My Kids' Last Name

My ex-husband and I were friends for a long time before we ever started dating. So once we finally got together, we kinda knew pretty quickly where it was eventually headed. He knew me well and knew I never wanted to change my name. Very early on in the relationship I said something about my kids having my last name. He replied, "Funny. I always thought my kids would have my last name."

Well, so, I thought about it... I didn't hate his last name. In fact, I liked his last name. And I liked the idea of all of us having the same last name (me, him, and our kids). Our little family unit. And so I changed my mind. I decided to change my name when we got married.

And unless this is your first time reading my blog, you know that I never had kids, we got divorced, and I changed my name back.

But dang it, that last name will follow me for the rest of my life. Every application, every official form. They all ask for any previous names you've had. So I have to acknowledge my kids' last name until the end of (my) time.

It doesn't hurt like it used to, but it still kinda sucks.

When Decluttering Gets Heavy

I've been decluttering some more. I've written about it a lot: selling the house I bought for my children and dumping everything into a storage unit. Dealing with my stuff over time. Giving stuff away, throwing stuff away. And now, ten years later, it's so much better.

My latest achievement is getting my keepsakes down to one large tub. There is nothing wrong with keeping mementos, but I had way too many. It was weighing me down. And now I'm thankful that I have some things from growing up, as well as relieved because it's so much less.

Decluttering is good for us, but we have to go at our own pace. I mean, sometimes we don't get that opportunity. You have to evacuate so you grab what's within reach and go. Or, you trust your things with someone who doesn't take care of them and then you don't have them anymore. Or, you move a lot and things get lost. Any number of things can happen where people don't get to have keepsakes. They're a privilege, but they can be deadweight too.

I also decluttered my fabric stash. The details of that probably wouldn't be interesting to anyone other than other quilters, but it was a satisfying task to go through all of my yardage and scraps.

So one decluttering endeavor was very emotional and has taken me ten years. The other decluttering task was very practical and took me about a month. Both required time, energy, and the right mindset. I had to be able to commit to letting go and moving on.

*****

All of that to say, I came across and read my old dream journal. Not a journal where I wrote about the dreams I had at night. A journal where I wrote down different ideas I could do in the future. The first entry was in 2006. There are so many different ideas jotted down over the years, but I stopped in my tracks when I turned the page and saw a list of numbers.

My temperatures.

When I was trying to get pregnant, I recorded my temperature every morning before getting out of bed for two whole years. The things we forget... I mean, I knew I did that. I knew I took my temperature for that long, but I had forgotten I had done it in that journal. There was nothing like seeing all of those pages filled with those numbers. It felt like a sucker punch for a couple of seconds. Then I felt like I had to stop and honor the woman I was back then when I was doing that. I felt really, really bad for her. I shed a few tears, but mostly I just stopped what I was doing and really sat there. I breathed slowly and deeply. I knew I would never do that again. 

I don't have to, I don't want to, and I'm not going to. I will never try to get pregnant again. 

It's so easy to say something that used to be so hard.

*****

So did I stop reading that dream journal and call it a night? Oh no, my friends, I kept going. I knew there were only a couple of more entries left. What I didn't remember was that I had written an entry the day after I left my husband before I had told or talked to anyone. 

Oh wow.

I can't believe I wrote down what I was feeling in that moment. But it was so much and I was so alone. (I mean, literally. I was living in a new city in a new state without my husband after planning to move together for three years.) It was so much and it was all mine and I had to deal with it. Just like with infertility, nobody could go through that for me. Nobody could go through it with me. We walk the hardest paths by ourselves because they're ours and ours alone.

So yeah, it was crazy... One minute I was sorting through some old items and the next I'm staring at pages of my recorded temperatures followed by the most vulnerable thing I've ever written. 

You know, light reading.

*****

Decluttering can get heavy. There are a lot of reasons why there are so many articles about decluttering floating around in the pop culture ether. Decluttering is A Thing. It's tied to emotions and expectations and intentions and good stuff and painful stuff and reminders that we were there, that we did things, and it mattered.

Go at your own pace. There's a lot to it and you don't even have to understand it. 

Just one thing at time. One shelf one day, maybe a box the following month. 

Or, you can stack your boxes for now and cover them with pretty scarves and blankets for a better aesthetic. I've done that too. 😂💜

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.

Attending Weddings Alone and Childless

How do you feel about weddings? Are you invited to any? Do you love them, dread them, or do you not feel strongly one way or another? Have your feelings changed over time? I'm just curious.

Maybe I've been lucky but most of the weddings I've attended have been great. I've never been stuck in a long, boring ceremony, and most of the receptions have been a lot of fun. But when I think about it, most of the weddings I've been to were quite a while ago. I think I've only been to two in the last decade. 

I used to love weddings. I still like them, but I don't love them the way I used to. 

I think infertility changed them for me. I always associated marriage with having children for myself because that's what I wanted to do: get married and have kids. It's the norm in society. So weddings often reference future children and that always stings because 1) it sucks that that didn't work out for me and 2) I hope the newly married couple doesn't have to go through infertility if they want to conceive children.

Interestingly, I don't think divorce changed weddings too much for me. I loved being married. And I love being divorced. However, whereas getting married was really fun, getting divorced was obviously not fun. But still, my experience with marriage and divorce doesn't change my feelings about weddings.

I will say this though. I gave everyone a plus-one to my wedding. If you were going to come to my wedding, I wanted you to enjoy your time with someone, whether it was your boyfriend, girlfriend, best friend, or mother. I didn't care. 

When I think of the last two weddings I've attended, they were weird. I attended the last two weddings alone. Even when you know people at the wedding, it feels weird to go to one alone. I mean, the whole thing is a celebration of a relationship. (I don't have to be in a romantic relationship, but it's more fun to enjoy the event with someone. Twenty years ago I took my best friend to a wedding for another friend, and she and I had a great time.)

The first wedding I went to alone was because my husband didn't want to go. So he didn't go. So I traveled out of state to go to my cousin's wedding by myself. I stayed in a nice hotel room by myself and attended the ceremony (where future children were definitely referenced and I was going through infertility at the time) and then the reception by myself. Earlier in the day I went to lunch and a museum with my dad, and at the reception I ended up getting to know and hanging out with the wife of one of my cousins. I had a good time, but it felt weird to be childless and alone at the wedding.

The second wedding I went to alone was recent. I went alone because my boyfriend was very rudely and explicitly not invited. I was hurt but went anyway because it was a person very close to me. Well, it was a person who I thought I was close to. Anyway, I went. And I was the only person there in a relationship whose partner was not invited. I felt like how I feel during the holiday season sometimes, like I'm a person just looking from the outside in on everyone else's families during a joyous time. Again, it felt weird to be childless and alone at the wedding. Not to mention the hurtful things that were said.

I still like weddings. I don't know how many more will be in my future. But if I'm invited and able to go, I will. I love love. And I love the team approach to life. So I love to celebrate two people getting married and becoming a team. The ceremonies are usually short, and the receptions are fun because it's just happy people celebrating.

I still enjoy weddings, but I doubt I'll go to one alone again.

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.

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.)

Season of Grief

I can tell we are on the other side of winter. Don't get me wrong, it's still winter. It's still cold and there is still snow on the ground. But there is less of it. It is melting. In another month or two, it will feel like spring.

I think that's my favorite part of where I live now: getting to experience all four seasons. 

I love winter so much and thought I'd be sad when I could tell spring was on its way... But I'm not. Winter can end. Haha. Winter is tough! On people and houses and cars and animals and roads and, well, everything. I still love it and I look forward to it returning next year, but it is fine that we are on this side of winter.

I feel like this is my season of grief. Is that a thing? January, February, and March have never been the same since my failed IVF cycles. I feel lower energy and easier to cry. Of course the stress in life never stops, but it feels bigger than that. It feels like... Well, my season of grief.

When I got married, I never thought I'd get divorced. I knew my husband for a long time and we were on the same page about everything (or so I thought). I had been in love with him for much longer than we had dated. For me, it was love/crush at first sight. Later, I learned it was for him too. But it took us awhile to actually start dating for real (8 years!) and then it was happily ever after (or so I thought).

I thought I'd have kids too. I daydreamed about being a mother my whole life. I never daydreamed about my wedding like some of my friends did, but I always wanted to parent.

But I don't have kids. And now I don't have any false illusion that I will be having kids. And I'm not married anymore. I am divorced. All of that--marriage and hoping for children--was a different season of my life. And that season ended too.

And once again, things are changing. Winter is leaving. I am grieving, although it looks different in 2023 than it has in the past. I laugh a lot more now. But I still cry a lot too. What can I say, I have a lot of feelings.

And today I am feeling loss. I am also feeling at a loss. I am also feeling okay. 

It's confusing, but I'm not trying to figure anything out. 

I am navigating my season of grief while feeling proud of what I've created amidst the rubble.

Image found at https://sheleadsafrica.org/reflecting-on-the-four-seasons-way-of-life/

PTSD Persists

I'm feeling groggy and a bit melancholy this morning. I had nightmares all night. They were about IVF, my ex-husband, and two former friends I used to be very close with. It all sucked. 

I have not slept through the night in over three months. 

I haven't been officially diagnosed with PTSD, but I've had two different doctors tell me that they think I have it. The brain and heart can only handle so much... 

I have found what helps and that is THC. That should not be a controversial thing to share on a public forum, but, unfortunately, it is. It is still illegal according to federal law. And because of that status, I cannot consume it while I am on the job market. All of the jobs I'm applying for conduct pre-employment drug screens. Which includes screening for THC. Which angers me to no end. Gahhh I don't do drugs!!!

It is not my employer's business if I choose to eat a gummy before I go to bed. It is not my employer's business if I choose to smoke and quilt on a Saturday afternoon. Just like I would not drink a beer before going into work, I would not consume THC before going into work.

And speaking of, I am free to drink as much alcohol as I want. You know, the substance that causes anger, depression, intoxication, decreased motor skills, impaired driving, and leads to a lot, A LOT of fights? Yeah, I can drink as much as I want. No employers regulate that.

But I don't want to drink a lot. Unlike THC, even a couple of beers cause sleeping difficulties.
But, heaven forbid, I get a good night's sleep. 

My pain is real.
My losses are real.
My trauma is real.
And I am reminded every single night.

It sucks.

Sigh...

I will get through this. I always do.
I know how to tolerate extreme discomfort and incredible unfairness.

But I can barely wait to sleep again.

Picture found at 

https://www.nami.org/Blogs/NAMI-Blog/October-2020/7-Tools-for-Managing-Traumatic-Stress

Left Behind

The title of this post could easily describe me during the darkest years of my grief. 

I felt left behind. My friends and family were getting pregnant, having babies, and raising toddlers. I was left behind. Sure, my friends and family were nice people and they loved me. I was welcome to join them in the new season of their lives. But it always felt like I was entering and exiting a different world. I would have a hangover of feelings for days after hanging out.

Then there were my friends who didn't have kids. I was left behind there too. I was stuck in grief.

Elaine wrote about her six year blogging anniversary. Part of her post read, "Six years. Wow. There is so much gratitude. For everything I was able to overcome, leave behind, and learn."

For everything I was able to... leave behind.

That really stuck out to me. 

What if I wasn't left behind? What if it was me that was doing the leaving?

We all know I didn't have kids. That I went back to school to change careers. That I uprooted my life and moved 1200 miles across the country. That I left my marriage and got divorced. 

I left behind old hopes and dreams, dysfunctional relationships, and a life that didn't fit anymore.

Left behind.

One little phrase can mean so much. 

One little phrase can be turned around with a change in perspective.

Not A Book Review

I started reading a great book. I'm really savoring it and thinking on it, so it will be awhile before I finish it. I can't write a book review since I haven't finished reading it yet, but I also can't wait until later to tell you about it.

What if you need this book now??

The book is called Homecoming and it is written by the President-elect of the American Psychological Association, Dr. Thema Bryant. I'm 29 pages in and... It feels like I'm coming home to myself, which is exactly the point of the book.

I love to look at a book's table of contents and this one did not disappoint. It begins with an introduction called "Homesick and Disconnected." Then Part One is called "Longing for Home" and includes chapters about recognizing that you need a homecoming, internal signs of disconnection, and external signs of disconnection. Part Two is called "Packing Light: What to Carry on the Journey Home" and contains the following chapters: reparenting yourself, emotional intelligence, community care and self-care, building self-confidence, and spiritual practices. Part Three is called "Recovering from Roadblocks on the Journey Home" and covers the following topics: mourning invisible losses (!!!), healing from breakups and divorce, coping and healing from a toxic workplace, recovering from childhood trauma, and resisting oppression. The book concludes with "Welcome Home: The Journey Continues" and provides additional resources.

I was hooked at the table of contents. I immediately ordered the book.

If you're wondering what you're in for, allow me to share the following quotes that I have highlighted in my reading so far:

• "This book facilitates your journey back to who you really are."
  
  
• "Before we begin the journey home, honor yourself for the ways you have survived."
  
  
• "I had already experienced some valleys myself and understood the value of being heard, seen, and supported."
  
  
• "Homecoming is about living fully, abundantly, and taking up space--not adjusting to a life of dissatisfaction and discontent."
  
  
• "Coming home to yourself is giving yourself... the things you thought only others could give you."
  
  
• "Some of us become emotionally shut down from exhaustion... The disconnection can be a way of protecting yourself."
  
  
• "Stressful and traumatic experiences may have created within you a core belief about yourself that is untrue."
  
  
• "Homecoming is a decision to occupy your life, to engage with what animates you and breathes new life into the dry bones of your circumstances."
  
  

As an aside, in a book that is not even about infertility, she mentions infertility! On page 22 (as she is discussing envy and the complexity of emotions) she writes,"You can grieve your difficulties with infertility and still celebrate the birth of your friend's child." I literally did a double-take when I read that sentence last night. I am so accustomed to never seeing my trauma given as an example of trauma.

Do you feel lost? Are you missing yourself? Are you homesick? The author quotes Cecelia Ahern when she writes, "Home is not a place... It's a feeling."

I am homesick. I am missing myself. Currently, I am depressed. I know this; it's not my first time. But, even with my decades-long experience with depression, I am out of ideas for how to cope. So, I picked this book up. It's easy to read and, even better, reading it makes me feel good.

I couldn't wait until I finished reading it to tell you about it. I had to tell you 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.

💜

Another Weird Anniversary

I had another anniversary of sorts this week. As of this week, I've been legally divorced for a year. It's crazy to think about ending fertility treatments just 5 years ago, selling our house 4 years ago, and now... I'm divorced.

I loved being married and then overnight I knew it wasn't a good marriage for me.

Except it wasn't overnight of course.

He and I had a long history. Love at first sight, dated? Friends for a long time, stayed in touch off and on, reconnected, dated for real, loved each other, got married.

But we didn't live happily ever after. Well, not together anyway.

I knew where I was compromising, but I chose to get married anyway. I wanted him to be the father of my children. I loved him and I loved being married. But it wasn't easy. I was lonely a lot.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes infertility. I will always be thankful he was there for me. He did everything I asked even though, like most people, doctors' offices were one of his least favorite places. He sat with me who-knows-how-many times as I cried. Then we made new plans together and worked toward completely changing our lives.

But then, over a matter of months, everything changed. The closer we got to moving out of state, the more unexplainably angry he got. When it came down to it, I don't think he wanted to move as much as he/we thought he wanted to move.

He was the man I married, the man I chose to be the father of my children. When our children never came, it turned out he and I actually wanted very different things out of life. While my marriage got me through infertility, my marriage did not survive infertility.

There were several arguments leading up to me leaving him. The first one was bad, but I chalked it up to the stress of moving. The second one was also bad. It was only a month after the first argument and it really made me think. The third argument... Honestly? I went to bed. I was so tired and so sad. But I was also so, so over it. I knew I was done.

In a way, I did know almost overnight. It sucked and I didn't want to leave him, but I also didn't want to stay married to him. I knew I'd figure it out, one step at a time. I knew I'd survive getting divorced. 

Over the course of deciding to leave him, telling him, separating our stuff, dealing with the paperwork, and seeing him for the last time, I felt every single emotion possible. Except regret.

Now it has been a year. And we are in the middle of a global crisis. And all I can think about is how crazy everything is and how relieved I am to be divorced. I'm infertile and I'm divorced and I'm content. It's weird. Infertility and divorce refocused me. I know what's important to me in my life now. Infertility and divorce took all of my fucks. I have none left to give.

On the surface, I am currently anxious and worried. This pandemic and all of the changes it's causing are extremely stressful. Everything is at risk- our health, the economy, social norms, life as we knew it.

But deep down, I also have a hardened resolve. I may hate what's going on, but I'll get through it.

So here's to a year of divorce and to the gratitude I've cultivated for life's hardest learned lessons.

My Last Name

I was never going to change my name if/when I got married. But my (now ex) husband wanted his children to have his last name and I wanted my children to have my last name, so it just made sense for me to change my name. Plus, I liked his last name and so, after a lifetime of saying "I would never," I did.

I changed my last name solely for my children.

And now I am divorced and in the process of restoring my old name.

Every task related to changing my name back irritates me. Frustrates me. But I know what this is about. I've been here before. It's not about changing my name, per se. The irritation and frustration is about infertility. It's about shedding the last physical remnant I have left of my children.


Oh.


Well, that makes sense why it's so hard.

Still Feeling Foggy

My divorce was finalized this week and I promptly chucked my cell phone into the washing machine with the sheets. It didn't fully survive. I can make and receive calls and texts, but the camera doesn't work.

And I really enjoy taking pictures. It's actually a great mental health practice for me. I got back into keeping photo albums during my depressive episode of 2009 and I've been at it ever since. Vacations, good meals, crafts I've made, friends I've seen... My photo albums remind me of all of my good times and memories. So, needless to say, I will be buying a new phone. For my mental health of course. Hahaha :)

But seriously. I initiated the divorce; I wanted the divorce. Well, that sounds weird but you know what I mean... Since there were no compromises happening and our incompatibilities weren't going to change, I just needed the whole thing to be over. And now it is. And I feel better. It's a huge weight off my shoulders.

But I am still feeling foggy. As evidenced by my now-washed cell phone.

It's the ending of a marriage, the ending of a friendship, the ending of an era, and the definite ending to my dreams of having and raising our children together.

Those are no small endings.

So I'm doing what I prescribe to myself best: I'm taking it easy. I'm not driving if I don't have to. I'm not making commitments if I don't need to. I'm not talking to people who stress me out. I'm asking myself throughout the day, "What do I need right now?" I'm paying attention to when I'm hungry and when I'm sleepy. I'm extending myself grace and patience when I get easily upset or frustrated. Overall, I am just trying to slow down. I don't want to accidentally hurt myself (or anyone else!) while I am navigating this fog.

To try something different, I signed up for a weekly sewing class a couple of weeks ago. Maybe needles aren't the best thing for me to handle right now haha, but I am excited to put all of my tired thoughts aside and learn something new. And now, my friends, I am off to class! :)

Thankful for Support

I need this space. I think the biggest thing I lost in my divorce was the infertility support. My ex was awesome at supporting me. I often thought about that. How can a somewhat emotionally unreachable person be SO GOOD at supporting me through my worst nightmare?

I think it goes back to what he told me once, that raising kids was my lifelong dream but it wasn't his. I think he could be there for me because he wasn't traumatized. But because he wasn't traumatized, he didn't undergo a massive transformation like I did while recovering from infertility. In fact, other than his wife falling apart, he didn't really have anything to recover from. We made a new life plan together and he always supported me through it, but I guess he didn't want to move and change as much as we both thought he wanted to. So, even though I said I wasn't going to blog about it, that's what I've come up with in a nutshell with regard to trying to understand the abrupt ending to my marriage.

Like I said, the biggest loss for me in my divorce was losing my main support. I lost the one person who stood by me and saw and understood everything I went through while trying to conceive.

Thankfully, I have you all.

Our community understands my pain, my loss, and my joy despite my pain and loss. Thank you.

When I feel alone, I can log on and reach out to connect, read to feel understood, and write to cry, vent, and/or celebrate. Thank you.

And, it was perfectly timed for right when I needed it, Mali published a book (which I promptly purchased, read, and reread).

The support I receive from you and from our community... It's priceless. Invaluable.

Thank you.

My 4th Survivor Anniversary

I observed my 4th Survivor Anniversary a couple of weeks ago. I was not blogging on my first survivor anniversary, but I wrote about my second anniversary here and my third anniversary here.

My 4th anniversary brings... Many conflicted feelings. I was not very okay for the first three months of this calendar year. I cried often and blogged about it a bit. I am also simultaneously beyond okay; in fact, I am totally kicking ass. Of course, I don't often receive this message from society so I make sure to remind myself pretty frequently. ;)

I tried to get pregnant for four years. (2.5 years of charting, 6 months of agonizing treatments, and 1 year of hoping for a miracle.) Now it has been four years since my last round of IVF did not result in pregnancy. It has been four years since I, within the course of one month, decided to stop medical intervention, apply to go back to school for a new career, and then move after graduation to a different state to live a completely different life.

And here I am. Graduated, moved, and living life without my children after infertility. And pretty happily so. And I'm also getting divorced... Oh did I forget to mention that?

Of course I know I haven't mentioned that. I have had no idea how to mention it. I've been going through it (hence, the real reason for my blogging hiatus last fall), and you know how it is when you are actually going through something--it can be hard to articulate. So, for now, I will continue to blog about infertility, but I probably won't blog about my marriage or subsequent divorce. But, just so you know, I am no longer married.

So my 4th Survivor Anniversary finds me in a definitely unexpected place. I am happy and I am content. A part of me will always be sad about not getting to raise my children. I continue to grieve and process infertility. I am also processing my divorce. Plus, I'm feeling a bit stressed and overwhelmed with being on the job market and having my lease end soon. So, honestly, I am exhausted. But that's life. Stress comes and goes. Infertility showed me how strong and resilient I really am. I will be fine. I will find a job and a new apartment. Life goes on and I continue to choose to enjoy the little things. I will continue to cook and craft and try new stuff. In fact, tonight I went to a basic sewing class to learn how to sew.

Life is meant to be lived. I am so grateful to have my peace of mind, the opportunity to start a new career, and the rest of my life to explore everything my new home has to offer. From one survivor to another, Happy Anniversary (for whenever yours is)! Whatever you are doing (no matter how much or how little it may seem right now), you are doing awesome!!