touch on those thoughts for a minute...

I am really starting to hate IVF. I cried with a friend the other morning. Her daughter's round of IVF did not result in pregnancy. She is heartbroken for her daughter. Secondarily, I think she is also heartbroken for herself. I pointed out that she is allowed to grieve too, that she always thought she would be a grandmother. I think my friend was so concerned for her daughter that she hadn't even thought about herself. Hopefully, she had the space and permission in the moment to feel her own feelings too. 

I like IVF when it works, but, as we know, it doesn't work much more often than it does. When it works, it can be great. When it doesn't, it can be devastating. I hate it.

And that brings me back to dealing with reality. 

I thought I was settled where I am. I thought I would never move again. Hahaha. Plans. Yeah...

Don't worry about me. I have a new plan! And I am very excited about it! I'm just in the middle of executing it and my little world is currently upside down. I will let you know when I've made it to the other side. 

There is always the other side. Unless we stay stuck. But staying stuck isn't dealing with reality. It's just staying stuck. I don't fault anyone for staying stuck for a little bit, but I always want to encourage people to take that first step when they have the energetic reserves to do so. If you need help with that first step, including even knowing what that first step is, send me an email. We can figure it out together. I will cheer you on. We are stronger together.

 

I found this image on the website of this organization. I don't know anything about them, but I love this image. Also, my email is my blog name infertilephoenix at gmail if you need it.

It's Incredibly Difficult to Recover

One of the many reasons why I grieved so hard and so long for my unrealized dream of raising children is the idea that parenting is so pervasive that it's the default way of thinking... It's hard enough to live amongst pronatalism when you didn't want to parent, but it feels nearly impossible to live in this suffocating world when you wanted to parent and didn't get to. 

Here's my most recent example.

I was talking to my mom and she was telling me about a family member that came to visit. He wants to move to a different country and has been working on the logistics for awhile. My mom is not in favor of this plan. Why she cares where he lives is beyond me. Personally, I'm excited for him. He's well traveled and knows the language. My mom thinks it's a terrible idea.

Mom: It's hard to move.

Me: Yeah, it's hard to move, but he wants to move. I think it's pretty cool.

Mom: He's moving away from his family. [This family member's parents are dead and he is not in communication with his siblings. He's not married, and he doesn't have kids.]

Me: Well, I'm sure it won't be any different. He's just living his life.

Mom: But it's even harder to move when you're our age. You can't meet people through your work or through your children.

Me: ... I haven't met anyone through my children...

Mom: Well, you know what I mean.

Me: And he hasn't ever met anyone through his children either...

Mom: Well, I guess not.

Me: He's probably just living his life like regular. I mean, this is his life. It's nothing new.

*****

I'm not mad at my mom, but I continue to be shocked at her blatant assumptions and inability to imagine life any other way than how it has gone for her. I even told her, "I understand that you're thinking about life with the normative transitions, but [our family member] and I don't live life like that and it changes everything."

And THAT is why it is so hard to grieve and recover from involuntary childlessness. Not only are you navigating traumatic loss and disenfranchised grief, you are encountering people's limited perspectives and constant judgment for what you are supposed to be doing instead.

Take Time to Grieve

Once again, Dolly Parton leads the way with her wisdom!

This article says she is taking a break from writing new music to grieve.

Very, very wise.

As Mali has recently written, now is not the time for accomplishments.

Our society sucks at grief. Our society sucks at obvious grief, such as losing a partner or a child, and our society really sucks at disenfranchised grief, where the grieving may not be so obvious.

Take time to grieve.

Quit things, start new things, do nothing. Cry, yell, sit in silence. Journal, go for walks, hang out with a trusted friend. Do whatever it is you need to do when you experience loss. Feel it. Move through it. Let yourself grieve.

Who cares what other people think. 

Their thoughts and perceptions are probably not even accurate! They come from their own perspective and experiences. They are living their life, not yours. Other people do not understand. That does not invalidate your experience or what you need to do.

Once again, Tom Petty said it better than I ever could.

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.

Reflecting, Resting, and Celebrating My World

If you read my last post, it was embarrassing but I needed to be honest with myself and confront my feelings. I'm not convinced it was a good or even decent post, but I wrote it and hit the publish button anyway. And now this post is a rambling road of meandering thoughts. Buckle up! Lol.

I like to read what Nedra Glover Tawwab writes and a question she posed recently was, "What do you feel entitled to?" I've kept it simmering in the back of my mind. And, I think something I feel entitled to is an easy relationship with my parents. I mean, they did their part (raised me with love, resources, and experiences), and I did my part (grew up, worked hard, and created a financially independent and sustainable life I enjoy). So why can't we just get along easily? 

Well, because it's not that simple. Nothing is. Everything is so layered and nuanced.

So I'll continue to notice and reflect. Change what I can, and practice accepting what I can't. 

So yeah, reflection... December is a good time for that. 

And in my reflection this morning I realized something: I was going through my first round of IVF this time of year ten years ago. Holy shit. How can ten years feel so recent and also so long ago?

I'm not going to regurgitate for the millionth time everything that's happened in the last ten years.

But I did take a moment to picture my life in a snapshot then and my life in a snapshot now.

Then: living in the beautiful house I bought for my children. Lost, vacant, empty... Lonely. Bored. Profoundly sad. Feeling traumatic loss and deep grief but not knowing that's what I was feeling. Didn't understand it, didn't have words for it, certainly had no support for it. Terrified.

Now: living in an old house I bought for myself. Warm, cozy, content... Thankful, proud, relieved. Enjoying the little things. Excited about the quilts I want to make. Resting for an extended period like the rest of my life depends on it because it does. 

Speaking of rest... Why is it so counterculture to rest? In one way, it's kind of trendy. "Live simply! Do less!" In another way, it's totally judged. "Oh, you have time for a nap? Must be nice." Why do other people want me to be busy? I've been busy my whole life and, while I've gained a lot of education and experience, how has being busy ever benefited my health, relationship to myself, or social connections?

Going through IVF ten years ago was horrible. Talk about being busy! The whole process is constant injections, blood draws, and ultrasounds. And that's just the physical part. There's also dealing with your own feelings and expectations, not to mention everyone else's feelings and expectations. It's too much to get into right now because I left all that behind for many reasons.

I couldn't fast forward through the last ten years, but I'm glad to be on this side of things now.

I like the life I've created for myself. I was reminded again yesterday when I went to the dentist. I ran into an acquaintance there who said she'd been meaning to get together but has been so busy with her kids. Then the dental hygienist was making small talk and, as a former teacher, I can easily banter about kids, school, and the ups and downs of it all. The hygienist was not complaining, but I could tell she was stressed. Parents need so much more support than they get. (But that's not what this blog is about! Lol.)

With those two conversations, I felt like I was living in the Parenting World for about an hour. And it felt really different. There were different routines, schedules, demands, and concerns. It's honestly pretty much completely different from my life. One isn't better or easier than the other. They are just different.

It just showed me how much my hard work has paid off. I didn't get to have kids, so I didn't make myself stay in that world. I created a life that I want to live, a life that works for me and my circumstances. I posted this quote on one of my first posts, but back then it was a process I was working through. It really rings true now.

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.

Not a Mom, Not a Career Woman

It feels so late. It's that time of year. The sun set several hours ago, but it's not time for bed yet.

I'm feeling reflective. Again, it's that time of year. I have my Xmas tree up with lights and ornaments, and the calendar year is coming to a close. Some things in life are going really well and some things are not. And, well, that's because that's how life goes.

I am in a much, much better place with infertility and living CNBC. No longer trying to conceive or adopt helps. Stopping trying and having that ending point--I really needed that. Then I could start to grieve. And that was a very long process. In a way, the grief is lifelong, but there's nothing like those first years. Of course, I didn't know I was grieving at the time. Learning that fact, as well as learning about the concept of disenfranchised grief, helped immensely.

All of my life, I thought I was going to be a mother. And then I gradually realized over a four-year period that I wasn't going to be. And it was really hard to process that. I had no idea what my life was going to be without raising the children I always dreamed of and assumed I'd have.

Now that I'm not trying to conceive or adopt AND I know I am not going to be a mother AND I've had years to process this reality, things are better.

It changed everything though.

And this week I've been thinking about how I was never interested in being a career woman. I always hoped I'd be a stay at home mom. And now... I'm... A woman with a job? I don't know. It just seems weird. I like working, but I'm not trying to have a career necessarily. I like my job, and I like getting better at it. But... I don't have kids to put through college or trade school, so I don't have to work myself to death. I'm not trying to build a resume or anything. I'm not climbing a corporate or clinical or any other kind of ladder. Plus, I don't plan on relocating for any job. 

I am where I want to be. 

I'm a divorced, childless middle-aged woman who's just trying to pay my bills and enjoy my life. And I've been thinking about how not having kids changed absolutely everything for me.

I had Day to Night Barbie (above) when I was a kid. I loved how her work outfit turned into a night outfit. But I never daydreamed about going to an office every day...

I *just* realized...  

I am a working artist.
I work to be of service to others, and I work to buy fabric. Hahaha. But true.

(And this is why I write... To figure things out.)

Your Friendly Reminder To Do What You Want

I finally had some days off last week. I spent them running errands and going to medical appointments. I have some days off this week too. I am spending them doing what I feel like. Sewing, sleeping, watching tv. My house needs cleaning and decluttering, but I am very tired.

I will admit that I rented a storage unit. I accept that I'm keeping too many keepsakes, tea cups, and framed things, but I'm not ready to purge any of them yet. So yesterday I got a small storage closet to get them out of my house. But today it's raining so I'm not going to move anything.

I am resting instead.

We have all been through so much in the last couple of years, and that was on top of what we'd already been through before that. It's a hell of a lot. It's demanding. It's exhausting. It's hard on our bodies, our minds, our hearts, and our souls.  

How can you give yourself a break? What demands can you decrease or set down altogether? Where in your day or week can you give yourself some time to do nothing? 

The bills don't stop coming and neither does the bad news.
How can we shift our thinking so that we see and recognize the good stuff too? 

Like, I get aggravated with how much utilities cost, but I also love having indoor plumbing in my home. Going to the grocery store stresses me out, but I'm glad I have access to food. I don't say these things in a flippant way, and cultivating gratitude for all of the little/big things in life doesn't solely sustain me. But it does help me. So I'm sharing in case it helps you. 

Our brains are hardwired to hold on to the bad information. It's a protective action. I've had to put in a lot of work over the decades to learn how to see and recognize the good. It doesn't dismiss or absolve the bad, but it does help balance it out.

The loss of motherhood was more than the loss of my lifelong dream and my primal yearning to raise and nurture little humans in my home as they grew to be adults. It was also the loss of societal roles, normative routines, and expected milestones. It was the loss of a life that was completed structured around having children. It was the loss of relationships with family and friends as every single one of them changed. It was the loss of connection with others. It was the loss of connection with myself. It was the loss of who I was and who I thought I'd be. 

And then we all endure a pandemic? One that never really ended, it just wore us down as we adapted to this neurological virus becoming endemic.

Moving sucks. Finding a job and place to live. Packing, moving, closing down accounts, opening new accounts, changing your address on everything, learning your new town and neighborhood, meeting people, finding a place for yourself... It all takes years. And so many of us move so often. It sucks. It really sucks.

Divorce sucks. Changing your name back sucks. Even when it's "easy," it still completely sucks. It's the end of a relationship that you thought would be there forever. It shook my foundation, my sense of security. It was also freeing because I was so painfully lonely. But it still sucked. I don't ever, ever want to get divorced again.

Working a job you hate sucks. But how else are we going to buy our milk, coffee, fabric, car insurance, and rent/mortgage? I'm extremely thankful that I like what I do at my job. I worked hard to find something I liked and was good at. But not everyone gets that chance. 

It's a lot. It's a lot of stress. For anyone. And for so many of us, we are navigating it all under a thick blanket of disenfranchised grief. It can make everything heavier and harder. 

What can you quit? 

I'm a big fan of quitting. I'm countercultural like that. If it sucks, I quit. My parents used to worry that I'd had so many jobs, but now all of my experiences are such a benefit to my career. I've worked in multiple industries with all ages in all settings, and the skills are transferrable. I quit law school. I quit my marriage. I quit infertility treatments. If it's not good for us, we should quit. 

Life is too short.

Can you do less? Can you rest? Can you go to bed earlier and/or get up later?

What do you do to get in the flow? 

You deserve to enjoy your life.

(Artwork above found here for sale.)

(And listen to the song Enjoy Yourself, It's Later Than You Think here.)

Blast from the Past (And an Answer!)

I am feeling very grateful right now. I heard from an old friend yesterday. We were best friends for over a decade until we started to drift apart about a decade ago. Our drifting apart hurt me so bad, and I wrote about it here: What Happened to My Friends Without Kids?

Well, last year I decided to text her on her birthday. We never had a falling out or harsh words. And I missed her. So I took a chance and sent a text. I figured I had nothing to lose but hopefully something to gain.

She immediately texted back! Turns out, she was so happy to hear from me because she didn't have my new number and she had emailed me every year on my birthday! (Where those emails went, I have no idea. I have searched and searched my accounts for them. I have yet to find those unread birthday emails.)

And so we were back in touch and texted occasionally.

Yesterday my phone rang. What?? I mean, nobody calls anymore... It was her, and she was just calling to talk. Actually, she called to lovingly chastise me for disappearing for a couple of years, and I was able to tell her that not having kids was really hard for me so I fell into a hole and didn't emerge until I had found my new spot in life.

We hadn't talked in 5.5 years and it felt like we had talked the day before. Gahhhh!  Priceless.

*****

So aside from this good news that I am back in touch with one of my closest friends, two very interesting points came up in our conversation.

One, I just so happened to learn what was going on with her while I was trying to conceive. I didn't ask directly or anything, but she just shared openly and unknowingly gave me an answer to a question I always wondered about: what happened to my friend without a kid??

Turns out, she had started dating a new guy. (That's when I knew we were drifting apart. I found out about her new boyfriend from a mutual friend, not her.) This guy had two kids, was going through a divorce, and didn't want any more kids. So, as I am completely lost and nearly despondent over not being able to get pregnant, she was struggling with knowing whether or not having kids was important to her. She told me it was a big decision and she talked to her psychiatrist about it endlessly. In the end, she decided she did not want kids and proceeded with the relationship. They have since broken up, but my friend still doesn't want kids and feels confident in her decision because she put so much thought and time into it.

Yep. As I was struggling with infertility, my friend was struggling with her decision. No wonder she couldn't be there for me how I wanted her to be there for me back then. (Side note, was it even possible for someone to be there for me in the way I wanted back then? I'm thinking no...)

Wow. When do we ever get answers? When do we ever get closure? And I got some yesterday.

*****

The second point is sad. Maybe I should have started with it first? End on a happy note? But... As we all know, that's not how life goes. So here is the second point.

So, my friend decided not to have kids. Then her younger sister tried for years and couldn't. So you know what that means. My friend's mom is not a grandmother; my friend's mom does not have grandchildren. And, apparently, she is DEVASTATED. She has cried to my friend multiple times and she's not engaging in the healthiest of behaviors. My friend is concerned about how much her mom is drinking and how poorly her mom is recovering from a months-old surgery.

Hearing that made me sad. I understand my friend's complete annoyance and even anger, but I also completely empathize with her mom. Her mom is feeling a deep, deep pain that nobody can help her with. It got me thinking about the disenfranchised grief and the ambiguous loss involved with grandchildlessness. Yes, my friend's mom got to have kids, raise them, and be a mother. But she also thought her life would take the natural progression and she would have grandchildren. Just like all of her friends are doing. But she's not. And she's sad, left out, alone, and grieving.

Involuntary childlessness (like my friend's sister) has such a far-reaching, multifaceted impact.

It changes people's lives.

*****

I'm happy. I'm sad. I'm grateful.

I'm happy for myself and where I am and what I'm doing. I'm sad for my friend's mom and everyone else across the world grieving the loss of their children and grandchildren. And I'm grateful to be back in touch with a friend that is so important to me.

💜

Unexpected Admission

Times are hard. But I don't have to tell you that. Just like I don't have to tell you that life was hard before the pandemic. But now things are even harder. In unpredictable ways.

It reminds me of a very unexpected thing a co-worker told me a couple of years ago.

I'd been working at my first hospital for a couple of months and noticed this one woman hadn't mentioned any kids. I don't usually ask people if they have kids. If they have them, they eventually come up in conversation. But she hadn't mentioned anyone except her husband, so I decided to just ask her. What she voluntarily told me took me by surprise. I'd never heard anyone before or since say anything like it.

Me: Do you have any kids?

Her: No. I mean... We wanted to, but my husband and I decided not to. We don't think it's fair to bring a child into this world. We don't know what the future looks like with gun violence and climate change and everything.

I was shocked. She didn't know anything about me or my perspectives and she just fearlessly and shamelessly told me how she decided not to have children. I wasn't expecting her to say something so stark and realistic, especially so casually at work.

And this conversation happened before the pandemic! I have thought about it often ever since.

It's not like I had a choice about not having children. And it's not like parents got a choice about the pandemic. We are all just living through these hard times, some of us while parenting and some of us while grieving and healing from the lack thereof.

But I often think about that co-worker and the reasoning that informed her difficult decision.

Another Good Cry

I had another good cry today. It came out of seemingly nowhere. Then again, it does happen to be seven years and one week after my first IVF didn't result in pregnancy. I always seem to cry more January through March. Like this morning. Tears streamed down my face for at least ten minutes.

All I could think was, "Thirty-five years is a long time to think you're going to be a mother. It has only been seven years of knowing I won't be a mom... Go easy on yourself..." 

So I sat there. And cried.
Then I went on with my day. 

I don't really know what else to do. If I don't cry, I just feel cranky and irritable all day. So, I cry. 

I'm happy. I'm sad. I'm both at the same time. It's complicated. I know you understand. 💜

Another Lesson Learned from Infertility

Well, hello August. August 2021. If you count March 2020 as month 1, we are now month 18 into this pandemic. Everyone/Everything everywhere is exhausted. 

I try to remember what it was like when I was 18 months into trying to get pregnant. I remember it was awful from the very first month. Just like this pandemic has been. I felt lonely, sad, confused, frustrated, devastated, and angry. I was isolated from my peer group. I avoided people as much as I could. I ran errands, volunteered once a week, and ate Mexican food with my husband on Friday nights, but, other than that, I didn't do a whole lot. I try to remember more details, but that time period (months 8 - 24 TTC) is one big blur of sadness. 

It felt like it would never end.
Just like this pandemic is feeling.

I remind myself that everything is temporary. Change is inevitable. The days are long but the years are short. Over time even the Grand Canyon was carved by water...

It won't be like this forever.

What's Saving Me

Oh, I liked this post from Loribeth about what's saving her life right now. She credits other bloggers that have written on the same topic. Apparently, it was started years ago by a prominent blogger as a way of marking the mid-point of winter (which is often a difficult time for many). 

Here is what is saving my life/sanity right now:

• Reading and Writing
  
  Things are hard right now, but I've been through hard times before so I know what I can do to help myself. Basically, I am a nerd. My go-to problem solving solution is to read. So I have been reading all sorts of articles about divorce (as I'm still processing mine), personality disorders (because I think this will help me manage some relationships with family members), and being an empath (to learn more coping strategies and how to deal with the intense feelings that I can have).
  
  Plus, I check in on the blogosphere, reading and commenting several times a week. In addition to reading and commenting, I am (obviously) also writing my own blog posts. This space has been so helpful in so many ways over the years and just saying that is a huge understatement.
  
  I also started writing in a journal most nights before I go to sleep. I'm documenting what I did for self-care that day. After doing it for over a week, I was starting to think it was a silly practice and then I had a day last week where I really crashed and burned, so maybe it's not a silly practice after all. I'm gonna keep doing it for now.
  
  
  
• WOTY
  
  I wrote a post at the end of January about Word Of The Year. This year I formally chose a word (er, "words" plural) for my WOTY and I've used at least one of them every day this year. They remind me of my current intentions and they guide me through difficult moments. In. Inhale. Inspire.
  
  
  
• Music
  
  I saw a counselor back in 2009 that helped me with a few small things. I was really struggling with my situation at the time. I had choice A or choice B, but I didn't like either one. She told me that we don't always like the choices we are given in life. It was a difficult lesson for me. (This was years before infertility.)
  
  She also asked me what I was listening to at the time, if I lit any scented candles or cooked, and if I went on walks or got out in nature. Basically, she was encouraging me to activate my senses. Honestly, I thought it sounded dumb at the time. I'm depressed? Well, hell, I'll just go get a candle!
  
  But, she was on to something... What WAS I doing to enjoy the little things? I took a brief inventory of my life at the time and noticed a glaring absence of little things that I enjoyed... I'm thankful she brought my awareness to the issue. :)
  
  All that to say, I've been listening to my entire music library on shuffle while quilting and I have been loving it. It cracks me up because I have a wide range of musical taste so I may listen to a punk song followed by a Broadway song followed by Tom Petty, but it's all my music so I love it.
  
  
  
• Quilting
  
  There are so many metaphors in quilting. Sewing is literally putting things together. Piecing scraps is taking what you have and creating something you like. Sewing is truly mending my soul. It is also a good way for me to get in the flow, where I think about everything and think about nothing all at the same time. Problems just solve themselves (or don't! haha) while I am sewing. It's beautiful.
  
  
  
• Wisdom I Learned from Infertility
  
  
• I don't have to like what I am experiencing, but I will get through it. 
• I am stronger than I ever wanted to know. 
• I didn't ask for this life, but I am living it. 
• I don't like the cards I was dealt, but I am playing the shit out of my hand. 
• There is not much in my control, but there are some things that I can control for myself: where I live, what I do, how I treat myself, and how I let others treat me. 
• I don't want to sound like a cliche, but I believe in the power of cultivating gratitude and enjoying the little things. 
• But it all happens in time. First, we must grieve. Grieve the loss of our children, the loss of motherhood, the loss of life as we knew it before infertility and before the pandemic. 
• Better times ARE ahead but we don't have to feel it right now. Whatever we're feeling, doing, and not doing right now is fine. 
• Enduring trauma isn't easy, especially when society as a whole isn't recognizing it (the endurance OR the trauma).

And now, because I always love seeing everyone else's pictures (especially all of the gardens because I've never had a garden before), here are some pictures of what's currently saving my life and sanity... 

My sewing room! 

I spent the first half of January building shelves, organizing fabric, and realizing what all I had collected over the past year and a half. I definitely have the basics and now I finally have a stash!

This tall shelf holds, from top to bottom:
my scrap baskets, yardage of novelty prints (wrapped on comic book boards),
yardage of solids (folded and stacked), fat quarters (organized in baskets by color),
a basket of patterns, and folded yardage of minky and other extra-wide fabric for quilt backings.

These short shelves hold the following:
my blenders and tone-on-tone fabrics (organized by color) on the top rows
and, on the bottom rows,
nature-related fabric that I plan on collecting for a couple of years;
purple cubes to hold my precuts, rulers, and thread;
and a stack of fabric of which I have 3 or more yards. 

Every quilter has scraps.

I wanted to come up with a system for organizing my scraps that was easy to maintain and didn't drive me crazy. I kept it simple. I have one basket for strips (pictured above) and another basket for bigger scrap pieces. All of my scraps fit into one of those two categories so I can just throw them in the baskets for later use.

I don't throw anything away. As for all of the small pieces of scrap fabric and snips of thread, I'm collecting it in a bag that I will use for stuffing once I start making teddy bears out of my scraps. I love how quilting is all about using material and not wasting anything. :)

I saved my favorite picture for last! 

This is a close-up of one of the shelves on my tall bookshelf. It's all of my favorite fabric.
Looking left to right, there are snowflakes, skiers, skis, skulls and crossbones, stars, leopard prints, rock instruments, mix tapes, safety pins, a variety of playful fabrics, a beautiful purple solid, roller skates, library book due date stamps, and yardage of girls playing in swings and trees outside. Love!!!

💜

Thank you for joining me as I shared what's currently saving me.

What's saving your life/sanity right now?

Knowing When To Quit

Please excuse me, but a huge congratulations for myself is in order, thank you very much.

Drumroll please...

(Image above found on SineadBovell.com)

I QUIT MY JOB! 🎉🎉🎉

Yes, I am celebrating, but, no, I am not doing so flippantly. 

I didn't WANT to quit my job. In the middle of a pandemic. Without a backup waiting in the wings. 

But I needed to quit my job. And so I did. And now it is done. And I can finally write about it.

*****

At this point in my life, I've made many super huge and major decisions. They are never easy, but I've distilled a process for myself that I'd like to share. Using this method, I don't rely solely on my feelings to make a decision. It's a very practical method, but it still allows for my value system to be at the heart of every decision.

          First, I go back to my values. (Make a list. You can do an internet search to get ideas.) 

          Next, I make t-charts of my concerns. (List the pros and cons of potential decisions.) 

          Then I look at my data and see what conclusion makes the most sense. 

*****

Quitting my job was a super huge and major decision. 

It also wasn't. It was just what I had to do.

I took off from work the week before Thanksgiving. For the first week, I went easy on myself. I knew I was stressed to the max, emotional, exhausted, and depleted. Then during the week of Thanksgiving I just enjoyed myself, the holiday, and the time at home. But as the weekend drew to a close, I knew I needed to figure out what I explicitly needed. So I determined three things I needed to feel safe at work. 

I returned to work. Things inevitably came to a head. I stated my three things. They conceded to one. And I knew I had to resign. 

I did the same thing with my divorce, which was probably the hardest decision I've ever made. But again, with my process, it wasn't really a decision I had to make. It was just something I had to do and get through. Once I looked at what I valued versus what my reality was... Well, facts are facts. Even when they're sad or hard or traumatic or devastating.

Like IVF. I went through that whole process twice. I'm sure many people can relate when I say I haaate needles and injections and blood draws. Just the smell of rubbing alcohol makes me anxious. But I did it. And then it didn't work either time, and I had a decision to make. Except I was done. There was not a whole lot left of me, of my personality, of my spirit. There is no other way I know to describe it: I was an empty shell. Facts are facts. I quit fertility treatments.

So, while it was not as difficult as knowing I had to get divorced or knowing I had to quit fertility treatments, it was still really hard to realize I had to quit my job. It was only a handful of months, but I put a lot into that job. I thought it was going to be my new career. I was growing very passionate about it. I envisioned retiring from the position. I invested a lot of time and money into training and materials. I quickly grew attached to my students and co-workers. Not to mention, I liked the paycheck and health insurance.

But it wasn't safe. And my concerns were not handled well. At all. 

And I had to walk away.

I cried a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot. In a way that maybe only fellow IF survivors will understand, it was a tremendous heartbreak for me. I know I'm not going to raise children. I know I'm not going to be a mother. But I was really, really excited (in the most healthy and healing way possible) to be able to build long-term relationships with students and to watch and help them grow throughout their 

K - 12 school experience. 

So quitting this job hurt in ways that I expect nobody but you all to understand.

It was sad and devastating. I have let myself feel all of my feelings so I could move through them.

Which brings me to where I am now. And right now I want to recognize that quitting my job also opens up a whole hell of a lot of time and space in my life. Perhaps there will be better ways for me to serve others. I will keep my heart and mind open to the possibility.

*****

So THAT is what has been affecting everything. I was very stressed about the lack of precautions being taken at work. In addition, I wasn't being treated well by my boss or HR. I was bringing a lot of fear and stress home. My boyfriend was an important support as he listened to me process everything out loud. It was extremely frustrating for him too. He and I are tired from the whole experience. For the past month especially, I really needed a whole team of people to help keep me grounded in reality (my boyfriend, his sister, a couple of friends that texted me validation, and three different doctors who all shared my concerns). But realizations had and decisions made, I submitted my resignation, waited out my two weeks, and quit my job.

And now it is done.

💜

It's Ongoing

Life is good, but it's been busy. I'm thankful I had a day off from both jobs today.

You know, honestly, I think I'm still sad several times a week about not having kids. A minute here, a moment there. Comments are made; normal experiences that I'll never have are shared. My thoughts and feelings come and go throughout the natural course of the day.

But my moments of sadness are not debilitating like they used to be. They no longer paralyze me or imprison me or completely drain me or rob me of all peace, joy, and contentedness.

However, I think it's still important that I'm aware of when and why I'm sad and to validate my feelings to myself. Because it's been several years, it can be easy to think everything infertility-related is in the past when it still very well shapes my present and my future.

The acute grief period has passed, but recovery is a lifelong thing. A process of healing and adjusting. It is for me anyway. And it's important that I stay open to seeing the various ways that not having kids makes my life very different from most other people I know in real life.

Because what I've survived is significant. And unrecognized. And ongoing.

The Cost of My Freedom

I see it in their eyes.

We will be standing there, both of us in our late 30s/early 40s, meeting each other for the first time. It may be at a work event or when making small talk while out and about town. They tell me about their kids and ask me about mine. I say I don't have any and there is a brief pause while I watch so many thoughts flicker across their eyes.

No kids?
Why not?
How old is she?
Is she married?
What does she do??
Oh wow, what does she do with all of her TIME???
Good gawd, what does she do with all of her MONEY???


It doesn't always happen like this, but it happens enough that it's worth writing about.

I know these parents love their kids. They love their kids unconditionally.
They just don't love the constant act of parenting 24/7.

They hear that I don't have kids and their overwhelming thought is: FREEDOM.


But their initial thoughts sell me short. Aside from the fact that I have the same 24 hours in a day that they do and that I make the same low salary as everyone else in my field...

Their assumptions leave no space for my losses, my trauma, my grief, and my hard work.

I'm not looking to turn every interaction into a teachable moment with friends and strangers alike, but I do appreciate having this place where I can vent about what annoys me. ;)

The Power of Acknowledgement

I think what was so meaningful for me about my sister's apology was that it contained a hint of acknowledgement, which reminded me of this brilliant video about grief and loss.

I just rewatched it and was reminded of its powerful messages.

• You cannot talk someone out of their pain.
• Acknowledgement is the best medicine.
• Acknowledgement makes things better when they can't be made right.

The video describes how trying to cheer a person up can make them feel like they have to defend their feelings. It states how giving unsolicited advice can make a person feel misunderstood. 

Plus, the animation in it is just perfect. 

Happy viewing. 💜

 

Tough Anniversaries

It happened again.

My mind forgot, but my body remembered. I felt emotional all day yesterday, not really knowing why. I felt foggy, lethargic, and disenchanted. I felt like crying but tears never came. The tears came this morning. In the shower. And all of a sudden. It was relieving but it also kind of sucked.

Four years and several days ago my first IVF did not result in pregnancy. I haven't thought about that day in awhile, and, quite honestly, I don't really feel like thinking about it now. But I know I was devastated. I remember hanging up the phone, collapsing to my knees on the floor, and letting out a gutteral howl as my dog came running to check on me. Even she knew it was extremely bad and nothing could be done as she lay down on the floor, not moving a muscle while keeping her eyes on me.

And now around this time every year, I feel all out of sorts and have a seemingly random emotional breakdown. It seems random until my mind remembers what my body has yet to (will ever?) forget.

I'm scrapping my plans for the day. Everyone and everything can wait. Today I think I'll indulge in doing whatever I freaking feel like doing. I'm going to feel my feelings and think my thoughts, while simultaneously giving myself a break from them both. Today I'm going to enjoy the life that I've worked so hard to create. All the stuff and things can wait until tomorrow.

Advice Column Gets It Wrong

Here's an advice column question and answer, if you're into that sort of thing.

Childless Couple Vows to End Friendship over Kids


There's so much to unpack here.

First of all, NO. There is no comparison between losing parents that lived full lives (and with whom you have memories) and losing children with whom you didn't get to share life. I've already explained that here.

I can agree that "a mature adult learns to process sadness and tolerate discomfort, and not punish others for it." BUT... Processing not only sadness, but devastation and traumatic loss, is a pretty big deal. It takes time. I don't think it's wrong to give some people a couple of years to do this. I mean, that's a pretty tall order, am I right? Plus, people that are in the situation like this/mine (living life without children after surviving infertility) are not punishing others; we are simply taking care of ourselves in a world that, not only does not take care of us, but that also absolutely does not understand, nor have any iota of compassion, understanding, or space for us.

We are just living our lives like anyone else, thank you very much.


So I drafted a response letter in my mind.


Dear "Friends Until Kids,"

I'm sorry your friends are draining you. What you may not understand is that they've been through this before. Things change after you have kids. And that's okay. Understandable even. You're right that choosing not to adopt or not go through IVF is their choice. It's one that spares them any further trauma.

I'm here to say: your friendship with them may indeed be limited. They have probably been down this road before. They know how it goes and they are just giving you a heads up, even if the warning is early in its time. You'll learn soon enough--that your time will be made up of (insert your child's name here). Your friends? They already know.

It's complicated. Your friends can volunteer; they can be mentors or teachers; they can be an awesome aunt and uncle. But there are appropriate and necessary boundaries for those roles. There is no substitute for that parent-child bond.

It's okay. That's just how it is. But for people who wanted what you're getting, well, they're just probably giving you space at this time. Space to enjoy what you have. For you to enjoy your life. While they enjoy theirs. So, it's nothing negative. Not from you, not from them. They just know how it goes. With Love~

Sincerely,
One Who Knows