The Last Onesies

For the first time in over 20 years, I do not own a single onesie. It's the end of an era.

I always wanted to be a mom. I dreamed about it as a kid and planned for it my whole life. Once my (now ex-) husband I started dating, I started buying onesies. I figured I wouldn't want to buy the cute, expensive onesies once the baby was here and I needed actual diapers and stuff. I had quite a collection, and then I gave them all away. 

All except for six onesies I couldn't give away. I needed to place them in the right home. 

And then I met a very cool co-worker. And I knew she would appreciate the onesies. We had a work event last week. She's out on maternity leave, but she came and brought the baby. I brought the onesies and gave them to her. I was right. She loved them. But what I didn't know is that one of the band onesies was one of her favorite bands! That was an awesome surprise. So she and I both have one of the same favorite bands. And yes, she already sent me pics of her newborn swimming in this onesie for 6-month-olds. She's excited that it's so big on him so he can wear it longer hahaha.

Didn't that work out?

Also, at the work event (it was a casual lunch), there were 4 women standing in a circle. Me, my co-worker with her baby, and two other co-workers. My co-worker asked us if we wanted to hold the baby and... All three of us said no! Hahahaha. It cracked me up. That's the largest group of women I've been in where no one wanted to hold the baby. Hahahaha. And my co-worker is cool. She didn't mind or take it personally. She was just offering. I loved it.

No more onesies for me! I don't own any. I won't be buying any. I don't want to be pregnant, and I don't want a newborn. I don't want a toddler, and I don't want a kid. My own children would be preteens and teenagers by now and that would've been fine with me. But they're not coming in this lifetime so I am living a different life. A life without onesies.

I'm glad the last 15 years are behind me. So so soooo glad.
I'm grateful for this new chapter. Hell, it's more than a chapter.
I'm grateful for this new book in the series of my life. I kicked my own ass to create it.

Recovered from Burnout in 2025

I had a good holiday. I was in my new home with my boyfriend and cats. We didn't decorate this year, but we opened some small presents in the morning. I called my parents and texted his mom. Then every place was closed so we were forced to cook when we got hungry, haha. Fortunately, that means our kitchen is unpacked to a functional level. Yay! So I made a spontaneous holiday meal: roasted brussel sprouts, mashed potatoes, and homemade mac and cheese. It felt so good to have a cozy sense of normalcy.

I haven't sewn in months. I miss it. I miss feeling the fabric, hearing the rhythmic hum of the machine, and creating something cute and/or beautiful. But I'm getting closer... I unpacked my sewing machine this weekend, and I found my thread and notions. I ordered an inexpensive table to sew on because I donated my dining room table when we moved. I'll be sewing again soon. I probably won't unpack all of my fabric, but I will have what I need for a project or two.

Moving doesn't get easier. Maybe it gets harder. I was comfortable where I was. I lived there for five years. For four years, I lived in a home that I owned. I won't be settled like that for a while. But I'm glad I moved. This place will be better for us in the long-run. It has jobs and housing.

My hope for 2026 is stability. I know that's not in my control, but I will gladly take whatever stability comes my way. I hope my job stays fine, my rental stays fine, my car stays fine, my relationships stay fine, I stay fine, and my cats stay fine. (Lol! I'm not asking for much!) 

I've been saying it for years now, but I will gladly take a boring year. Please. :)

We are wrapping up 2025. I'm reflecting like I usually do this time of year. The first half of 2025 was all about recovering from burnout after a difficult first half of 2024. It took a full year of reducing my demands to recover from extreme burnout sustained after a decade. Then all of a sudden, the last third of 2025 was all about moving (literally) at rapid speed.

You can say this about any year, but it's the first time I've ever thought about it. Year 2025 was the bridge I needed to get from 2024 (awful) to 2026 (hopefully much better). I really focused on my mental and physical health. I slept a lot. I started practicing yoga several times a month. I kept sewing but slowed it down. I avoided making new commitments while I continued following through with what I'd already said I'd do. I slowly reset and regained my energy. Then I looked for and found a good full-time job in another state and moved.

As soon as I could, I did. 

But first I had to rest. Then I had to do the work.

That's how recovery goes. 

I got the picture above from this post about how to recover from burnout, written by a facility that offers a variety of programs to treat stress, trauma, and mental health disorders. I don't know about this organization, but I like their post and graphic.

Also, yoga for self-care can be so cliche... But... It really does help. 

Yoga means "to yoke," to connect. Practicing yoga means connecting your breathing with your movement. So, inhale slowly and raise your arms over your head. Exhale slowly and lower your arms. Do that several more times. It's calming. Yoga is literally the stilling of the thought waves of the mind (yoga sutra 1.2).

Making Baby Quilts

If you would have told me ten years ago that I would enjoy making baby quilts, I would not have believed you. Not in a million years. For one, I didn't even quilt back then. And two, there's no way I could have done that. Make something that takes a long time for someone else's baby?? No way.

And now I've made four.

They are cute, fun, and, considering how long a full-sized quilt takes to make, quick and easy.

You just sandwich two yards of fabric with some batting in between and quilt diagonal lines across. Then you attach the binding and sew it down. You're done! No piecing necessary. 

And even though it seems to make the new moms nervous, you can just throw these quilts in the washer and dryer. You don't do anything special to clean them. Quilts are meant to be used.

I finished this latest baby quilt last night. I look forward to my Saturday evenings. I've created the habit of watching an old movie while sewing. It's relaxing and I love it. I'll drink a couple of beers, eat some snacks, and stand at my machine or sit in my recliner and sew. What? You weren't expecting a couple of beers to be part of the equation? Hahaha.

This quilt is for my yoga teacher who is due in a month. She has reduced her class schedule immensely. How she is even still teaching I have no idea. Teaching yoga is a gift of service and requires a lot of energy. She is amazing. She even does most of the practice with us still, modifying a lot of the poses of course. And she is not a 25 year old. She will be an older mom, but not a first time mom. This will be her second.

I've witnessed her entire pregnancy. I knew her before she announced her pregnancy, but I suspected she was pregnant. I think I have some sort of pregnancy radar. I miss a lot of things in life, but I can usually guess when a woman is pregnant.

It wasn't hard for me. I don't want to be pregnant anymore. I divorced my husband, who I chose to be the father of my children. I changed careers from working with kids to working with older and elderly adults. I moved away from the city, my friends, and my family to pursue a different kind of life. It's been over ten years since I stopped trying to conceive; my life is radically different.

I am happy for my friend, and I enjoyed making a baby quilt for her. I'm excited to give it to her, especially since she has no idea I've been making it. 

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: miracles happen every day. I did not get my miracle baby in this lifetime, but my recovery and healing from all I've been through is definitely miraculous.

My boyfriend picked out the blue binding. I was going to use brown, but the blue looks so much better. He is really gifted with color and fabric. My boyfriend is my quilt muse lol. 

The front of the quilt has fabric based on the children's book Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. A classic. The quotes include, "Inside all of us is hope, fear, and adventure," and "There are no ideas too wild."

The backing of the quilt is a furry, textured fabric called Minky. I love to use it for the backs of quilts. It's so soft and snuggly. (My corners aren't perfect, but neither is life!)

Nine Years Blogging

Nine years and five days ago I took the plunge and published my first blog post. I had been thinking about blogging for awhile and decided to do it. I was extremely lonely and looking for connection. I hope what I have shared here has helped someone, but I think that what I have received here is exponentially more than what I've given.

Thank you.

I used to be in constant pain. I used to be ashamed and embarrassed. I used to be very angry.

I am no longer in pain. I am no longer ashamed and embarrassed.
I am still angry but it's about other things, not infertility.

This is my life. This is how it's come to be. This is what I've done with the time that was left after my lifelong dream and primal desire went unrealized.

Honestly, I give myself a shit ton of credit. I am very proud of myself.
But I also could not have done it alone.

Thank you.

Once again, I am in the midst of massive changes. I am going through it and will write about it once I get to the other side. All is well; I am just very stressed. But now I can remind myself that I've already been through the worst. What is stress after enduring life-altering trauma?? I got this.

And so do you.

Feel free to read all of my other blogging anniversary posts if you want. They cover a lot. This year's post will be short. We all need to conserve our precious energy. Life isn't easy for anyone.

But we all know how to navigate darkness. We all know how to live life after loss. 

Maybe I will blog for another year and close it down on my 10th blogging anniversary.

Maybe I will blog forever.

💜

Do something kind for yourself today. You deserve it.

Picture retrieved from a party supply store here

Mid-Life Navigation

It's been ten years since my last failed treatment and I still feel like I'm in uncharted waters.

I think I really wanted to be "healed" from involuntary childlessness in a way where I could work with kids full-time. I wanted to be "cool" and unbothered by anything. Before trying to get pregnant, I taught special education in various public, private, and charter schools. I also worked in child advocacy roles for non-profit organizations. Since my last failed treatment, I have taught preschool, taught middle school, worked in K-12 schools as a districtwide service provider, and worked in outpatient pediatrics at two different hospitals. 

I'm even going to reach out to an area private school that has an opening for a part-time specialist. I like kids and they like me. Plus, I have decades of experience working with thousands of kids ages 5 and up. And honestly, I need to make more and I'm interested in what they pay.

It's hard to quit what you know.

But it's not good for me. I can admit that now.

Infertility really impacted me and my life.

Other people's parenting bugs the crap out of me. If I could manage a classroom full of 20 kids that weren't mine (where a minimum of 5 at all times were on behavior plans), why can't parents manage the one child that is theirs? Yes, I know about attachment theory and all of the other reasons why children will act differently with their parents compared to other adults. But still... 

In my moments of frustration in the past, I would console myself with the fact that I would get my own opportunity to parent. That I would get to make my own decisions and make my own mistakes. That I would get to feel my own unconditional love and excitement and frustration and overwhelm as a parent. That my day would come.

It never did.

And as I've dealt with other people's parenting since ending all efforts to try and get pregnant, I don't get to give myself that same consolation. I know I will never get my chance. 

It's really fucking hard.

And it really, deeply affects me.

And I can only share this honestly a full year and a half after my last stint working in outpatient pediatrics. Between the horrendous management and the rude and judgmental parents, working with kids in the fall of 2023 was very damaging for me.

(Maybe if there had been any respect from my bosses or the children's parents at the time it would have been different. But I got more respect from my bosses and the parents as a first year teacher at age 23 than I did at that last job as an educated and experienced 44-year-old. It was SO weird.)

I didn't know what I was going through at the time, but the damage spiraled. I felt awful on the inside and I was very unhappy. I was judging myself and feeling very angry. I carried all of my frustrations around with me at all times. I took it out on my boyfriend and his young adult son that was living with us at the time. I have since apologized, but it was a very terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time.

And I don't like to admit ANY of that.

I LOVE kids. I love working with kids. I love parents. I love supporting parents.

But the truth is, I don't like a lot of people's parenting. I don't like permissive parenting, and I don't like authoritarian parenting. And I hate the way that screen use is changing childhood. 

And I don't have kids. So I don't have to fight these battles.

One of the reasons why I went into teaching in the first place was to start collecting stuff for my kids. After over ten years of collecting, I had thousands of kids' books, games, toys, and projects. I was an elementary school waiting to happen haha. Then, after that last job in outpatient pediatrics ended, I re-homed all of my materials. Every single thing. I kept nothing.

Now I feel drawn to working with older and elderly adults. I can empathize with bodies not functioning as expected. I want to learn about the other end of the spectrum of life. We are all aging, and it's practical information to know. I also realized: we grew up the same. Only generations older than me had pencil, paper, and the telephone on the wall in the kitchen. 

So that's where I'm at with that. Working with kids. It's what I know and in a way I love it, but it's also not that good for me. It's not where I want to grow, not what I want to learn more about. I haven't completely ruled out ever doing it again, but I'm extremely hesitant to get into another pediatric situation.  

Acknowledgment and acceptance without judgment.

It's not my fault infertility changed everything. 

I'm just navigating this life I have.

Picture found on a blog post about navigating a boat

My 10th Survivor Anniversary

Welp. It's officially been ten years since I stopped fertility treatments, stopped tracking my cycle and every sign and symptom, and stopped trying to conceive. I would go on for another year, silently yearning for a miracle pregnancy, but, surprise, it never happened. I do not have children. 

You can read posts from previous Survivor Anniversaries in March of each year of my blog.

So. That's thirty-five years of assuming I would have children. Thirty-five years of thinking about my children, longing for my children, and already loving my children. Ok, well, maybe I didn't start thinking about them until I was 7 or 8, but that still brings us to over twenty-five years of holding my children in my heart... The point is I ALWAYS wanted to be a mom.

But not everyone who wants to be a mom gets to be one. 

But now... Now I have had ten years to wrap my brain and heart around the reality that I am not going to raise children. I got to be a teacher for a long time. I volunteered with so many different camps and mentorship programs over the decades. I have worked with thousands of kids. I loved it. But they weren't mine. I didn't get to feed them and comfort them and take them to sports practice/art class/whatever they liked. They never lived in my house. I may have spent 8 hours a day with a lot of them; I may have worked with some of them for several years. I contributed to their growth and development. We had fun together. But other people's children are not mine.

Ten years on... I know this. I have healthy boundaries. I am grateful for the experiences I did have with other people's children. I also know that I am, for sure, not raising children in this lifetime.

It's almost unbelievable. But ten years can help one get used to the idea.

Think about it. Ten years ago it was 2015. It felt like a different world then. I stopped trying to grow my family in 2015 not knowing what all was to come. It's just so weird. All of it.

So anyway, my specific Survivor Anniversary date came and I was prepared to feel whatever feelings came. And really, all I felt was relief. Immense, overwhelming relief. I am relieved that ten years has passed. With the passing of time, I have felt my feelings, grieved, and healed. I have discovered new interests and different parts of myself. After thirty-five years of thinking and living my life one way, I have had time to change my entire existence.

None of it was easy. A lot of it is still hard. Involuntary childlessness has a way of deeply affecting almost everything. Certainly every relationship. Your work. Your interactions with your peer group. Your day-to-day life. Your plans for the future.

But it's massively better today than it was back then.

I had big plans to celebrate with a cake and a houseplant. Hahahaha. Plans. Yeah, so... 

Well first, I didn't feel like going to the store so the houseplant still hasn't happened yet. I like the idea though. I'd like to get something kind of big and tall. My boyfriend is good at keeping plants alive, so I'm going to enlist his help.

Secondly, there was the cake. I decided to make muffins instead of cake, solely because of the muffin mix I had previously bought. See the pic below. I mean, come on, they're Dolly Parton muffins! What better way to celebrate my 10th Survivor Anniversary other than with Dolly??

But did I tell you we got a new oven? And that I don't cook very often? So these muffins were actually the first thing I made in our new oven. And when I went to use the timer and entered the wrong time, I hit the cancel button to start over. It turns out that the cancel button was for the oven, not the timer, so I actually turned the oven off. Doh!! So after 20 minutes I was confused why my muffins were still batter... I was also confused why the oven didn't feel very hot... I realized my mistake, turned the oven back on, and cooked the muffins longer. They were edible but not nearly as good as they could have been. I ate one. My boyfriend ate the rest.

Hahahahaha.

My plans to celebrate my 10th Survivor Anniversary didn't go as expected. Just like the whole TTC thing didn't go as expected. (Yes, pun intended... Feel free to roll your eyes, ha.) 

I cracked up. I wasn't even sad. I was glad I learned that lesson about our new oven with the muffin mix and not some expensive, time-consuming meal I had prepared. I actually bought two muffin mixes at the time, so I will just make the muffins again sometime soon.

Hilarious. My imperfect celebration was perfect. And I recommend Dolly's muffin mix. I can tell the muffins are going to be amazing when they are properly cooked.

Ten Years Ago

How has it been ten years already? How does it feel so recent and so long ago at the same time?

Going through IVF sucks. It's traumatizing. And when it doesn't result in pregnancy, it can destroy you. And a lot of us did it multiple times to try and get pregnant, have a baby, and raise a child. When you want children, when you want to parent, it's a primal need that can't be described.

Ten years ago I went through my first IVF process, crying with every shot, blood draw, and ultrasound. Terrified for egg retrieval. Dreadfully waiting to see how many eggs fertilized and grew. Feeling so defeated and hopeless by the time it came to transfer the only two that were left, although I was grateful for those two. And more waiting for another ten days to see how it went. And then the phone call. 

And then nothing.

Emptiness.

Hollow.

*****

Wow, that is not how I thought this blog post was going to go. But I sat down to write about ten years ago and that's what came out. I can still have a visceral reaction when I think about that whole experience. Thankfully, I don't think about my actual IVF experiences in depth very often. But, wow, when I do, the awful details can really rise to the surface.

I want to post this to honor what all IVF survivors went through. It was hard and it took so much to go through it. It demanded so much from us. It took so much from us. When most of us had very little support.

Now it's ten years later. Thank God. I'm thankful for time passing, the results from working hard to change my life, and the fruits that can come from doing the arduous work that is grieving.

I wrote a brief post five years ago.

Then I wrote about coping with trauma anniversaries last year.

This year I spent the anniversary finishing a quilt I made for a new friend. Several months ago she was going through a stressful time, so I brought her some quilt tops I had already made to see if she liked any of them. She loved one of them. I have been working on finishing that quilt for her since then, and I happened to finish on the actual tenth anniversary of my first failed IVF. 

I thought it was an interesting coincidence to finish that quilt on that day. I thought about her stress, my stress, and both of our determination to enjoy our lives anyway. The importance of friendship between women. The comfort that quilts can give. The healing that quilting can bring.

This is my first attempt at a log cabin quilt. I like it, but there are things I would do differently next time. I love the fabric. It's Elizabeth Hartman's Berry Season with her coordinating solids. The blocks' red mushroom centers honor the traditional design, which typically had red centers to symbolize the hearth of the home.

From Rest to Routines

Well, here we are. 2025. Let's see what happens.

As I've already written here, I hit extreme burnout midway through last year. Then I wrote a post called From Burnout to Boundaries where I thought out loud about how I was gonna deal with the burnout. I planned to follow through with my commitments, not make any more, and rest as much as possible for the rest of the year. 

And that's what I did.
And now the year of 2024 is done.
And, to be quite honest, I don't feel totally ready for a new year.

Oh well.

As sad and depleted as I was, I still really liked the resting phase of my burnout recovery. It's easy for me to rest. I can be productive, but I'm also really good at being lazy. I can watch tv, read, or sew by hand in the comfort of my recliner for hours. With a cozy quilt on me of course. And now that we have my boyfriend's son's cat temporarily, with a cat on my lap too. It's heaven.

But just like we can't work all of the time, we can't rest all of the time either. Life requires both. So I'm looking out at a brand new year and thinking... What do I want to do without doing too much? 

For the first time in my life, I am not working toward something. I am not trying to graduate, get a job, find a husband, or have kids. I am not trying to recover from grief, study for a new career, move out of state, get divorced, or find stable housing. I am not even enduring a pandemic anymore, just living in a post-pandemic world. 

I can maintain.

That's all I have to do.

Take care of myself. Take care of my home. Take care of my relationships.

So the next phase of my recovery from extreme burnout is to establish new routines for myself. 

I am keeping this very loose. There are no hard and fast rules or parameters. I know what I want to do this year (pay my bills, exercise regularly, and sew) and I know how I want to feel (calm, nourished, and content), so that's what I'm going to remind myself as I add in little things to my days. I'm already making it a habit to eat breakfast in the mornings instead of waiting until lunch. That helps me feel better overall. I've practiced very light yoga at home for 15 minutes a couple of times this year. That always helps me feel better too. I guess it's good to be a hedonist, haha. I'm motivated by feeling good so I feel confident I'll create some new routines for myself this year.

I don't know if my recovery process is helpful to you or not. Just sharing in case it is. 

I've recovered from so much. The loss of my children, my marriage, and how I thought life was going to go. It was overwhelming, and the recovery continues. Now I'm recovering from burnout.

Phoenix's Formula (so far) for Recovering from Burnout:

1. Recognize burnout.

2. Stop adding anything new.

3. Rest when you can for as long as you can.

4. Establish new routines slowly.

5. To be figured out...

And always, always, always, make time to do the things that you enjoy. 

This is my boyfriend's son's cat. He is a total goofball. 

He has a big personality and I am loving every minute that he is at our home.

Reflecting, Resting, and Celebrating My World

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extreme Burnout

For the duration of this blog (8 years next month!), I have written about how tired I am.

You know my story...

Infertility, failed treatments, and realizing I won't be raising kids in this lifetime wiped me out. For a couple of years I didn't do much. I volunteered Wednesday mornings and went out to dinner with my husband every Friday night. I wasn't working because I assumed that I would eventually get pregnant. I wasn't socializing because all of my friends were getting pregnant and having kids. I was too anxious and depressed to actually enjoy doing anything, so I wasn't doing anything for fun. At least I had my dog at the time.

Then I decided, since I couldn't have kids, I was going to have to completely change my life or resign myself to always feeling like walking death. From the house we bought to my chosen profession of teaching, every major decision I had made in life was structured around having children. But I didn't have children, so the life I had created did not make sense. In fact, it hurt me deeply in every waking moment. Grief is exhausting, especially disenfranchised grief because it's so isolating.

I decided to sell the house I bought for my children, go back to school to change careers, and move out of state. I did all of that and then got divorced. Everything was exhausting. I also kept moving in search of a place where I wanted to live. Then the pandemic hit. 

Throw in more school (a privilege but still stressful) and several more job changes due to hazardous conditions at one place, an untrustworthy co-worker at another place, and being grossly underpaid at the last place...

I have been very tired for a very, very long time.

And I think I have reached my limit.

I tried giving myself a three-month sabbatical several years ago. It helped at the time but not overall. So now I am just following through with what I've already said I'd do and not committing to anything new.

I went out of town the last two weekends. One was a quick but stressful overnight family trip. The other was a days-long professional conference. Then this week, despite getting enough sleep every night, I have felt sick. Waves of nausea come and go throughout the day. I am worn out.

Infertility took so much from me. It is more than losing my kids and not getting to be a mom. It's also all the time lost to fear, anxiety, stress, depression, and exhaustion. It's the arduous recovery from the whole experience. It's the picking up the pieces of what's left and figuring out what to do with myself instead... and then actually doing it. I HAD to get up every day and do the things that I needed to do to get to where I am now. Nobody else could do it for me. But damn it was hard and I am still so, so tired.

I am trying to renew my health. I have exercised once a week for the last three weeks. That's not a lot, but it's a start. I am about to begin a new sew-along for a new quilt, and that community is fun. The season is changing and I love the fall and winter. I will feel better in time, but it is going to take an extended period of decreased demands on myself.

I am grateful I am in a good place. I like myself and I like where I am. But damn, I can just barely deal with life anymore. I am doing the bare minimum and giving myself a lot of grace. 

It's been a long 12 years.

Take good care of yourself.

I like to color. It's calming, and it requires no thought or precision. 

You don't even have to stay in the lines if you don't want to.

Yes. 100% Sure.

I thought about a colleague I hadn't talked to in about a year. (And by "talked to" I mean texted.) We went to school together and I was wondering what she was up to and how she was doing. It had been a year since graduation so I texted her to check in. 

She's going through IVF.

Oh... Yay!!! Oh no... I'm hopeful!! But. Oh... I don't miss that. 

Those were my thoughts within the first second of me reading her text.
My next thoughts were along the lines of "What can I say that's supportive?" 

And also, I thought this: that, no matter what, I knew she was going to be okay. I mean, hopefully she gets pregnant! That's what she wants. That's what she's going for. But if she doesn't... I know she'll be okay. (I didn't share that last thought though. I kept it to myself. It wasn't the right time.)

So I point out all her data that looks good and give some sincere, encouraging words. I also validated that IVF sucks and no one understands. She shared that it's really hard to manage all the adjustments--waiting, expectations, protocols, etc. It felt good to be able to support a friend in a way where I knew at least a little bit of what she was going through. It felt good because I know she feels alone in the process and it didn't hurt me to provide that support. (She has a loving husband. But you know what I mean.) It was just a text exchange, but I hope I helped.

But I gotta tell you.
She asked me, "Are you sure you're not going to have kids?"

And, without a single doubt or hesitancy, I texted her back: "Yes. 100% sure."

And... It felt good to say that.
Because being in limbo SUCKS.
And hey, it didn't work out for me, so here I am, and, nope, it's not going to happen now.

I'm not having kids. I'm 100% sure.

When I feel grief, I really feel it. I let myself. When I feel joy, I really feel that too. I allow it. My grief comes from the loss of my children; my joy comes from my continuing to live anyway.

Am I sure I'm not going to have kids?

Yes. 100% sure.

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. 

My 9th Survivor Anniversary

Wow. Nine years already? It's so true: the days are long, but the years are short. 

My first IVF failure was definitely the worst of all of my failed treatments, but my three IUIs and second IVF sucked too. You just put so much into the process. Time, money, hope. Driving to appointments. Bloodwork. Ultrasounds. Facing your fears and giving yourself injections. Facing your worst nightmare and not knowing how to get through it.

And for what?

To feel more empty and broken than before? 

I was completely lost nine years ago. For 35 years, I knew I would be a mother. I'd get pregnant and have kids. If that didn't happen, there was IVF or adoption. Something would work out.

I was wrong.

Being childless not-by-choice shattered my beliefs. It interrupted and completely derailed my life. It destroyed the perfectly reasonable future that I had planned.

Now what. 

How was I going to deal with this and what the fuck was I going to do with the rest of my life?

I didn't know.

And now, nine years later, I know: I'm gonna change careers, get divorced, move a bunch, and buy a house. I'm gonna discover a new hobby I love, love the spot where I live, appreciate the jobs that I have, and start to feel the peace and contentment I deserve.

But back then I didn't know. I was devastated, depleted, lost, sad, lonely, isolated, and clueless.

I'm not even saying anything in this post really. I'm just reflecting on my 9th survivor anniversary and how I felt back then and now. And my 9th anniversary means next year will be my 10th anniversary. A whole decade. What feels like many lifetimes. 

Back then it was year 2015. Think about that. How much has changed in the last nine years. How much the world has changed, society has changed, and we have changed. It's been so nearly insurmountably difficult. All of it. But daaang the resilience. That I have. That we have. 

I am so proud of us.

Photo retrieved from https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/purple-flower-growing-on-crack-street-soft-focus-blank-text-gm896570168-247562291

It Doesn't Always Hurt

There's a lot going on in the world right now. A lot of it is really bad. I've started to just be completely honest in my conversations with my friends. This time period of my life is a bit of a struggle. Life is hard, and I need more good news in general. And when I share how I'm feeling with my friends, they share with me. They are feeling the same way too. Tired and overwhelmed. 

We are not alone. Keep reaching out.

So amidst lots of terrible things, I have a tiny piece of good news from my life that I'd like to share.

I got caught off guard with another baby picture this week. This one was over text from a new co-worker who knows nothing about me personally. (Yet! Haha. She'll probably learn in time. These days I'm pretty open about being childless not-by-choice. I figure if I've reached a place where I can talk about it, then my talking about it will help raise awareness and reduce stigma and assumptions.) Anyway, I was texting about work with a co-worker when she sent me a picture of what she was doing at the moment--feeding her baby at home in her living room.

And... It didn't hurt.

I can't really tell you why sometimes these unsolicited baby pictures hurt and why sometimes they don't. I think, like most things, it's a combination of factors. Who the parent is, who the baby is, how I'm feeling that day...

This co-worker is new, and I am very grateful she joined our team. I will learn a lot from her. I think she is only a couple of years younger than me, based off of the year she graduated. 

And... Well... Quite honestly, I don't want a baby anymore. 

My kids would be anywhere between 8 and 12 by now. Way past the baby stage. No longer a toddler. Not even a little kid anymore. Those warm baby snuggles would be long gone, and my new way of demonstrating love for my kids would be driving them all over town to school, appointments, and activities. 

So yeah... 

It doesn't always hurt. 

I just wanted to share that. 💜

My Stuff: A Saga Update

I spent last Friday night and all of Saturday moving stuff out of the closet in my bedroom. It wasn't a functional closet. It was a storage space. But I ordered a closet organizer that should be here by the end of the month, so I moved everything out. I'm excited about eventually hanging up and organizing my clothes. I haven't had a functional closet in five years. 

It's the little things that make life easier overall. It's the little things that are the big things.

Dealing with my stuff has been quite a process for me. I've written about it a lot.

Facing My Stuff in May 2017

Facing My Stuff, Part II in November 2017

Facing My Stuff, Part III in May 2018

Skip ahead four years...

The Great Purge Has Begun in July 2022

When Cleaning Is Hard in July 2022

Unpacking Is Emotional in September 2022

Unpacking My Life in November 2022

And then most recently...

Blue Moon in September 2023

Yeah... It's really been a thing for me.

But this past weekend, as I stood in the small side room attached to my bedroom, I stopped and appreciated the moment. I had gone from a medium-sized two-story, four-bedroom house that I bought for my children and was fully decorating and filling with stuff to a small single-story, two-bedroom house that only has one little side/sunroom serving as storage (temporarily). 

Progress!

Ok, yes, I recently rented a storage space. But it's only a closet, not a huge unit. It's holding my tubs of keepsakes, holiday decorations, and seasonal gear. I don't plan on having it forever. But it freed up some space so I could play Tetris with the rest of the stuff in my house.

And after this past weekend, I am one step closer to being decluttered and organized.

I've leveled up, hahaha.

(I'm still giving myself until January 2025 to get completely decluttered. Realistic goals are more important to me so I don't feel bad when I fail to meet the unrealistic goals.)

But, daaang, what an emotional process dealing with my stuff has been!

I've read a lot of what I call "junk food articles" about decluttering and organizing. You know, those short articles that often have lists... They're easy to skim and get new ideas. And today I came across this gem: Decluttering and Self-Acceptance and How They Benefit Each Other.

Enjoy! And go easy on yourself. It's all a process.

Tetris! Several weeks ago I cleaned out my mud room. It's no longer a maze of boxes and random things where you're forced to stay on a narrow path. It's now an open space with a bench where I can sit and put on my shoes. Again, it's the little things... that are the big things! 💜

Not Building, Just Living

I can rest now. I'm not trying to get anywhere or become anything. 

I am no longer building, no longer creating a life I want to live.

I'm just living it.

I've said it a million times, but it's still true. I am very, very tired. And very, very thankful. I am grateful I got out of where I was and got to where I am (both geographically and emotionally).

I just felt such a sense of urgency many years ago. I knew I had to grieve, but I also knew I had to start working on changing my life. I knew I couldn't go on "living" the way I was.

And that brings us to today.

I don't have kids, and now I don't want kids. I wanted kids. Very badly. But that didn't happen for me. I gave my all to trying to conceive. I didn't know it would leave me with nothing, preventing me from pursuing adoption at the time. I was always completely open to the idea of open adoption. I worked for an adoption and foster care agency for several years. I got great training and felt like I knew what was up. 

But I didn't know the debilitating pain of infertility.

It paralyzes you and destroys you but leaves you alive.

So, yeah...

It was quite the devastation to my life. And I couldn't do anything about it.

But I couldn't do nothing either.

Which brings us back to today again.

So much is over. The last month, the last ten years. So much is done. You'd think I would've rested today. But instead I moved some storage tubs into my storage closet. It's a part of my healing. The decluttering of my home.

But overall, I'm gonna rest by doing less. I'll still go to work. And I'm getting back into my research. Plus, I've got several quilts in progress. But those are all things I chose to do. In this life I created.

Image (pennant banner for sale) found here. 

Blue Moon

We had a blue moon on August 30th. This phrase is used when we get an additional full moon, and it doesn't happen very often. You've probably heard the phrase "once in a blue moon." Well, I really wanted to do something significant for the blue moon, but I didn't know what.

It figured itself out.

I've been writing about my pediatrics coverage a lot. How it feels different this time even though I've worked with kids for the majority of my career and even since knowing I wouldn't be having kids. How it has felt confusing for me. (And yes, I know those last two sentence were incomplete. I'm using my stylistic license, haha.)

Last Wednesday I got home from work and knew what I needed to do. Last summer I cleaned out boxes and boxes of teaching materials and kids' books. I mailed some to a friend, gave some to my boyfriend's sister, and donated the rest to the thrift store. But I still kept two tubs of things I couldn't bear to part with.

Last Wednesday I admitted to myself that I was never going to use those things. They would be better in someone else's hands where they would be used (as opposed to sitting in a storage tub in my still overcrowded house).

I gave it all away.

I took the best things up to work where they can be used with the kids there. The other stuff is sitting in bags that I will take to the thrift store. And then tonight I was talking to a friend and learned she is homeschooling this year. Her middle daughter is taking algebra and I got really excited. I had several helpful books and resources that I knew would be perfect for her. I ran home real quick to get them, and her daughter gladly took what I had to offer. I love it when I find a perfect new home for things I no longer need.

I could not let go of those things until this week. Now I don't have any materials left from my teaching and pediatric days. I am free and open to continue developing the second half of my career to work with older adults.

I honored my process and celebrated the recent blue moon in a way that was perfect for me.

Dr. Phoenix

Well, I did it. I graduated! 

But I didn't get here alone. I thank my parents for helping me with tuition. (Just being honest because school is expensive.) I thank my boyfriend for making me coffee, cooking delicious meals (or ordering pizza when his work schedule got too crazy to cook), and providing endless emotional support. I thank my classmates for supporting my research topic. I thank my study participants for trusting me with their data. And I thank all of you for reading and commenting on my blog throughout the years. 

I definitely did not get here alone. 

And I continue to move forward. I still envision providing therapeutic support to women involuntarily childless after infertility. I cannot believe there are no established services yet. I will continue to work on my research about involuntarily childless women after infertility. I encourage future researchers to investigate the broader population of involuntarily childless women (and men!): childless by marriage, childless by circumstance, childless and stepparenting, etc.

It's been a lot lately. A lot of big feelings. I was sitting next to my friend at graduation. At one point I was starting to tear up. I leaned over and said to her, "I can't believe I'm here. I mean, I barely left my house for years. And now I'm graduating with a doctoral degree??" Honestly, it was pretty overwhelming.

It's not often that this happens, but I am at a loss for words.

Just simply, THANK YOU. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I did not get here alone. You are a part of this too.

Thank you.

My 8th Survivor Anniversary

I began my day by reading Robin Williams quotes. I remembered one that always resonated with me, looked it up, and ended up reading a long list of his quotes. It was a good use of my time.

The quote that prompted the search:

"I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy.
Because they know what it feels like to feel absolutely worthless
and they don't want anybody else to feel like that."

The quotes that kept me reading:

"There’s a world out there. Open a window, and it’s there."

"The human spirit is more powerful than any drug and that is what needs to be nourished: with work, play, friendship, family. These are the things that matter."

"Sometimes you can have a whole lifetime in a day
and never notice that this is as beautiful as it gets."

So, anyway, today is my 8th survivor anniversary. Eight years ago today my last IVF failed and I knew I was done trying to conceive. I couldn't do it anymore. 

Here is last year's survivor anniversary post. 
And here is where you can find the links to previous survivor anniversary posts.

And now it's 8 years later. I don't have kids. I went back to school. I left where I'd lived for 25 years. I got divorced. I learned how to quilt. I started working in a new profession that I love. I moved a bunch of times. I bought a house. I went back to school again. 

It is okay now. (I wrote about that in my last post.) Still, I had a deep cry for about ten minutes yesterday. If I do not give in and feel it, it will persist for days. So, I went with it and felt it all. And it felt awful. And then it passed. Those feelings did not stay with me for the rest of the day. 

Because of my emotional acknowledgment and release, I was able to be creative yesterday evening. I went to a workshop on Saturday and learned about sashiko (Japanese slow stitching). Then last night I made a cute drawstring bag with my sashiko patches. I might have discovered a new obsession... I might want to make lots and lots of bags with sashiko patches now... :)

I made no plans for today. I slept in a little and enjoyed my coffee and blog reading. I need to go grocery shopping. I'm motivating myself by telling myself I can browse the fabric section for bag supplies. Later today I will spend a couple of hours working on the revisions for my Institutional Review Board (IRB) application for my proposed research study. I wouldn't be able to do academic work on behalf of women who are childless not-by-choice if I hadn't gone through everything I've been through. I'm grateful for the opportunity to conduct a pilot study.

So it's a good day. It's a good life. It's been extremely hard, but it's been worth it.

You can buy the pattern online for $6 here. 

It is designed to be handsewn, but I used my sewing machine. I also added a layer of batting to the exterior panel before attaching the lining to give the bag more shape. 

My sisters don't want a quilt, so I think I will sew these for them to use as make-up bags. 

It's Okay Now

I accidentally revealed my status as childless not-by-choice at work the other day. 

Wait. I just went to erase "at work" and change it to "at one of my jobs" and just realized I've disclosed my infertility at BOTH of my jobs. Ha!!! You'd think something like that would be at the forefront of my memory. 

Ok, the first time (the one I'm just now remembering) is actually kind of major. A co-worker and I were talking about how we want to get married when she shared that she wants kids and had her eggs frozen. I said, "Oh! Really?" because nobody ever talks about that stuff casually. So then I told her that if she uses them and goes through that process I can be a support for her. I even told her, "I did IVF a couple of times so I know the whole process. You don't ever have to be positive with me. You are always allowed to complain." 

Huh. 

I can't believe I forgot about having such a personal conversation at work.

Ok, the second time it happened was why I started writing this post. So, back to my first sentence... I accidentally revealed my status as childless not-by-choice at work the other day. I don't even remember what we were saying really, something about kids and parents, when (without even thinking about it) I off-handedly said, "Yeah, well, I can't have kids." It was out of my mouth before I even realized the thought was in my head.

My single, 30-year old co-worker immediately stopped and was speechless for a moment. Then she looked at me and said, "I'm sorry."

I replied, "It's okay." And there was another brief moment of silence.

I added, "Thank you for saying that. I don't say 'it's okay' dismissively. For a long time, it definitely wasn't okay at all. But it's okay now."

It's okay now.

That's the truth.

It is okay now.

But I never thought it would be.