Change is Hard but Worth It

I went for a walk. It was wonderful, but even doing something wonderful that's new requires doing something different. I haven't gone for a second walk yet. It's been raining and then I got sick. But, I'm going to! It felt so good to be outside, move my legs, and look at the grass and trees.

New habits are hard to create.

New lives are heard to create.

But like I always say, what's the alternative? 

Stay where I was? Live in the beautiful 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom, 2-story house with my husband who drank at the sports bar 3 - 5 times a week? Um, no. Absolutely not. Living in my children's house without my children was not an option for me. Not if I wanted to stay alive. I am that serious. Staying married when I could be lonely by myself was also not what I wanted for myself. I deserved more than that.

I gave myself a better life, and I did it by myself. I haven't received any emotional support from my family of origin for my lack of children, my divorce, or the loss of life as I thought it was going to be. I forged the way forward on my own at first, and then I found bloggers in front of me, beside me, and behind me along the way. 

Change isn't easy. That's why most people don't do it. Changing your life takes a lot of work.

That first step can feel impossible.

For me, it was registering to take Anatomy & Physiology I and II at the local community college. The task felt so ovewhelming. There was doing it, like figuring out how to sign up for the class, which overwhelmed me. Then there was following through with it, like actually going to class and doing assignments, which also overwhelmed me.

So I didn't do it. I didn't register for the classes. I didn't go and I didn't have to do the homework.

Then another year passed. And I was in the exact same position. Living in my children's house without my children. Bored. Lonely. Depressed. Still dreading Anatomy & Physiology I & II.

So I did it anyway.

I went online. Created an account. Figured out how to register. Showed up for class. Did my homework. And cried every night.

I didn't want to, but I did it anyway.

Both classes eventually ended. I passed. I applied for grad school, got in, and the rest is history. While I didn't love grad school, I now have a job that I don't hate. Not only do I not hate it, I actually love it. I mean, it's still a job. I work too much and I'd rather not, but, hey, at least I like it!

Change can't wait until we are ready. Change can't wait until we are comfortable. The comfort we're seeking is on the other side of change. Just like with grief, we have to do the work. Well, we GET to do the work. We don't HAVE to do anything. We are totally allowed to stay where we are.

But if you want something different?

You have to cross the street.

You have to take that first step that gets you to the park. And then you have to walk at the park. And then you have to keep going back. And then later, much later (muuuch later than you want, but also time flies so it'll be here sooner than you know it), you'll feel better.

Time passes either way. You can take the class. You can walk at the park.
Or you can stay where you are.

You get to create your life, one decision and one small action (or inaction) at a time.

Change takes time. The Colorado River didn't carve the Grand Canyon in a day.

Picture found here

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.

Some Days Are Hard

Things are slowing down. I mean that in several different ways. 

I feel like I am slowing down. This season always feels a little slower for me. Not that life ever really slows down, but this is the time of year (in the Northern hemisphere) where the days are shorter and the weather is colder and I feel like I move a little slower. 

The blogosphere is slowing down. It has been for awhile. I didn't join until after its peak, but there is a lot less traffic now compared to seven years ago. I think about not writing and then I think, who cares if not many people are reading my blog. Someone might find a post they relate to through an online search someday, and I remember how rare and valuable it was to find something relatable in my earliest days of loss and grief. Plus, I still have thoughts and feelings about my experiences with infertility and living my life without children. So I still write.

My grief is slowing down. The onslaught of it. The major extremes. Thank God. That shit was NOT sustainable. Over the last decade I found a way I could stand to exist and then, miraculously, I even found some new things to be excited about.

But some days are still hard. Like today. Today was one of those days where I felt like an outsider in the world. And I didn't even leave my house or go online much. It was just a quiet Sunday where I did laundry and not much else. And even though that sounds nice, it honestly wasn't that great. I didn't have a very good day. 

It feels like my life is so different from most people's, and even I struggle to understand it. I want to understand it. Then I could understand all of the insidious judgments that I process regularly. If I could understand the cascade of effects that involuntary childlessness has had for me, then maybe there is a chance that others could understand. Maybe even other people could understand how my life is structured differently and stop their subconscious judgments.

Because it's just hard living a life that most people don't understand. I get that a lot of people probably feel that way about a lot of different things. But this is my life, and my experience is living childless not-by-choice.

It hasn't been easy. And that part is oddly overlooked in the long-term. Some days are hard.

(Re)Connections/Seeing Old Friends

I was extremely lonely during my years of trying to conceive and undergoing fertility treatments.

Well, first, let me back up real quick. I missed my blogoversary last month. I started this blog in October 2016, a year and a half after my last failed IVF. I was deep in grief and back in school for the first time in a decade. And now it is November 2023, seven years later... 

The whole passing-of-time thing never ceases to amaze me.

Speaking of time, I went and visited longtime friends last week. I have written about all of them here over the years. I have known each person for ten to twenty-five years, but I hadn't seen anyone in at least five and a half. I am so grateful that I got to see these women from different periods of my life. I am thankful for every lunch, dinner, and late night I got to have. (I think the key to seeing everyone was having the idea months ago, texting people, and getting on their calendar at least three months in advance.) 

Three of the friends I saw have kids. Three other friends don't. One older friend has grown children and grandchildren. One friend couldn't go when a small group of us were getting together because of her kid's sports games. But, she made lunch reservations for us downtown during her lunch hour during the week, and I had the greatest one-on-one time with her.

It was interesting being on this side of things, eight years after I stopped fertility treatments. It was very different. Because I wasn't living in a place of longing for things to be different, I wasn't sad or even anxious. I was able to just be happy and present with the people I love. 

It was a trip I had been looking forward to, and I had a lot of fun. I hadn't been back to where I used to live for five years. Then it was great to come home. To where and with whom I live now.

It's the fall, and a lot is behind me. Graduation, pediatric coverage, my two trips. And also, I realize, I no longer feel the acute grief of involuntary childlessness. The lifelong loss is still there, but it doesn't constantly hurt now.

I think we've all learned a lot in 2023, whether we realize it or not. 

I can't put it into words... I can't put words to much of what we've all experienced in the last several years. But I know I'm proud of everyone. Kids or no kids. I think there are a lot of moving parts to life, and it is challenging to stay on top of it all. 

So, if you want, (re)connect with friends when and where you can. 

I sent one of my best friends from college a text a couple of years ago. We had been out of touch for many years, and it turns out she didn't have my new number or my correct email address. I stayed with her at the end of the week.

Three of my other friends that I saw have been my friends since we were teenagers, but it was really hard for me when they got pregnant and grew their families while I was wanting to do that too. Our lives took different paths. We understandably didn't see each other as much, but we still cared and always had each other's numbers.

Another couple of friends are women that just didn't have kids. One is married. I stayed with her at the beginning of the week. One is divorced. Both of their not having kids were for all different reasons and factors and whatnot.

We are not in contact all of the time, but we are in contact overall. I love my friends so much. Incredibly, everyone is happy and healthy right now. So we all got to celebrate that.

I'm grateful infertility didn't ultimately take all of these important connections from me. 

You know I love quilts. And I love gratitude too.
And it's November. So I thought the picture above was cute.
(It's a quilt pattern that you can find here.)

Happy and Sad at the Same Time

Infertility robbed me of my own little family. I didn't get to have kids. And my marriage didn't last. After realizing we weren't going to be raising children, my (now ex-) husband and I didn't want the same things out of life and went our separate ways. Yes, I have a boyfriend. Yes, we live together, and I love him and his family. But... Things are still up in the air. Changes that need to be made haven't happened yet. He is not my husband, and I treat the relationship differently than I did my marriage. Just being honest.

So, it's just me.

I have a lot in life. My home, my health, my jobs, my hobbies. Food to eat. Books to read. Shows to watch. Friends to text. My parents are alive. And I can always call one sister in particular knowing she'll be there for me.

But I don't have my own little family.

I'm not the first person anyone is going to call with news, be it good or bad.

When I get together with my parents, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins, I am the odd man out. I don't have a spouse. I don't have a child. Everyone else is part of a little unit, and I am by myself.

It's far from being the worst thing in the world. I like myself. I couldn't always say that. In high school and college I didn't understand all of my feelings and often got on my own nerves. But now I give myself grace and enjoy my own company.

But still... I'm not even on social media and Thanksgiving provided some stinging reminders. I got a couple of promotional emails from companies I like, but they included big family photos of everyone's spouses, children, and grandchildren. As resolved as I am about my CNBC situation and as happy as I am in the awesome life I've created for myself, it still hurt to see proclamations of gratitude for what I will never have: a family of my own.

Infertility sucks.

Learning to Live With It

I get that covid is not going away. We had the chance years ago to eradicate it, but, as a society, we did not. And now here we are. Stressed, broke, and muddling through...

It's very similar to, you know, infertility.

There's nothing I can do about being infertile. 

I tried. God knows I tried. Dietary changes, supplements, exercise, no exercise, meditation, medication, trying, not trying, being patient, not being patient, fertility treatments... Nothing worked. I'm infertile. I never got pregnant. 

I've had to learn to live with it.

Infertility. The pandemic. Both so devastating. Both completely life altering. 

Both SUCK.

And I'm learning how to live my life in this post-pandemic, life-without-children-after-infertility world. I'm lonely. I don't have any close friends in my current, face-to-face life. Of course, I chose to move 1500 miles away from everyone I knew. But it's not like I saw my friends often anyway. They were all busy with their kids. Add in work schedules and traffic patterns and hanging out was just no longer logistically possible. It wasn't personal.

I went to a quilt meeting last night. I didn't feel like going, but I made myself. I'm glad I did. I won't make friends if I don't invest any time and energy in others. I've been going monthly for over a year now and it feels good to see familiar faces. It's energizing to see what projects others are working on. It's just nice to smile at people and say Hello. I'm younger than everyone by twenty years, but they are all very welcoming and inclusive. If you love quilting, you belong. I appreciate that so very deeply. 

I'm stressed. Who isn't? I want to be scheduled more at work, but I also know I'm scheduled just the right amount for me right now. I'm in school and also fighting some depression, so, really, I just try to be thankful for so much every day. The bills don't stop coming though, and that stresses me out. Like I said, who isn't stressed right now?

I've been feeling like my relationship has been going through a growth phase for several months. I'm very happy with him. I'm also unhappy. It's complicated. And I'm having a hard time making sense of what I should do or not do during this weird time period. Break up? I don't want to. Move on? Maybe I need to. Leave him in a time of need? I definitely don't want to do that. But I also don't want to drown myself. It's hard to know what to do. It's hard to know what is best for him and best for me.

Learning to live with it. Infertility. Covid. Uncertainty. Stress. 

That's life, isn't it?

Capable of Doing

I'm going through something. I kind of know what it is and I kind of don't. I'm in the "feeling my feelings" part of it. I know I'm not happy about some parts of my life, and I know I'm thrilled about others. I don't really know where I'm going with this... I just wanted to acknowledge it.

So, the news lately. Pretty devastating. Traumatizing. Paralyzing. Frustrating. Angering. Scary.

Have you read anything positive lately? I read about a woman who took her adult brother with intellectual disabilities to his first movie. She wasn't sure if he would like the movie theatre or need to walk around or what, so she scheduled a private screening. How thoughtful is that? Good news: he loved it! I loved reading that short story.

What else... I'm getting along with my mom. I'm getting along with both of my sisters. I'll never take that for granted. I love my family so much, and I know they love me. 

I've decided I don't like spring. Ha! Hahahaha. I mean, it's spring. Who doesn't like spring?? Me, apparently. I love winter. I love snow and quilting on a cold day and sitting around Xmas tree lights and skiing. And spring is the furthest away I am from winter. But really, it's the allergies... Everything is blooming. Everything is just so dang fertile! I can't stop sneezing, my throat is scratchy, and I live with a headache. And in today's times, I'm paranoid that it's covid. Fun stuff.

I've been going out to eat. I couldn't stand it anymore. I went 25 months living like a hermit and it was really affecting my mental health. Even a homebody can only take so much. So I go when it's not busy. I also live in the middle of nowhere. It's not densely populated and that makes me feel better too. I notice I've been tipping more. I'm just so thankful I don't have to cook or do dishes, and everything is so freaking expensive nowadays. So it's part of how I'm giving back to others. As long as the service doesn't completely suck, I'm tipping 25%. Not bragging or trying to be a hero, just trying to help others where I can. 

This post isn't really saying much. But that's okay. I made it. I am where I am. I climbed out of the pit that was despair and depression and chose to put one foot in front of the other. Most days. Some days I just stayed in bed. It's all a part of the process. But for several years there, I quite honestly didn't want to be alive. I wanted to get hit by a truck. Except I didn't. Because that would be really awful for the truck driver. So I came up with a life I could live with. And now I am living it. It's a good one and I am thankful.

Still, I'm going through some major changes. My career, my relationship... These are no small things. I don't know what the other side will look like, but we never do. 

I have big news. I'm back in school! It's such an opportunity and I am extremely grateful. Still, it's hard. But like my mom said, getting your doctorate is supposed to be hard. Ha! She's right. 

I'm throwing myself into this program. I'm studying like I've never studied before. I'm actually doing all of the readings. And taking notes on them. It's like, for the first time in my life, I want to know alllllll the things. I'm doing my assignments with the intention of learning the content, not to just meet my due dates. It's pretty awesome. And hard. But I already mentioned that.

It's only my first semester, but I'm already dipping my toes into research. I'm researching the scientific literature and writing about infertility and living CNBC for my first project. I can't call it research officially because I'm not going through the institutional review board approval process, but, if it all goes well and feels right, I may turn this project into Real Research. 

I will need a couple of you this month or next to interview. Your name and identifying information will remain confidential. Send me an email if you're interested (infertilephoenix at g mail). My project is about the experience of permanent involuntary childlessness after IVF failure.

That's all for all now, friends. My thoughts are scattered and my emotions are at the surface. I feel like big changes are on the horizon. But that's life; nothing stays the same. While enduring this latest period of transition, I will be reading my textbooks. And sewing a little bit. While watching tv at night, I'm working on an applique project for my next quilt top.

I love you all. Take good care of yourselves.

 

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.

Rereading Old Posts

NOW:

We are six weeks into the new year and I have been processing A LOT, including, but not limited to, quitting my job, my marriage and divorce, relationships with family members, my relationship with myself, and how I continue to live my life after infertility without my children. It hasn't been easy. I thought I cried a lot before 2021? Well, this year has been especially... Cleansing.

I do feel a strong internal pressure to get moving (i.e., get a new job), but I know that if I do right now I will not be effective in whatever I do next. How do I explain that in a professional way in my next job interview? "Yeah, I took some time off to finally process, uninterrupted, the last traumatic decade of my life?" No... I'll have to come up with a different answer. In the meantime, I will continue to replenish my resources.

I have a lot to be thankful for, but that's not what I'm processing. I am processing the onslaught of meanness that I allowed in my life for so long. I am realizing what I need to feel loved and known and I am learning how to communicate my boundaries, whether they are respected or not.

I don't want to constantly analyze my feelings and interactions, but I am TIRED of reliving the same dynamics over and over. I must think and read and reflect about all of this stuff so that I can empower myself to change my ingrained patterns. 

I've worked hard and I deserve to enjoy the happiness I've found and created for myself. I don't have to explain or justify it, no matter who is demanding answers from me (e.g., my mom). I don't have to answer the phone if I know I am only going to be insulted (e.g., my middle sister).

THEN:

While going through infertility, I lost the majority of my friendships. It HURT SO BAD. But it changed me forever. I am no longer eager to have people in my life just because I've known them a long time or because we are related. I need people that support me and that I can support. I don't need a big group of people. I have definitely learned that lesson.

I'm going through and rereading my old posts so I can add labels to them. When I was first reading IF blogs, this was one of my favorite ways to read people's old posts. I would click on a label that resonated with me that day and read all of the related posts. So that is what I am going back and doing for my posts now.

Wow. It has been an interesting experience going back and reading what I wrote. I'm so glad I started blogging when I did or I would have forgotten so many thoughts and feelings from my recovery process. I have grown. A LOT. I can see it in my own writing. I am stronger, more self-confident, and more self-assured. I have my experiences with infertility and my hard-earned recovery from it to thank for my newfound clarity.

But you know what? Growth is lonely. Growth is change. And people don't do well when you start changing. You can't be their subconscious punching bag anymore. You can't be the person they know that is worse off than them. (Yes, this gives certain personality types a vast amount of comfort.) You aren't the same person anymore and they don't know how to handle the new you. Some people will celebrate with you. Some people are up for the excitement of getting to know the new you and your growth. Others simply fade away.

NOW:

I'm thankful for my growth. I'm glad I was willing to face my loneliness. I am still frustrated and processing a lot, but I am not where I used to be. I like myself and, pandemic aside, I like my life.

I no longer deal with the haters.

The statement above is a goodie I saw on twitter.

And I had to share another fabric pic... Meow! ;) 

💜

Bad Day, Hard Times

Well, I had a terrible day. I got mad about something early in the morning and then my feelings spiraled from there. I found myself crying and thinking, "What is this about??" while also telling myself, "Gahhh, you do not have to analyze everything!!" at the same time. Yeah, it was fun.

Anyway, I think it's the obvious. I think it's the pandemic. It's probably several things, but it all comes down to the pandemic. I think I'm mad and sad and unhappy and easily irritated because we are on month 11 of this bullshit. I haven't been to a restaurant since mid-March last year. I go grocery shopping once a month at 5:30 in the morning because people here don't wear masks. I haven't hung out with a friend since last May (and even that was masked, outside, and physically distanced). I also quit my job because I didn't feel safe. 

But... My family members (none of whom live near me) and my new community where I live now continue to dine out and go to the gym and travel and shop and socialize and do whatever they seemingly feel like.

It's such a mind warp.
And it's affecting me. 

Like, there is a pandemic going on, right? It hasn't gone away yet, right? Thousands of people are dying every day and the best thing I can do is just stay home, right?

But this is an infertility blog, not a pandemic blog...

I'm just so sad because, like infertility, I don't see the pandemic ending. I see it as something that I just have to learn to deal with. Like my infertility and childlessness, the pandemic hasn't gone away. I need to figure out how I am going to live my life for the long-term like this because it has been a year and the pandemic is still here.

It was a really bad day. It manifested physically and I got sick. Repeatedly. I called my doctor for some anti-nausea medication, but I've only seen her once so she doesn't know me well and doesn't know that this is what my body does under stress so... No meds for me. No hard feelings though. I understand the doctor wanting to see me before prescribing anything. 

But it left me in bed all day, feeling awful and feeling sorry for myself.

I'm feeling better now, both physically and emotionally. Things have calmed down and I just wanted to write a post, even if I had nothing much to say. My girlfriends/social life consists of the blogosphere and texting these days, so I really appreciate you. I just want you to know that.

If you're having a hard time or just a really bad day, I am sorry.
Infertility and the pandemic.
It's hard and it sucks. But YOU don't suck, and you are not alone.

💜

My Old Life

In my old life I always ate at the restaurants where my ex-husband wanted to eat. If I wanted to eat somewhere different, I went by myself. 

In my old life I always drove to my friends' houses. They never came to mine. It was "just easier" because they had kids. In fact, it was also "just easier" for those that didn't have kids.

In my old life I always went wherever my family was celebrating the holidays, regardless of my work schedule and traveling difficulties. I always made it happen even if it meant a 10-hour round trip drive for a quick, less-than-24-hour celebration. I even traveled while giving myself injections during an IVF cycle. (Looking back on it, for me, that's insanity!)

In my old life I watched everyone's lives around me change with every passing season. Their children were growing up and meeting milestones. My friends and family were busy lamenting and celebrating. Their lives were always changing. 

In my old life everything stayed the same. I was an infertile housewife whose husband went to the sports bar every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I had moved to the suburbs where I knew no one. I volunteered weekly at the nearby elementary school, spending time with whomever the school counselor thought would benefit from some one-on-one, uninterrupted attention from a safe and caring adult. I brought a crate on wheels filled with books, games, and craft supplies and, for an hour every week, we did whatever the kid wanted to do. 

Other than that one hour at the elementary school every week, I was very lonely.
At least I had my dog.

In my old life I accommodated everyone. I did what was easiest for them. I did not value my own unique life and what it looked like and required. I ignored where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do. I assumed it was just easier for everyone if we went with their plans, their schedule, their expectations. Ex-husband, friends, and family alike.

I loved my loved ones, but I hated my old life. I needed to get a new one...

To state the obvious, changing myself changed everything.

It started with friends. I just stopped reaching out if the relationship felt unreciprocated. It was a painful transition as I watched the majority of whom I thought I was in relation with just drift away. (With the help of a wonderful counselor, I was able to learn that this is normal in life. But at the time, while still dealing with infertility, it felt so painful and unbearable. Each lost friendship felt like a mini-death.) 

It moved to my marriage. My ex-husband knew I wanted to live differently. He promised me we would. As soon as we moved out of the suburbs he said. As soon as we moved out of the city he said. As soon as we moved to a new state he said. Things never changed. In fact, they just got worse.

My family relationships continue to be a dance. My parents and sisters are the relationships I've had all of my life, so those are a little more challenging to change in terms of patterns and habits, especially considering all of the history there. But they've definitely changed! It's an up and down experience, where sometimes my boundaries are respected and other times they are questioned and criticized.

In my old life I did not realize I was putting myself last. I thought I was being giving and loving to everyone. "Hi!!! I'm here!! Let's hang out! What do you want to do? What do you need??" But sidelining your own needs is giving yourself away and giving yourself away is not giving or loving to anyone. It is most certainly not giving and loving to ourselves. 

I still struggle with balance, as evidenced by my frequent bouts with feeling depleted, but I am so much better now at striving for balance and being compassionate with myself when I don't achieve it.

💜

(This post was inspired by Anon S's brilliant comment on this Childless By Marriage post.)

Mental Respite

I took the whole week off from work. 

I had to use PTO and get a doctor's note, but getting a break from having to be around unmasked people has done wonders for my mental state. I get next week off too. Then I'll reevaluate. I've decided I will no longer work around unmasked people, but I don't know what happens next. 

I'm lucky. Fortunate. Privileged. I've never felt unsafe at work before.
But I definitely feel unsafe now.

I travel across the district in my position. I work at multiple campuses, constantly in and out of classrooms and meetings. As of three weeks ago, the district had no way of contact tracing me. (When I realized this, I immediately submitted a lengthy list of my weekly contacts.) Currently, half of the students and staff at one of the elementary schools is quarantined. Overall, ten percent of my caseload has been quarantined at some point this semester. There have been documented positive cases at the preschool, the middle school, the high school, and most of the elementary schools. Did I mention they don't wear masks here? It's not safe.

And yet I got yelled at for requesting a zoom link for a meeting last week?
Insanity. I cannot trust these people. We live in different realities.

I'm mad.
I'm sad. 
I'm scared.
I'm tired.

I succeeded in doing almost nothing this week. On Tuesday I fell asleep at 4:30pm and slept for thirteen hours straight. Let me explicitly state: "That is NOT normal."

I don't know if I'd feel so resolute in my decision to no longer work around unmasked people if it weren't for my experiences with infertility. It sounds so basic and obvious, like, absolutely not--nobody should be forced to work with unmasked people. But... It is so easy to feel intimidated by an employer. It involves money and contracts and control. I remember not speaking up during my recent horrendously toxic experience in graduate school. There was a power differential. I didn't want to fail a class or get kicked out of the program. So I stayed silent.

But now? Well, unlike my younger self, I still try to keep my comments to myself haha, but I definitely no longer live how others expect. I no longer bow down to what others think I should do and how and when. My life is so fundamentally different from everyone around me. If I did what everyone else thought I should do, well, I wouldn't be living MY life at all.

And if I listened to my current employer? Well, I might not even have a life to live...

*****

Please be kind to yourself. 

Give yourself lots of grace and lots of breaks. 

For so many reasons, enduring this pandemic is really, really hard.

Another Weird Anniversary

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

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

Except it wasn't overnight of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes Things Suck

This pandemic sucks. It's stressful; it's scary; it has caused massive unemployment, illness, and death; and it has disrupted every aspect of society. I know you already know this. Wherever you are reading this post, the virus is affecting your country, your livelihood, your life.

And I feel like I'm surrounded by people living in alternate realities.

There's my family's world, which is full of funny videos and memes shared over group text.

There's my school district's world, where they think online instruction is actually happening.

There's the people with kids' world, where they are all jokingly yet desperately hopeful that everything will be back to "normal" in time for summer camps.

Then there's my world, where I am mentally preparing for the worst. I cannot sympathize with parents complaining that they are at home with their kids all day. I have no illusion that my students are learning at home under this stress and lack of structure. I am not laughing at anything about this pandemic.

This pandemic drastically changed how we live our daily lives. I am worried. I am angry. I am sad.

And it's not unlike my experience with infertility. My family made light of it while the rest of society just assumed that, since I dreamed of raising children, I'd follow the norm and become a mom eventually, one way or another.

No. Sometimes there is no "normal." Sometimes things just suck.

💜

Thinking of everyone.
Stay safe, stay home.

Not Knowing/Feeling Lost

I've always known what I wanted to do. Graduate high school. Move out of my parents' house.
Go to college. Get my own apartment without a boyfriend or roommates. Get married. Have kids.

But now I don't know what I want.

If I'd had kids, I'd be busy taking care of them. Making meals, helping with homework, driving them to sports practice or whatever it'd be that they'd be into. But we all know that I didn't have kids. And now, post-divorce, my life is all my own.

And I don't know what I want to do next.

I know I don't want to settle where I currently am, but I don't know where I want to go. I know I don't want to retire from my current position, but I don't know where I want to work next. I'm feeling frustrated with my perceived lack of earning power...

Ok, so I do know one thing: I would like to buy a house and settle somewhere. I just don't know if it's possible. Everything feels so unaffordable.

I'm in a weird mood and a weird place in my life, but I am not complaining. I have a job. I have a place to live. I may not hang out with friends nearly as much as I'd like, but I keep in touch with a handful of people that make me happy. I have a hobby I enjoy. Overall, I have meaning in my life.

I just currently feel at a loss not knowing what I want.

I think I'm feeling a bit hopeless. Current events are awful. Everything is affecting all of us.

But I also know I will get through this. I already survived losing my children and dreams of motherhood. For someone whose lifelong dream was to be a mom, it can't get worse than that.

I'm just ready for this current mood to pass.

Loneliness

I am here! I got a job (not what I just went to school for hahaha but I am still excited about it) and I moved out of the city. Jobs for what I went to school for don't exist much outside of the city (not full-time anyway, maybe I'll start my own practice, but that's a daydream for another day), and I just really had to follow through with my lifelong dream of raising children not living in the city.

And I did it!!!

And I am lonely.

Oh well... Nothing is perfect. Despite my loneliness, I am still very happy, excited, and grateful. Not to mention, I'm a little bit impressed with myself for making it all happen on my own...

But now I realize that it is safe to fall apart. I am not trying to get pregnant or get through grad school or move out of state or get through a divorce. All of that is done. I am safe in my new home, where I plan to take it pretty damn easy for a month before I start my new job.

I was lonely in my marriage. He was a great provider, but our friendship was disintegrating. We worked so hard on a new life plan that I thought we both wanted, but then he never looked for a job or expressed any interest in moving. In fact, he seemed to have lost interest in me. I am sorry to say that our marriage did not survive infertility.

I knew what I was compromising on when I got married, but no relationship is perfect. My former husband was an honest, hardworking man. He would have been a great father. But that didn't happen. And neither was anything else. I was grieving and growing and changing and, well, he...  Wasn't. I had to keep moving forward. I couldn't stay stuck. I had spent too many years of my life feeling like the living dead and I had to figure out something different for myself.

I thought I'd be less lonely once the divorce was final. But I'm not. The biggest loss for me in the divorce was losing the one person who was there for me through all of the trauma of infertility. The one person who understood what all I had been through.

On Sunday I got my period. They are really bad these days. They completely wipe me out with emotions and fatigue. And it was Father's Day. I am lucky to still have my dad and we have a great relationship, but every time I went to call him I just started crying. Hard. I couldn't do it. I sent him a text. He understood.

So here I am, 4 years and 3 months after my 2nd and final round of IVF didn't result in pregnancy, living in a cute little rental home outside of the city surrounded by nature. I have a job waiting for me, and my most basic needs are met. I still need to do some post-divorce name change stuff, but other than that I am almost done with boring administrative tasks for a little bit and can take a much needed break.

I'm lonely because it's such a big moment, but I have no one to celebrate it with.
Well, no one but you all. Hence, this blog post... <3

I'm back, I've got a lot on my mind, and I absolutely need to start writing again.

I'm looking forward to getting caught up on my reading. Wishing everyone a wonderful week! 

Love, Phoenix

The Power of Acknowledgement

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

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

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

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

Plus, the animation in it is just perfect. 

Happy viewing. 💜

 

Waiting Is Hard

I am in a familiar (though not exactly welcoming) space where time is moving slowly. For years I tried to get pregnant, each day dragging as slowly and painfully as the last. Then for years after that I worked hard at creating a new life for myself. Now I am near the end of the first major phase of my plan for creating my new life and it feels like time is at a standstill.

It's so annoying to hear parents talk about how time moves too fast and how they don't want their babies to grow up. I know life is short and maybe I would feel the same if I was parenting, but I'm not and I don't. It's getting to be a little painful. The waiting, not the infertility (for once).

Please allow me to complain a little bit. I am tired of school and homework. I am tired of spending my days with people ten to fifteen years younger than me. (As much as I like my classmates, there is a huge difference between being 38 and being 23.) I am tired of living in this city. I am tired of being lonely. (All of our friends without kids have all moved away, and all of our friends who live here are now raising children. Part of the reason we decided to move was we realized we could be just as lonely somewhere else as we are here.)

But I don't think we will be lonely after we move. It will take a long time to establish close-knit friendships, but there are a lot of ways to meet people where we are going that we don't have here. I've realized some cities are better for families with children and some cities are better for families that consist of only adults.

It's been a tough couple of weeks. I've been dealing with my childish mother, making lifestyle changes (even when it's desired, change is hardly ever easy), losing my dog, going back to school, and dealing with functional problems in our rental house... It brings to mind a common saying: when it rains, it pours.

I know everything is temporary and this too shall pass, but I am also acknowledging that it is not easy right now. After working so hard for the past three years, these last several months may be the hardest of all.

What Happened to My Friends Without Kids?

Okay, honestly, that is a rhetorical question, one I will answer at the end of this post. But I cannot count the number of times I asked myself this question while I was deep into the hardest years of my infertility. Sure, my friends with babies and kids had all moved on in their lives. While it hurt that they no longer made time for or seemed to remember me, it somewhat made sense.
But what happened to my friends without kids?

I am writing this post in case it helps anyone else that may be facing this issue.

In particular, I had two extremely close friends without kids: two women that I had been friends with for over ten years. One was married but didn't want kids. The other was single and not trying for kids. They both knew, from the time we had met, that having children was my lifelong dream.

During my darkest years, they were nowhere to be found.
I felt so lonely and, honestly, sorry for myself.

So, what happened? Why?

I kept asking myself these questions over and over. In retrospect, it's easy to think, well why didn't I ask THEM? But you all know, when you are deep in the throes of grief and trauma, you are not exactly in the best place to

1.  think clearly
2.  advocate for yourself
3.  confront issues
4.  have difficult conversations.

So, over time, I have become more compassionate with myself. Instead of questioning myself and thinking "I could have done this, I could have done that," I remind myself that I did the best I could at the time.

But damn it sucked to lose my closest friendships at the same time my lifelong dream of parenting was slipping away...

Now that I have a couple of years between those dark times and now, I have a better idea of what happened. I don't know if they are correct or not, but I came up with a few theories:

1. As women who had never unsuccessfully tried to get pregnant, they could not relate to my pain at all. Maybe they thought I was whiny? Or depressed without reason? Selfish for wanting kids in the first place? Maybe they honestly could not understand why I just "couldn't get over it?"
   
   
2. It is possible that jealousy played a factor. Maybe my single friend thought I should just appreciate what I did have- a loving marriage, and maybe my married friend thought the same- that I should just appreciate that I had a stable roof over my head.
   
   
3. Maybe it had nothing to do with infertility at all. Maybe both friendships had run their course and our lives were moving in different directions anyway. (Still sucks though, that two of my closest, longtime friends weren't/couldn't be there for me during the worst time of my life.)
   

But what I really and truly think was at the root of it all was that I had changed. Dramatically. A person cannot go through that level of loss and trauma without changing. I was no longer the woman that they had known. Instead of giving all of my energy to them (which I did, which was not their fault, those were choices that I had made), I had to reserve most of it for myself. Instead of driving to where they lived (thirty minutes for one, over an hour for the other), I stopped. I hoped they would come see me, but neither one of them ever did. Overall, I had completely changed the patterns in our friendship, so of course the relationships didn't work anymore. I thought the friendships were strong enough to survive these changes, but, unfortunately, they were not. 

I wasn't the same person anymore and that, apparently, changed everything.

I have often hinted on this blog that infertility taught me the boundaries I desperately needed in my life. For that, I am grateful. But, at times, it was almost too much loss at once for me to handle.

I continue to deal with loneliness on a regular basis, but blogging and "meeting" all of you has really helped. I try to socialize once a week. That is not always possible, but going back to school has helped. (Although I enjoy my classmates in their early 20s, I also really miss my peer group.) I am eating regularly, sleeping well, and exercising several times a week.  In other words, I am doing the best I can. I have never really been good at letting old friendships go, but I am dealing with it. I miss them and I wish them well.

And that is what happened between me and my friends without kids.

Change of Scenery

It's been a rough month.

My last four posts have been full of sadness and frustration. My last friend who was trying to get pregnant conceived. And then announced it by saying those three little words that I hate, "never give up." (Gross.) I had mixed emotions about going to a kid's birthday party, decided not to go, and I'm pretty sure that decision negatively affected that friendship. (Oh well.) A cousin's wife had a baby, which I learned about on social media while eating breakfast. (I didn't even know she was pregnant.) Insensitivity towards infertility seems to run rampant among my professors, as evidenced by their caustic comments and endless rambling about their own children. (Annoying.) I found out my estranged, older cousin with major addiction issues had another baby. (That's incredibly tragic.) Another friend, who got pregnant with IVF, had her baby. (That's a loss of friendship for me and my husband, as these people were one of the few friends we had as a couple.) I didn't even write about the last two situations. It was just overload, and I felt alone and unsupported in this world. I was exhausted.

And on top of that, my school program just plain sucks. I love the profession, but I have never been more disappointed in a program. And this is my third graduate school program, so I kind of feel like I know what I'm talking about. The professors are rude. The school is disorganized. The quality of teaching is severely lacking. And, overall, the whole experience can be summed up in one word: demoralizing.

It's been a rough five years.

So I have been very low energy, not very happy, and just putting one foot in front of the other, keeping my daydreams that I'm working so hard for in the front of my mind.

But don't worry folks! This post has a happy ending.

I went out of town this weekend and it was one of the best things I've ever done. My trip was related to my future profession, but it had nothing to do with my school. In fact, I wasn't even in the same state. It was a change of scenery and it was glorious.

Sometimes you just need to get away. I missed my husband and I missed my dog, but I felt good. I felt good about my decision to go back to school. My particular school may suck, but they're just a means to an end. I felt good about my husband's and my decision to move. Of course, I missed home but only because my husband and dog were there. That's about it. I came home and my husband asked, "Well, are we still on track? Are we still moving forward with our plan?" And I gave a hearty, "Oh hell yeah!" reply.

I'm gonna remember this the next time I have several weeks in a row knocking me down. I don't usually have the time and money for an out of town trip, but I am going to try to create a relaxing "staycation" next time I need a break. There will always be fertile irritations and annoying professors/co-workers/bosses but I can always get away, whether that is by taking a trip or enjoying good food with a good book at home.