Sunday Reset

One of the best things about my job is having a regular work schedule. It makes it so much easier to have routines. Like Sundays for example. It's the day I do laundry and dishes. I clean out the fridge. I look at my planner for the week. It's a weekly reset for me, and it's made a huge difference in my life. What used to be overwhelming is now very satisfying.

I also notice I've been blogging on Sundays. I don't have a list of drafts. Every time I write a post, I open my laptop and start writing. When I'm done, I read over it a couple of times and publish it. It's become another part of my Sunday.

However, today my thoughts are scattered. I've been thinking that maybe I've been grieving a little lately. I've been so tired for so long, and I'm operating at maximum capacity. I keep doing stuff like preventative healthcare appointments and trying to buy a house because I feel like I am so close to being done with stuff for awhile. I might get a break from major life stressors soon.

It's okay. I knew this year would be tough. I am relieved that I'm past the halfway mark. 

But that's where the grieving comes in. It has taken so long to recover from infertility. It has taken so long to create a different life (one where I don't have kids) from the life I assumed I'd be living (being a mother). There were a lot of other things along the way, like my divorce and the pandemic. It's just been exhausting.

I noticed I was feeling a little sad for a couple of weeks. It wasn't about not having kids necessarily. It was more about how much time, energy, and resources it took to change my life. And yes, I'm very grateful for the time, energy, and resources, but I also get to say that it sucked. It sucked that so many other people got to live their lives as is while I poured myself into creating something completely new and unknown.

And then this weekend happened. Where I realized, by hearing about a loved one and their young adult kid, that my children will never do dumb shit and/or break my heart. My kids are not here. My heartbreak comes from not having them.

The contrast. Having kids, not having kids. 

And the similarities. Heartbreak all the same.

I've been quietly thinking about all of this as I've gone about my chores today. My laundry is done and my kitchen is picked up. I've got a grocery list written for tomorrow after work. I feel prepared for the upcoming week. I've still gotta keep going; I've got a lot to do at home and work for the next 1 - 3 months. Then I am hoping I can do less and merely maintain for the winter.

Thinking of you as we start a new week. I know things aren't easy for anyone right now. 💜

Cute infographic found on Notes by Thalia

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.

Surviving

What can I write on this last day of August? 

Well, I survived another summer. I appreciate all four seasons, but summer is my least favorite.
I really hate the heat.

But that's what we do, isn't it? Survive. And everything we've learned through our devastating experiences can serve us well as we navigate the uncertainty of today's world.

As infertility survivors, we know life doesn't go as planned. We know there are no guarantees even after a full life of working hard and being nice.

So what do we do? 

I highly recommend feeling your feelings. Don't deny them. Don't shove them down. Don't try to eat, drink, smoke, or spend your feelings away into nonexistence. It never works. You have to acknowledge them. You have to feel them. If not, I truly believe they get stuck and make you feel worse. So feel mad, sad, confused, frustrated, distraught, exhausted... Your feelings aren't your fault, but they are your responsibility to manage.

Just like with infertility, nobody can do it for us.

And just like with infertility, we can practice looking for the little things. The little moments of joy that we find in a good meal or a quiet moment. Appreciating the little things is not a solution to the world's problems, but it can be a personal salve. You deserve to feel good. But sometimes we have to dig really deep to find it. 

If you can't find a glimmer of joy in the moment, that's okay too. It's not your fault! That's how it is sometimes. I encourage you to dig in your heels so that you don't slide down deeper into the hole. Get out your mental pickaxe and thrust it into the wall you're clinging to. 

Hold on for better times.

💜

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.

Make Room for Both

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, all that rambling to say:

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

*****

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

Knowing I Won't Have Kids

I will never have children. This was an unfathomable nightmare/reality for me to face at first, but it has gotten easier with time. For 35 years I thought I'd be a mom and I planned my life around it, including the career I chose, the man I married, and the house we bought. It makes sense that I could not change my lifelong thinking overnight. 

Knowing I am not going to have children is easier than trying to get pregnant. Living my life knowing that I won't have kids is easier than coping with the initial years after the realization. My life is not easy, but it's a whole lot easier than it was.

I still get sad. Moments come and go throughout the week. Several days ago I saw an acquaintance with her two little kids. They made a cute picture, the three of them walking off into the sunset. I felt nostalgic for something I've never had. 

Then last night I cried. I had a moment where I was very sad about not having children and so I cried for a couple of minutes. It came after a fun night out with friends. With food, drinks, music, conversation, and a late night, I think I was overstimulated and that's what triggered it. I'm just so dang sensitive. Oh well. 

But I feel happy too. There are things I look forward to. I feel joyful, enthusiastic, and grateful. Not all the time of course. That would be weird. But it's nice to feel positive feelings when all I felt for many years were negative feelings and emptiness. It's no small feat to enjoy the life we're living.

I will never have children, but now that I know that, it frees me to live the life that I do have. 

Unexpected Moment of Grief

I feel compelled to state the obvious: it's the last day of January 2024. Is it just me or did that month seem to go by pretty fast? I wasn't even having that great of a time and it still flew by. February tomorrow. Huh. How about that.

I've written so much about how far I've come from my devastation of not being able to raise children. I like to share what changes I've made and what makes me happy. I like to share that I like my life. But I also like to be real. And the truth is that I still grieve. Something will trigger my pain and then I feel the losses that come throughout life when you're involuntarily childless.

Someone showed me a picture the other day. It was someone I know very well that showed it to me. I thought they'd know better. The picture was of a baby of someone else I know very well that is now grown up. I'd never seen a picture of them as a baby. I burst into tears. 

Whoa. Didn't see that coming... 

But, I know I'm low on emotional resources these days. Plus, I'm in my season of grief, that time of year where I was undergoing IVF nine years ago. The body remembers. I give myself grace. 

You know what I did. I felt my sadness, and I let myself cry without judgment. Then the moment really did pass. It took an hour or two, but that was it. Things like that no longer incapacitate me.

But I want to acknowledge that the moments of grief still happen.

And time marches on.

Coping with Trauma Anniversaries

Yesterday marked nine years since my first IVF did not result in pregnancy. I woke up very groggy and dragged myself out of bed. I felt out of sorts and had a rather short, yet cathartic, cry. I had plans to do something fun by myself, but I didn't feel like doing it. I made myself go do it anyway, and I'm glad I did. (See last pic below.) I still didn't feel great but it was better than not going. For a lot of reasons. Out of the house, fresh air, exercise...

Today I woke up, and I didn't feel groggy. Didn't have to drag myself out of bed. Didn't cry and didn't need to. Ran a couple of errands and completed a couple of tasks. Functioning was easier.

It's so interesting how the physical body stores trauma. 

What do you do when you don't know what to do with yourself?

I've been doing a lot of coloring lately. By the end of the day, it's all I can do. It doesn't require thought and it's colorful. It relaxes me and cheers me up at the same time. However, I don't recommend the coloring books that are marketed for adults. Those pictures are too detailed. I prefer the coloring books that are mass produced for kids (but not any kinds related to commercial characters). Those pictures are fun without requiring too much detail. A crayon will do. No need to bust out a sharpened colored pencil.

Where do you struggle? 

Laundry? Dishes? Errands? (Give yourself grace; we all struggle somewhere.) For me, it's cooking. But I want to make more meals at home. I was happy when I made this simple dinner this week. I boiled and drained Fettucine noodles. Then I added a jar of pre-made Alfredo sauce and some freshly grated Parmesan. Baked it in the oven at 350 for 30 minutes. Topped with more Parmesan and served with Caesar salad made from a salad kit. Easy, delicious, and affordable.

What activity makes you feel at peace?

What can you do where on even your worst day you can think, "Well, this doesn't totally suck."
Do more of that.

Sadness Comes and Goes

I cried on Xmas. Well, first I went to work. I prefer to work on the morning of Dec. 25th. It distracts me from thinking about Xmas mornings "that coulda been."

As an aside, I feel fairly confident I will never spend Xmas morning with anyone's children ever. Maybe if my niece or nephew (who have both repeatedly said they won't have kids) have kids. Maybe.

So, I'm really grateful that I work in a hospital and have the opportunity to work on the holiday. This year co-workers were wearing silly sweaters and hats, and someone brought in a bunch of cookies and snacks. Everyone was in a good mood. It was fun. It was festive.

And then I felt sad when I got home. So I gave myself that moment too.

I love that women who are childless not by choice can share what all they have overcome and what all they enjoy now. I also love that we are still honest when we have our sad moments.

And in the afternoon of Xmas 2023, I was sad. I felt my pain. I always wanted a family of my own. I don't have that, and I never will. We don't know the future but, because of age and logistics and everything, I have most likely missed being a close part of a small child's life. I will not have holidays with them. I will not watch them grow up. I will not get to help them and play with them. 

However, I did get to watch my niece and nephew grow up. That was pretty cool. I was a teenager when they were each born. The three of us are pretty close, and I feel like we are only getting closer as we grow older and continue to choose to have each other in our lives. Speaking of, I am overdue for a visit to them both in their respective cities...

Anyway, I digress. Which is how my childless-related sadness seems to go these days too. When I feel it, I feel it... And then I eventually get distracted by other thoughts or feelings. The sadness no longer stays all day (or week or month or year).

So I didn't have a great Xmas. I've got some stressful stuff going on that I am getting through. I loved seeing my family beforehand, and I'm glad I got to work on the actual holiday. But for the first time ever, I didn't even have a Xmas dinner. And now I've already packed up my tree and decorations. The Xmas holiday is over at my house and that is fine. I also look forward to it again next year.

Now, when I'm not working, I am resting and being still. You've heard me say it a million times, but I am tired. I am climbing one more mountain before I can truly rest for a minute, but I am pacing myself for the next couple of weeks. And even with my stress and sadness, I am looking forward to the future. I love seeing family, friends, and enjoying the little things.

🔮😎

Energy Changes

I've been hard at work, both at my jobs and with school. I have less than a month until graduation, and every minute counts at this point.

And I have done nothing today. I slept in, ate pizza, watched a movie, and ordered some fabric.

Maybe that's what I needed to do. I definitely feel like my brain is slowing down. I know my brain and body are tired. It's the last mile or two of this marathon.

I am amazed I have been able to do this school program. I am giddy that I get to conduct actual research. I am in awe at what is possible after such profound, life-altering loss. 

We don't have to save the world. We do not have that responsibility. But we can all find things that we are interested in and put our time and energy into stuff. 

...When we have the energy.

Because at first you don't.

Not for a long time.

Grieving is EXHAUSTING.

I will never forget that massively heavy feeling.
I will never miss feeling so adrift and pointless.
I will never take energy or inspiration for granted.

So I may be tired today. I may be stressed about the upcoming week and all of the work that my jobs and school will require. But I can do it. I have the energy to do it. 

And if I don't? I'll still be closer than I was before.

We Are Not Robots

I'm glad I started blogging when I did. There's no way I could write about the hardest years now with the same rawness as I did back then. I'm glad I tried to capture what I was feeling at the time. Blogging was completely out of my comfort zone, but I didn't know what else to do. I was walking death and everything hurt.

There are several messages I've repeatedly given on this blog. 

1. Infertility sucks.
2. Feel your feelings.
3. You deserve to enjoy your life.

Let's talk about #2. What happens when you don't feel your feelings? In my experience, they get stuck. The feelings get stuck inside of me. They start to rot and they turn to anger. Stuck feelings make me a very angry person. I experienced this in my teens, twenties, and thirties, each decade for different reasons. 

But if I let it all out... If I frequently cry quietly... If I occasionally cry loudly... If I use my words to tell a person why I am mad, sad, or disappointed... If I journal honestly... If I blog vulnerably...

It gets out. The feelings get out. And they don't stay stuck.

Things that used to hurt me, hurt less. Things that used to bother me, I just don't care.

It makes room for other things. 

(Which, years ago, was just more grief. But that's a part of the process too.)

I've yelled this from roof tops at every job I've had: we are not robots! I couldn't care less about unfunded mandates and pointless, inefficient protocols. I loathe productivity standards. 

(Image found in an article called "We Are Not Robots" about workplace productivity. https://aurora.dawn.com/news/1144202)

I am a human being. I have good days and bad. I am awesome, and I make mistakes. 

I don't know... It's just... I read something recently, started crafting a response in my head, and decided to just write it down here. From constant productivity at work and home to the expectation that we process our emotions in a tidy and linear fashion, I am freaking over it.

We are not robots. 

And also? INFERTILITY FUCKING SUCKS.

My point is this. Be sad. Be devastated. Be mad. Be livid. Be angry. Be depressed. Feel sorry for yourself. Acknowledge your losses. Not raising kids when you wanted to destroys dreams and life as you knew it. 

But you're still left at the end. You're still here. 

And you deserve to enjoy something about your existence, no matter how small.

(Image found in a brief post about grief. https://www.debbieaugenthaler.com/listening-is-often-the-only-thing-3-2-2-2-2/)

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/

Grief Anniversary

I've written about it before, but I always forget. My body always remembers.

Grief anniversaries.

But first, let me back up for a second.

The holidays are over! There were many years where I eagerly awaited the new year, knowing that all of the stereotypes and expectations of the holiday season would be behind me. The holidays don't bother me so much anymore. I celebrate the parts I like and leave the rest. They fly by so fast now. One minute I'm shopping for the Thanksgiving meal; the next minute I'm taking ornaments off of the tree.

So you'd think I would remember what comes next... My season of failed IVF.

On January 1, 2015 I went in for my first embryo transfer. I could barely sleep the night before, but it obviously wasn't from disrupted sleep due to partying the old year away. I was extremely anxious about oversleeping or having a car wreck en route to the clinic or some other disaster striking and wasting all that time, money, and energy on my first IVF cycle. (Yeah, it sucked. I hated every second of it. I only endured IVF for my children.)

This new year was weird. After months of heavy reflection, I told my boyfriend in the afternoon of NYE that we needed to take some time apart. Yeah, that completely sucked. I obviously love him, but I feel like I have two choices: stay how things are or change the situation. Much like infertility: I couldn't stay how things were (years of charting followed by repeated failed treatments), so I had to change my situation.  

It always sucks not liking your options.

And about my breakup, I still don't know what it looks like. It's only been communicated, not yet implemented. But I share here because that is what happened on my NYE. It wasn't the greatest day and I went to bed at 9:30. That has to be the earliest I've ever gone to bed on 12/31.

Of course, I woke up the next day not feeling it. But... I was REALLY not feeling it. I felt empty and weepy. And I kept thinking, but this is nothing new... I've been sad and frustrated for awhile... Why do my feelings feel so unexpected?

And then I remembered. Eight years ago I went in for my first embryo transfer. I was an anxious wreck. My husband was barely present. I was full of hope (sorta), and I've yet to have that level of hope since. Even though I liked my doctor and my clinic (a rare occurence!), the whole experience was awful.

And, spoiler alert, it didn't work.

And there I was yesterday, eight years later, feeling my grief for so many things at once.

The worst day will be on the 11th. I'm scheduled to work that day. But that's the day I found out my first IVF cycle did not result in pregnancy, and I fell to my knees just howling with my dog anxiously circling me trying to make it better.

Maybe I won't be at my best on the 11th, but I am still going to show up. Maybe I will encounter a patient that needs something only I can offer. I will go to work that day for them.

A Tsunami

Whoa. Saturday hit hard. Out of seemingly nowhere.

The wave metaphor for grief has always made sense to me. When you're first faced with loss, you are lost at sea holding on to whatever you can to survive. The waves are tall and relentless as they constantly crash down on you, throwing you underwater and making you lose all sense of direction. As time goes on, the waves get a little less tall and a little further apart. After awhile, you might even experience some brief respite of calm seas. The storm is still there, but it's not as bad.

Well, on Saturday there must have been an earthquake because I got hit by a tsunami.

(For the purpose of this post, I searched tidal wave v. tsunami to learn which was worse.)

Oh man, I don't remember the last time I felt like that...

I remember having a rough time in March, but this was worse than that. This was deep, guttural, primal, crushing, and devastating. And there was no way to stop it. No way out.

I think I know what caused the earthquake. There was a summer festival downtown. Vendors, food trucks, live music. It was fun. We went for a bit, got hot, came home, and returned in the evening where we sat outside at a brewery and had a couple of beers. 

There were kids. Cute kids playing in the grass, playing with dogs, playing with toys that they brought in a bag while their families enjoyed leisure time together outside in the setting sun. 

I hadn't been around kids since I left pediatrics in December. 

Nobody was watching them. Their parents were distracted by conversation. My eyes were glued to them. I was trying not to stare but one little girl looked a little too young to be climbing the short brick wall she had found. Once a teacher, always a teacher... I just couldn't help it.

The tears started before we even got home. We were walking and I warned my boyfriend, "I'm gonna cry." To his credit, he did a great job of trying to distract me, trying to get me thinking or laughing about something else. It just didn't work this time.

I wasn't very fun for the rest of the night. :(

I cried. And cried. And cried and cried. My eyeballs hurt.

If I'd had kids, I wouldn't be watching them 24/7, I know that. I don't judge those parents for enjoying their time with friends. Their kids weren't unsafe. No one was near a street and all the kids were playing nicely. 

I just wanted to have kids. Even though they'd be past the little kid stage by now.

It was a tsunami of grief. 

After the crying had run through my system, I went outside and lied down on the grass to look at the stars. Yes, I'm thankful and, yes, I like my life. But this was a moment of deep grief and there wasn't anything to do but to feel it.

I remembered that I used to live like this. This used to be how I felt every damn day.

I slept like a rock on Saturday night. I was still tired on Sunday. I felt hungover from grief. It wasn't from the beers. It takes more than a couple of light beers to do that. This was definitely from grief.

Today is better. Time marches on. I think it'll be a long time before I feel like that again.

Holidays I can count on. IVF anniversaries, no doubt. I can see those dates coming.
But days out of the blue? When the grief hits like a brick wall at top speed?

We do what we can. Sometimes we ride the wave. Sometimes we just do our best not to sink.

When I Feel the Emptiness

There is an emptiness inside me and yesterday it really ached. I don't know why, but the news has been incredibly stressful lately. Scary. Nonstop. Maybe that's what exacerbated the feeling.

I recognized the feeling. It's a longing. It's an urge to nurture, to mother, and there's nowhere for me to put this feeling, this energy. It makes me sad. It makes me cry.

I love my life. I really do.
I love myself, my home, and my partner. I love what I do for work, and I love my hobbies.

But nothing will take the place of my children.
I really wanted to raise them. I really wanted to parent.

I shared my feelings with my boyfriend and he said we could get a dog. This was not an offensive suggestion to me. I had the same thought. It would give me something to love and something to take care of. Even if I couldn't take it to sports practice and teach it how to read.

I know I can volunteer or work with children. Lots of kids (all?) need more happy, healthy adults in their lives. I like doing this, but it doesn't fill the unique emptiness that's inside me. It's not the salve that I need. Not even close.

So yesterday I drank my coffee, acknowledged my feelings, and shed some tears. I decided it was fine if I did nothing all day. Then I decided to do something anyway. What can I say, I was bored. Plus, I had a paper due. So I spent hours and hours (and hours and hours) writing. I'm glad I made myself work even when I didn't feel like it because I woke up this morning and I think my paper is done. On to the next assignment!

The emptiness stayed with me all day. Kind of a gnawing feeling. I thought more about getting a dog. It's been four and a half years since my beloved pup crossed the rainbow bridge. She gave me great joy and comfort. Maybe it is time for another. But I'm not rushing into anything.

I thought about how else I could manage the emptiness. And I thought about pouring into myself. Can I love and nurture myself? Can I teach and take care of myself? My kids might have only partially listened to me, but maybe I could listen to myself. Food for thought... 

It's the approach I'm going with for now.

Picture retrieved from https://poetryofliving.com/2018/11/10/emptiness/

My Life After Early Grief

I have a ton of schoolwork to do this week. Two papers are due on Sunday and one paper is due on Monday, and I have yet to start writing any of them. So I want to write a blog post real quick before the week escapes me.

What to write about, what to write about...

Well, I've got some feelings and unformed thoughts regarding grieving early in life.

My mom called me yesterday. She told me not to tell anyone that she called or what she called about, but she said that my dad has been feeling down in the dumps. I really did not appreciate that she told me something with the caveat that I wasn't to tell him she called me and I wasn't to tell anyone what she told me. I don't like feeling secretive. In fact, I hung up the phone and told my boyfriend, "I'm glad we don't keep secrets from each other. I don't like them."

Anyway, my mom asked me to call my dad for Father's Day. I said I already did, but he didn't answer so I left a message. She said he was really missing his dad (not hard to do--my Grandad was AWESOME), some recent life changes have been harder than anticipated, and that my dad was having a time period where he was really feeling his age.

She said, "When you get to be 70, you just start to think about how fast life went. You wonder what's left and what to do next."

(Um, I recognize that she told me not to tell anyone anything and here I am telling all of you...)

It made me think about people who are forced to grieve early in life. People like us, who wanted to raise children but didn't get to. People who lose a child. Young people who lose a parent. Young widows and young widowers. People living in countries with overt war. 

We don't get to go along, live our lives as planned, be busy with those plans, and then have a moment after all of it is said and done to think, "Wow, that went fast. What now?"

Instead, at least for me anyway, the initial years dragged on in agonizing pain as I grappled with "What now?" many, many decades before my peers will face this question.

I told my mom, "In some ways, I'm already prepared for that existential question at 70."

To her credit she said, "Yes, I guess so. You and [her younger sister whose 7-year-old daughter died] have already been through more than most of us have."

I see it a little bit in my boyfriend. His stepdaughter and his son are grown. His son only recently left the house last year at age 20. When you've been raising and providing for a child for over 20 years and they've only been out of the house for a year, it's still recent. My boyfriend is not quite sure what to do next. I think he's a little lost for the moment. I mean, he lost his entire structure basically overnight. "Now what," for sure.

In that way, I am fortunate. It came at an immeasurable cost. But, I am not going to have to manage empty nest syndrome. I am not going to retire (well, one, because I doubt I'll ever be able to afford to retire), but I am not going to retire and think, "What am I going to do now?" 

I've already wrestled with these thoughts. I've already died a spiritual and existential death and brought myself back to life.

Life IS short. (Not while you're grieving. While you're grieving, the days are torturously long.)

But now? Probably for the first time in my life, I want to live for a long, long time. There's so much I want to do. There are so many quilts I want to make. So many books I want to read. So many runs I want to ski. And, as I've recently learned, there is so much research I want to do. 

Life is short. There's so much I want to enjoy.

Mothering Myself

Oh, what a day! I slept horribly, woke up early, and tried to break through my groggy fog with coffee. But then it got good. I attended Sarah's online yoga class and it was incredible. It was so seemingly simple but also a full body experience. And I attended with four other women, two I "know" from blogging and two I didn't know. Altogether we represented three different countries. Pretty freaking awesome. I loved it.

I felt so good and grounded afterward... I ended up going out to eat at a restaurant.

What??

Yes. Yes, I did folks. After practically hibernating for 25 months I went out to eat on freaking Mother's Day. Hahahaha. I crack myself up. But it was awesome. Infection numbers are really low in our rural county so I felt comfortable. Also, we went at an off time (late afternoon--after the church crowd, before the dinner crowd) so it wasn't crowded, which added to our comfort. I ordered bacon wrapped shrimp, which I used to eat every Friday night but haven't had since I moved out of state FOUR years ago. Then a large party of four men and four teenage boys sat in the same area as us. Not a Mother's Day vibe in sight, ha! No one wished me a Happy Mother's Day and nobody offered me a flower (which, honestly, I would have taken lol). Dear God, the food was so good. Oh, it was so good. My boyfriend didn't have to cook. I didn't have to do the dishes. It. Was. Glorious! And on a day when I used to never leave the house. Wonders never cease...

So, that was my day. And below is the post that I had planned for today. I wrote it a week or two ago and now here it is for you.

Take care of yourself. You are important.

*****

Disclaimer: 

If my mother read this, she would be crushed. She has her own traumas that inform her behavior. She loves me. She really does. And I love her.

HOWEVER

This is my truth.

*****

I was emotionally neglected as a child. My feelings were discounted and invalidated. My developmentally appropriate behaviors were judged and punished. I was called names, told what to wear, and was forced to go to church three times a week. This was during a time when I was enrolled in all honors and AP classes and highly involved in extra-curricular activities. A typical day for me, from waking up to going to sleep, was at least 16 hours long. I was exhausted, not to mention clinically depressed. I was your typical overachiever, but the implied message I often got at home from my mother was that I was selfish and ungrateful.

The thing that sticks with me the most was being told, "I will always love you, but I do NOT like you. I'm going to this dinner and I will pretend in front of your father that everything is fine," as we walked out the door to celebrate my 18th birthday.

I had to be my own mother. I had to take care of myself emotionally. The skills I learned as a child and teenager have served me well in life, but at what cost? 

I looked forward to mothering my own child(ren). I looked forward to holding their hand when they were sick instead of making fun of them for being dramatic. I looked forward to cooking them breakfast instead of sleeping in every day. I looked forward to supporting them through difficult jobs, relationships, and decisions instead of telling them that they didn't deserve to make more money or telling them, "That's just life."

I know it wouldn't have been fair to my child(ren). It was not up to my kids to help me heal my childhood wounds. But I will always be honest and... Honestly? I was looking forward to creating what I never had.

I didn't feel supported emotionally when I was young and I don't have a healthy adult relationship with my mother now. The criticism and attempts to control me have never stopped. I never seem to be doing the right thing. It doesn't feel good, but I no longer take 100% responsibility for it all.

My mother had a tough childhood. She has her own unresolved traumas. Older me can empathize with her and I understand that she does the best she can. I know she loves me. I know she wants the best for me, even if we don't agree on what that is. I'm an adult and I DO know what is best for me now.

It's just another thing that stings, another thing that infertility took from me. 

I don't get to mother my children. But I will continue to mother myself.

*****

To end on a funny note, my mom found this card I made her 30 years ago and texted me the picture this morning. You can't say I'm not honest! Hahahahaha.

Can't Stop Won't Stop

I can't stop...

Crying? 

Quilting? 

Grieving?

D) All of the above

And that's the truth.

***

I spilled coffee EVERYWHERE this morning because of course I did. I knocked my full mug off the tv tray so its contents got to get some trajectory behind its fall. Clean up involved mopping. Towels just didn't cut it. (I also admit to adding milk and chocolate syrup to my coffee, which made it even more important to do a thorough cleanup job.)

Then I did it again. Knocked over a half full mug of coffee (thankfully plain this time) and it spilled all over the counter and behind the refrigerator.

At least I hadn't dumped the mop water yet.

***

Today is my 7th Survivor Anniversary. Grief affects cognition, which can in turn affect things like motor skills. I've written about this before here and here.

I'm just glad I was able to clear my calendar for today and I don't have to drive anywhere.

It keeps us all safer.

***

My boyfriend got frustrated with the first coffee spill. He got really annoyed with the second one. I was annoyed at his annoyance, but, at the same time, I recognized that he is allowed to have his own feelings. (I mean, he is going through a pandemic and his own life stressors too.)

He got snappy. I told him to go outside. He took the suggestion. Then I burst into tears.
They started out as tears of frustration but they ended up being the Big Feelings kind of tears. 

I went to the bathroom for privacy and had a good, long, and hard cry. I felt as bad, if not worse, than I did on this exact day seven years ago. It was AWFUL. I thought to myself, "What do I do with this?? Where do I go from here?! What do I even do today?" And the answer was... Nothing. 

So I sat there and cried and howled and missed my children.

***

Later I joined my boyfriend outside. He said, "I hate today." I replied, "Eh, hate this morning, not the whole day. Who knows what the afternoon will be like." He said, "Well, I hope it doesn't involve more spilled coffee." And I said, "If it does, we'll just clean it up. My tears this morning had nothing to do with you or with coffee. I don't give a shit about spilled coffee. No offense."

***

And that's what it's like being with me. ;) 

Because that's what it's like for me living without being the mother I always thought I'd be. I have no children to raise. There are no children in my home to love, encourage, and watch grow up.

And it hurts. 

And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

***

But I'm still here so I go on... 

The afternoon feels much better than this morning. My boyfriend and I went for a walk around the neighborhood. It is still cold and crisp, but the sun is shining and the snow is melting. It's really obvious that the season is changing. 

Now I'm home in my faithful recliner (see pic) writing you all. Next, I will watch a movie and do some handsewing on the couch. I really do enjoy the little things.

I can't stop/won't stop: crying, grieving, quilting, loving, laughing, healing, and trying to have fun.

My latest project is a simple pillow case. I had an extra block left after I made a quilt top and my boyfriend suggested I make a pillow case. Duhhh. Of course! So I did. And I love it. 

Sewing mends the soul. It is literally putting scraps together to make something beautiful/useful.
The metaphors for sewing, mending, and healing are endless...

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. 💜