Sunday Reset

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The contrast. Having kids, not having kids. 

And the similarities. Heartbreak all the same.

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

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

Cute infographic found on Notes by Thalia

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

My 11th Survivor Anniversary

I can barely believe it's been over 11 years since my last fertility treatment didn't result in pregnancy. In one way, it almost feels like it never happened. I'm no longer trying to get pregnant or adopt anymore. I don't live in that house anymore. I'm not married to my husband anymore. It's not even "Who am I?" anymore either. 

Everything has changed. Where I live, who I'm with, what I do, and, oh, WHO I AM.

Yet, my 11th Survivor Anniversary came and went without much fanfare this year. 

Oh wait, that's not entirely true. I had finished the draft of my research article the weekend or two before, so I decided to submit my research ON my Survivor Anniversary. It felt great. It was not anticlimactic at all. It was a huge relief to submit it. I felt so damn proud.

And then the next day I received the rejection. (Really?? The journal editor didn't even sit on it for 24 hours?) And, guess what, I barely even cared. Of course I was disappointed. But the rejection email I received was so tone deaf, so freakin' RUDE that it actually made it easier to process the rejection. I read the email, rolled my eyes, and moved on.

I am not the same.

Infertility, failed treatments, and not getting to be the mom I always wanted to be changed me.

That's just the first academic journal I submitted my research to. Oh, it's on now. I will continue to submit my research until it's published. That first journal I tried? Their loss. Big time. 

On my 11th Survivor Anniversary all I could do was laugh at my nerdy self for living through my worst nightmare and then conducting RESEARCH about it. Hahaha. Nerd!

Have you seen Pretty Woman? This shopping scene is what I immediately thought of
when I read that rejection email. I found this pic on an old tumblr post.

Other People's Writing Saves Me

I just read something that I needed to read. The last time something resonated with me this hard was over a decade ago when I found Infertility Honesty's blog where she gave me a whole new language with which to understand my experience with life altering trauma.

Back then:
Oh!!! This is grief? I am grieving? Okay, that kinda makes sense... I had no idea this was grief.

Just now:
Oh!!! This is an awakening? This is a thing, this "Great Unfuckening?" This makes a lot of sense.

Let me back up. I've been going through something for the last two years. Two years ago it was 2024 and it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year. I broke up with my boyfriend, quit my job, and was devastated by my family. I stopped everything and focused on myself. I changed massively. And quickly. 

My boyfriend and I were only broken up for 3 months, and I actually only lived alone for about 2 weeks. But that short amount of time was transformative. When I sat in my silent living room all alone for those two weeks I thought about everything: my feelings as a little girl, my family dynamics, my boyfriends while growing up, my marriage, my divorce, and my current breakup. I realized so much in an unbelievably short amount of time.

In the two years since, I've remained steadfast in my efforts to put myself first. In fact, I try to put myself first, second, and third. Don't get me wrong. I love everyone. I love my boyfriend, I love my family, and I love total strangers that I don't know. I also love myself. Finally. I like myself too. It's a relief.

But despite my love for everyone, I make myself #1. I have to put myself first. No one else is going to. And it has taken years to develop the habit of asking myself what do I want and what do I need before considering what others want and need.

Anyway, I'm rambling a bit. But it's been tough. Things are really difficult with my family and after reading this post, Aging Out of Fucks: The Neuroscience of Why You Suddenly Can't Pretend Anymore by Ellen Scherr, I feel seen. I feel known. And I understand myself better.

I've got to share some quotes with you:

• "As estrogen levels shift in perimenopause and beyond, this intense drive to please and nurture others begins to diminish. What replaces it isn't bitterness. It's clarity."
  
  I feel this. From the drop in my strong nurturing drive to the clarity that is newly emerging, I feel this so much.
  
  
• "Decades of chronic low-level stress from constant social monitoring takes a biological toll... What looks like 'not having a filter' might actually be a stress response system that's finally saying 'enough'."
  
  Yes, I am actually worn out. Completely done. Put a fork in me. I can't overfunction for others anymore. Not my mom. Not a partner. Not any employer. I know more now. I see what I was doing. And now I am done.

The author talks about how we literally don't have it in us anymore to people please. She talks about the shifts that happen when we stop performing and stop providing our free emotional labor: other people get uncomfortable. She reminds us that other people's discomfort is not our problem to fix.

• "All the energy you spent managing everyone else's experience? That's now available for literally anything else. The return on investment is staggering."
  
  
• "You're not becoming difficult; you're becoming free."

I am sharing this article in case it's what you need to read too.

I found this embroidery kit if you're looking for a new hobby. I went to a workshop about decorative stitching a couple of weeks ago, and it made me think I'd like embroidery.

July 4th Anniversaries

I want you to choose yourself.

I want you to fiercely protect your peace.

I want you to pursue what inspires and nourishes you.

Infertility changed me.

Being childless-not-by-choice changed me.

The pandemic changed me.

2024 alone changed me.

Pic from SelfLoveRainbow

We have ONE LIFE.

(Thank you Tom Petty!)

Pic retrieved from this tribute post

I've shared that I hit extreme burnout last year. It was awful. I took the whole month of December off. I went to work and that was it. No meetings, no appointments, no traveling. I went to the grocery store and checked the mail. I did the bare minimum.

Then I spent the first 6 months of 2025 following through but not adding anything. I went to work. I went to appointments. I finished a quilt top, the hardest one I've sewn so far! And I am so close to finishing the draft of my research article that is good enough to submit for publication. (If accepted, I will get it back with lots of edits to make. But I want to submit the best work I can.)

I feel sooo much better. There are physical signs. Instead of sleeping 10-12 hours a night, I am sleeping 8-9 hours a night. There are emotional signs. When I feel stressed, I can breathe and talk myself through it instead of falling apart or shutting down. There are spiritual signs. I feel more connected to something bigger than me. I refuse to give up. I will continue living my little life sharing the light I have with everyone that comes into my orbit.

*****

July 4th.
Yesterday was a contrast in anniversaries. 

One year ago yesterday I received a phone call from my niece where she was unexpectedly and very shockingly rude, hateful, and condescending to me. When I shared a little about that phone call with other close family members, nobody reacted much. I had to explain why what she said and did was so wrong. It changed everything. It was/is very, very hard for me. I still think about it often. I give myself grace. We navigate and manage what comes our way the best way we can in the moment.

On the other hand, four years ago yesterday my boyfriend and I moved into our home. If we are still at this address next year, it will be the longest I've ever lived anywhere in my life. I cannot describe the feelings that my home gives me, but... I bought this house for the life I have now. I never planned on or even imagined raising children here. And logistically, I haven't had to change my address for the last four years. I haven't had to shut off and start up a bunch of different utilities and services. I haven't had to pack up everything and move it. 

I've been allowed to just be.

I want that for you. Prioritize your well-being.

I'll leave you with another July 4th anniversary.
Six years ago I wrote this post: The Cost of My Freedom

Pic retrieved from Ontario Science Centre

After Ten Years

Making sense of things was a privilege I had before enduring infertility. 

The illusion of certainty, of logic being ever-present, of things working out are long, long, long gone.

I have no hope and very rarely use the word anymore.

This foundational shift in my existence prepared me to handle a pandemic. The shattering of my beliefs is helping me live alongside whatever the hateful hell is going on around me. 

But this blog has never been about the bigger picture. It's always been about me and my little life and how I dealt with what was the worst thing I could ever imagine (i.e., not getting to be a mom).

I'm okay. My little life is okay. I don't know about the future. I have no clue. I feel secure with my house, but, considering all of my jobs have been in education, healthcare, research, and non-profits, I'm not sure what employment will be available to me over the next several decades. 

It's just really weird to work so hard for so long to create a life I want to live and when I finally arrive and can take a year to just breathe and be, the institutions and infrastructures within my country, not to mention our international relationships, drastically change.

How can someone be so hopeless and exhausted but still be content and, for lack of a better word, happy? I don't know that answer either, even though I'm living it. I AM happy. I'm also sad, frustrated, and angry. I'm also at a place where I realize I can't do anything about anything. 

I've been fighting uphill battles my entire life. Here's just one. My first year of teaching was 22 years ago. I sounded the alarm then. Our kids need to learn to read and write! Our kids need more time to play! It fell on deaf ears to the people in charge. Parents didn't listen. Administrators didn't listen. And I can't fight and stay mad throughout the duration of my entire life. It will kill me.

So here I am. A Gen X woman, divorced, couldn't have kids, on her third career, still underpaid, and tired of shouting into the void about what society needs.

I'm done. But I don't count it as giving up. That would be giving in. I'm not doing that. I am not going to sit here or lie around and hate my life. I am going to find the parts I like and enjoy those things. I will continue to feel all of my feelings, but I will always come back to the three questions I've learned to ask myself.

What do I want?
What do I need?
Is this my problem to manage?

Because, eventually, after ten years of redesigning your life, you get to a point where, really, the problems aren't yours. You've addressed your problems, worked through some, accepted others, and moved on. Most of the problems are society's or other people's. Not yours.

Do your own work.

And you will be free.

a soaring phoenix found at stockcake.com

Personal Update & Peer Support

Hello! Hi! How are you? I've missed you. 

And quite honestly, I need you. Thank you for being here.

In my last post, I didn't know if I was ending this blog or not. Well, actually, I thought I was done with it. I thought the theme had run its course. I mean, I achieved my goal. I created a life I want to live. And now I am living it.

What happened is I got my feelings hurt. By two little anonymous comments that really weren't that big of a deal, just strangers spouting their opinion on what I'd written without full context or understanding. The first time it happened I engaged. The second time I did not. But I thought, life is hard enough, I don't need this. And I don't. None of us do. So I took a break from blogging.

But guess what.

It's not the strangers that can hurt us the most. It is the people we know and love. Or rather, it is the people we thought we knew that can cut us deeply... 

Over the last several months while I haven't been blogging, I had a close family member say very mean, rude, and unnecessary things to me. I don't want to write about it yet because I would hate for anything to go viral when I am still struggling with processing and navigating the whole thing. I apologize for being vague. You're not missing anything juicy or interesting. A close family member said some things and made a very short-sighted decision, and I am very very hurt. Like, this will permanently affect our relationship. What the future will look like, I do not know. But I do know that things will never be the same. There was Before and there will be After.

So if a stranger is hate-reading my blog, whatever asinine and judgmental comments they leave me behind their "anonymous" shield won't really affect me anymore. They can't hurt me. I don't even know them.

It's the people we love that can hurt us the most. Being deeply hurt is the biggest thing that's happened to me this summer. It's changed everything.

Other important updates are that my boyfriend and I are back together and have been for a while now. We worked hard to communicate, we're each making our own changes, and we are happily back together! I am not surprised that we got back together because I knew we loved and liked each other so much, but I was surprised by how quickly it all happened.

Also, I quit another job. I loved that job, but I was very underpaid. It didn't feel good. I grew a lot professionally in that position, but it was definitely time for me to move on. It was scary to quit, but I knew I needed to so I did.

I still have my other job that I love. It's in a nursing home and I only work every now and then. 

But I already have a new part-time job and it has nothing to do with caregiving!

For the past 27 years, I've worked in education and healthcare. I have taken care of thousands of other people's children, parents, and grandparents. It's wonderful, awesome, rewarding, and a privilege to be a caregiver. It is also exhausting. And lacking in reciprocity. (Just being honest...) But when I'm giving my all to students and patients, I don't really get that much back. They're not MY kids or parents or grandparents. It is a professional relationship that does not involve unconditional love or even fellowship outside of our appropriate setting. Plus, caregiving jobs are typically done by women and are extremely underpaid. It's a lot of giving without getting a lot in return. I hate to say all of this, but it's true. And knowing all of this makes me appreciate this new job opportunity working for a small, family-owned company. I don't think I ever want to fully step away from healthcare, but I don't think I will ever be able to do clinical work full-time. It's extremely demanding, and I need to honor the sensitive constitution that I was born with. 

These have all been good realizations for me.

It's a lot of change. I had no idea that year 2024 was going to be so transformational. It feels like I'm letting everything go (relationships, jobs, old behavioral patterns) and seeing what comes back. My life is restructuring itself. Again. 

And amidst all of this, I have returned to working on my research about involuntary childlessness. Here's something interesting. I found it was harder to go through the narrative data this time around compared to previous periods of data analysis. It's taken me by surprise. I've had to slow down, work in shorter bursts, and give myself emotional recovery time. It's hard reading about other women's difficult experiences and all of the things that have been said and done to them. Really hard. Especially when it's all so relatable.

But I am committed! And I am grateful. What an opportunity and privilege to be able to conduct an international qualitative pilot study. I am looking forward to sharing the results of my research at several different state conferences this fall. Then I will draft an article for publication in an academic journal to get the research officially documented and accessible!

But I need you. I need this community. I have myself, my understanding boyfriend, and my supportive friends. But there's my family that always invalidates and infantilizes me. And there's a whole, big pronatalist world that makes so many assumptions about me and my life. It's just hard being so misunderstood. I know members of other marginalized groups feel the same way.

We need each other.

(Image taken from a company website that provides website support.
I know nothing about this company, just giving credit to where I found the picture.)

Keep Reaching Out

Support is rarely a one time thing. During hard times, we need continual bursts of it.

I'm in a mood where I feel less-than-great. I think I'm feeling anxious, uncertain. Sad.

So I reached out to two different friends via text. One friend is my most recent best friend from where I used to live. I've been lucky to have her in my life for 11 years now even though we actually met for the first time by chance back in 1998. The other friend is my best friend from high school. We lost touch for many years but reconnected through mutual friends, and I am so glad we did. Both these women are awesome! And they knew what to say to support me this morning.

Gahhh this time period of my life sucks so much AND I am feeling very thankful. I have cultivated great support in my life. And also?... This is, by far, NOT the worst thing I've been through. 

So there's that.

But it can be hard to reach out. We feel annoying or like a burden or a broken record. Whatever. Reach out anyway. We need the support and our loved ones want to support us.

*****

Here's something I finished a couple of days ago. It's my first quilt top of 2024, and it's flannel.

This quilt top represents a lot to me because I hadn't been sewing as much since the summer.

One of the significant issues in my most recent relationship was his young adult son who lived with us as an opportunity to save some money but did nothing to contribute to the household or move forward as an individual in society. I don't want to say too much because my experience involves other people's stories, but I will say this: it was driving me crazy!!! As a former teacher and current healthcare professional, not to mention as a childless not-by-choice woman, it was extremely difficult for me to live with someone in my own house who was given multiple opportunities to move forward in life and chose not to.

Plus, he was staying in my sewing room, which is why I had not been sewing as much. I sacrificed my creative space for six months to give him a place to live, which I was glad to do... When I thought he was going to go back to school or enlist in the military or do some job training, all things he said he was going to do. Folks... He did none of the above. 

Did I mention that this was the third time I'd lived with this young man in the last five years?

O. M. G. Living with other people's children (and parenting) is so hard. 

So, anyway, long story short (and I am really abbreviating this painful story)...
I wanted a family. I thought my boyfriend and his son could be my family.
But I realized they are not. They are not my family. 

So the kid moved out and I got my sewing room back. I've been sewing so much more. And reorganizing my fabric. It's healing while my life goes through yet another transformation.

*****

In summary, text your friends. Call your family. Send an email. Write a letter. It's whatever you choose. Just reach out. We don't have to go through hard times all alone.

Also, be honest with yourself. Especially when it's hard. This is where reaching out to a loved one can also help. We can hear ourselves think when we talk to others.

And finally, find an activity where you can get lost in the flow. We can't think all of the time.

*****

Here are some more blocks for the international sew-a-long for my Alice in Wonderland quilt:

The Dormouse at the Tea Party

&

Some Cake for the Tea Party.

Moving Can Change Everything

I took a vacation with my family last week. I have written candidly on this blog about my difficulties with my mom and sisters over the years. It is the biggest reason why I hope my blog remains anonymous. I don't want them to read what I needed to process here.

But last week's trip was awesome, and I am so, so thankful. I got along with everyone, and everyone got along with me. We ate delicious food and spent most of the time hanging out just the five of us. We haven't done that in... Decades? It was very special for me.

The point of the trip was to visit one of my sisters. After living in the same small town for 30 years, she and her husband moved across the country last spring to start a new business in the tourism industry. So, lucky for us, they now live in a beach resort area! And I hope to visit every year.

I've heard people say that moving doesn't solve anything. I've heard, "Wherever you go, there you are." It's implied that you take your problems with you. Which can be true... but isn't always.

Moving changed my sister's life. 

Yes, there were problems. Yes, there probably still are. I mean, everyone has problems. But things are SO MUCH BETTER. She still has health issues to manage and there's stuff in the past and you can't change the past. But... You might as well live where you want to live! At the very least, don't live where you don't want to live. 

These are our lives we are talking about. And we only get one.

My sister wanted to move for a very long time. Moving is hard. Moving is expensive. Plus, moving is not always possible. The logistics of life require money, housing, jobs, etc. You can't "just move" just like you can't "just adopt." 

But you can work toward moving. You can make plans and then see what ends up working out. You can take steps toward living the life you want to live.

My sister is happier. She is living somewhere she wants to live. She is working at a job she wants to work. She is spending her days and time in a place where she wants to be. Naturally, the positive consequences of all of this are radiating out into the rest of her life. She moved, and everything is getting better.

Moving changed my life.

It got me out of the house I bought for my children. It got me living near a school where I could study for a new career. Ultimately, moving got me out of the city, which I loved but it's not where I wanted to live anymore. It got me to my new spot in life. It's a simple life; it's not for everyone. But I love it. I have my home, my jobs, my hobbies, and my new friends. It's where I want to be.

So I don't subscribe to the thinking that moving is merely a temporary fix or that moving is a change of settings for the same problems. Moving can completely change your life. 

It doesn't happen overnight. 

It took me a year to figure out where to go next and to put my house on the market, sell it, and actually move. Then it took me two more years to move away from the city where I'd lived for the past two and a half decades. Then it took me two more years to find a landing spot that felt right.

It took my sister 30 years.

But you know what? Those five years for me were gonna go by whether or not I worked toward moving. Those 30 years went by for my sister, and another 30 would've gone by just the same if she'd stayed where she was. 

But we didn't stay stuck. We came up with ideas and chipped away at plans and went with what happened. We moved. And we created lives we want to live.

(My view for three days. I hadn't taken a vacation in 4.5 years. I was giddy the entire time.)

End of an Era

It's over. My pediatrics coverage for my co-worker on maternity leave has ended. I am re-retiring from working with kids, and I gave away every single workbook, manipulative, curriculum set, and intervention tool I had. Even better, it ended on a great note with an awesome last appointment with a child and her grandmother. And now I am done. 

I was going to call this post "It is done." But... Ha! Apparently, I already did that in this post here when I quit my last pediatrics position and retired the first time (after working with kids for 25 years). This last stint really drove home the fact that I have moved on. I have moved on in terms of what I want to learn, how I want to grow, and whom I want to serve.

Quite honestly, the last three months felt like major regression. It was a big hit to my mental health, and I processed a lot here on this blog. Working with kids felt so different for a lot of different reasons, the details of which I won't go on about here anymore. It's over. But the changes really confused me. And bothered me. But now I accept them. And I'm glad to be done.

It's the end of an era.

Labor Day

Labor Day doesn't make me think of work. Or a break from work. Labor Day just makes me think of pregnancy and, well, labor. Something I never had or did. I was always scared of it though. I kind of wished the stork thing was true. I would've loved it if a bird had dropped off a baby for me at my front door. Biological or not, I didn't care.

But I do appreciate this day off. I've appreciated this whole weekend. I haven't done a damn thing. I still feel so maxed out from my pediatrics coverage, school and graduation, and just the last 12 years in general. I'm limiting the rest of my year to what I already have planned and nothing else: working part-time, continuing my research project, and participating in the quilt sew along that started this month. I also have two trips planned, one to see my sisters and another to see my friends where I used to live (for the first time in over five years!).

I am very excited about my trip to see my old friends. I'm going for a long time--a whole week and I still won't have enough time to see everyone and do everything. Then I started thinking about it... The first two nights I'm staying with one of my best friends. She doesn't have kids. She never actively tried, but she never actively prevented either. Even though she's married, I suppose she is childfree by circumstance.

Then I'm going to spend two night in a hotel. I'll spend those days visiting old places and meeting up with friends at my favorite restaurants. I actually signed up for an all-day workshop and texted one of my best friend's sisters to see if she would like to join me. She's going to! We've never actually hung out without her sister. I just knew she'd be interested in the workshop. Also, she doesn't have kids. I'm pretty sure she and her husband tried. I think she is childless not-by-choice. Maybe it will come up; maybe it won't.

Then the last two nights I will spend with my oldest best friend (the one whose sister is joining me for the workshop). I haven't seen my friend in EIGHT years. We didn't have a falling out, but we were going through our own things for awhile and didn't keep in touch. I texted her on her birthday a year and a half ago, and we've been back in touch ever since. We are both very grateful for that. And guess what. She doesn't have kids either. She never wanted them. Well, it wasn't that easy. She wasn't sure if she wanted them or not and spent years in counseling before realizing she didn't. So she is childfree by choice. 

Also, we have plans to have dinner with a third friend who ALSO does not have kids. I think she might have wanted them, but... Her husband didn't. Nevermind that she is divorced now. So maybe she considers herself childless by circumstance? I'm not sure.

On the final day I will meet up with my best friends from high school. Among the three of them, they have seven kids. Now that I have grieved my losses and created a new life for myself, I can enjoy the occasional picture and updates about their kids. I love my friends, so therefore I love their kids. Even if I've only met two of the seven.

Weird, huh. That's a lot of women without kids. I used to feel surrounded by mothers and fertility, and now my world feels so much bigger. Thank God.

My feelings about having kids have changed too. That's been weird for me. I don't want a baby anymore. And that is completely crazy to me. My whole lifelong dream was to be a mother. What do you mean I don't want a baby anymore??

But I had to change. My life depended on it. 

I could not continue to exist with that deep, unquenchable yearning. I don't know how I did it. And if you would've told me ten years ago that there would be a day where I wouldn't want a baby, I would have known that you DEFINITELY didn't get it.

But I had to change. And, step by step and year by year, it happened. I think that's another reason that working in pediatrics just doesn't resonate with me anymore. I don't live a child-centric life, and I don't like entering and exiting that world every time I go to work.

It's just been a lot. A lot, a lot of hard work. What I've been through, how I've changed.

And those are my rambling Labor Day thoughts.

Enthusiasm on Fire

There was no singular event where I realized I was not going to have kids. 

It was a series of devastating moments. When it didn't happen immediately (like, within the first three months), I felt catastrophic. Then when my AMH was tested at the seven month mark (I think it was then, I can honestly say a lot of details are fuzzy now) and found to be *barely* detectable, I felt destined for the worst. But I went on anyway. Kept trying, went to the doctor, sent my husband to the doctor, underwent three medicated IUIs (with injectibles!!! Aaaahhhh!!!), and then IVF (Oh gawd!!!!). Twice. Then I took some time to process. Then the adoption agency I picked out, after conducting extensive research, filed for bankruptcy overnight. (Really. It's horrifying. Trauma on top of trauma for everyone involved.)

And then I couldn't do it anymore. I knew I tried all I could. I felt lucky to be able to try in the first place. To have a partner. To have a home for children. To be able to try medical intervention. I felt guilty for feeling so sad and empty when I logically knew that I had so much.

And I wanted to die.

That's the honest truth that people don't talk about very much. You also have to be careful where you express such things because involuntary holds are a real thing. (Sometimes that is what people need but definitely not always.)

I racked my brain to find a reason to stay alive. Well, first, I guess I chose to stay alive. Just out of practicality. I feel like I was lucky to get to go to college, so I should help others where I can with the skills that I have. Not doing that would be a waste of resources.

But I didn't think I'd ever feel happy again. 

I definitely didn't think I'd EVER feel excited.

That's a looong intro just to say that I *am* excited again. I realized last night that I was so excited I couldn't fall asleep. I just kept thinking about everything. In the best, most non-ruminatory way. I'm excited about my research and the rest of my coursework. It's hard and demanding, but I like it. I'm excited about my job. It challenges me and it's exhausting, but it's awesome. And most recently? I just found this new quilt community online. You get a mystery block once a month that you sew at home with helpful videos and online community support. Then at the end of the year you have a quilt top. I signed up. It starts in September. After graduation. I'm so excited!

I was very depressed as a child and teenager, but I held on. Then my thirties were pretty damn devastating, but I just kept moving away from things that sucked and toward things that didn't.

But after infertility and losing my children and dreams of motherhood, I thought I'd never feel happiness again. I was resigned to staying alive and doing what I could, but I didn't think I'd ever feel enthusiasm. 

But I was wrong. And I do. 

I will never take enthusiasm for granted.

The block-of-the-month quilt kit has an Alice in Wonderland theme. I feel like it's above my skill level, but I'm going to figure it out anyway. https://arteastquiltingco.com/online-shop/ols/products/new-sew-along-registration---september-2023

Change in Feeling

Was it infertility? Or, was it the pandemic? Or, is it aging?
It's probably a combination with even more variables I haven't thought of yet.

Working with kids feels different. 

And I've worked with kids since knowing I wasn't going to be raising any. Actually, since knowing, I've worked in a couple of different positions in several different settings: preschool, public schools, and hospitals. It didn't hurt or bother me then. And it doesn't hurt or bother me now.

But something is different.

Am I sick of playing? I don't think so... Am I tired of redirecting behavior? Well, that comes with working with people no matter if they're kids or adults, so, no, that's not exactly it either.

Maybe part of it is I feel inefficient. I think Anne Sullivan, Helen Keller's teacher, had my dream job. Take the kid out to a cabin, have high expectations, and work with them 24/7. I'm kind of kidding but kind of serious. I feel limited in what I can do once a week or even five days a week. 

I still like kids. And kids still like me. I think. But I just don't want to do it anymore. And for some reason, this perplexes me and I want to know why.

Another idea I've been having is maybe I relate better to older adults now. As I work with people who are sick or injured in the hospital or elderly adults who live in long-term care, I can relate to their frustrations with their health and body. Sometimes I share that my body didn't work the way I wanted it to either, but most of the time I just empathize with their sadness and frustration.

I knew what it was like to be a stressed out kid.
Now I know what it is like to have your adult body fail you.

Maybe, after working or volunteering with children for 25 years, I'm just ready for a change. I mean, my oldest student is 32 now. My niece and nephew are grown adults. Even my own children wouldn't be little kids anymore. 

Maybe it's a case of kids grow up and so have I. Hahaha. (I don't mean people who work with kids aren't grown up. I mean I've always been very young at heart, but now I'm feeling older.)

Anyway, I wouldn't say I'm regretting covering my co-worker's maternity leave. I am grateful for the opportunity to work. I remind myself that working with kids is the one thing I know how to do confidently. But I still feel anxious and I honestly don't enjoy it like I used to, so I've just been thinking about it a lot lately.

I've read some old posts of mine recently. They remind me of where I was, what I was doing, and how I was feeling. They remind me of what I've already been through, what I've already endured and survived. So I know this pediatrics coverage will come and go. Three months is not a very long time. And I know I will like parts of it every day. 

It just feels completely different this time and I don't know why. 

Productivity Overload

Tomorrow is the last day of May. Dang, 2023 has been a lot. 

And that's coming after 2020 - 2022 (pandemic) 

and 2016 - 2019 (selling my children's house, going to school, moving out of state, & divorce),

which followed 2012 - 2015 (infertility and failed treatments). 

My challenges of 2023 have included major relationship stress (which we've worked through, yay!), school stress (which is positive stress but still stressful), and training for pediatrics.

Whatever you have and have had on your plate, I bet you are tired too.

I think it's productivity and processing overload. 

I think I am burning out, but I also think I've changed massively.

This pediatrics coverage that I'm training for and will be providing feels so different from any other time I've worked with kids. On the surface, I know I don't have the energy I used to have. I know I don't have the same kind of enthusiasm. I also know I'm tired of kids on screens and other people's parenting. (Just being honest!!)

But today I realized that I have different things to offer now. I went to work at the nursing home. I was excited to drive there and grateful to be there. I connected with several different people in ways that were meaningful to both of us.

I've changed, and my gifts have changed.

And I'm very, very tired. 😂😂

This past Memorial Day Weekend feels like a reset of some sort. The past is behind me; the future is ahead of me. I mean, that's always the case...But I can get stuck in the past and anxious about the future, and that's not what this is.

I did nothing this weekend. No school, no work, no cleaning, no projects. Just lots of rest. Watched some tv. Sewed a tiny bit. I will honor where I am, follow through with my commitments, and say no to everything else for the rest of the year. 

March Again

March is transformative. The season goes from winter to spring. And for me, back in 2015, I went from trying to conceive to contemplating what a life without my children might look like. 

I haven't written until now this month because I've been working hard to meet a deadline for my proposed research project. It's interesting reading about involuntary childlessness in academic journals. It's really interesting that the majority of the research I've found has been published in the last couple of years. 

I think about how, this time last year, I didn't have my jobs and I wasn't back in school. I was wrapping up my three-month, self-imposed sabbatical after quitting what ended up being the worst job ever. (And the job before that had its own concerns! So that's saying something.)

I also think about how my Survivor Anniversary is coming up in a couple of weeks. Has it really been eight years since my last failed IVF? That sounds so long ago...

Something is going on with me. I'm just not thinking straight. I saw an unfamiliar charge on my checking account this afternoon and called my bank attempting to file a claim on the fraudulent charge. Except it wasn't a charge. It was a credit. From my employer. It was my paycheck. 

[insert facepalm]

But hey, instead of losing money, I earned some money. And it was't fraudulent at all! So I'm glad it worked out like that instead of the other way around.

But on a more serious note? I need to notice that my brain is overloaded and give myself grace. Do a little less. Get more sleep. Breathe slowly and deeply. Eat. You know, all the basics.

It's good! I love my jobs. I love school. I'm very grateful. 

I also think changes are on the horizon. 

I suppose they always are... :)

Artist: Travis Parr, art work available here.

Does trauma change our personality?

I've been wondering about this for awhile. Growing up I always enjoyed the personality quizzes in teen magazines. Even now, I still like to read the pop culture articles online and take personality inventories. They're just for fun. I know they're not scientifically based. But still...

When I was 23 and in my first year of teaching, we all did the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) as part of a professional development session. I was young, new, and enthusiastic. I dove head first into the questions and looked forward to learning my personality type. I was not surprised to learn I was an ESTP.

Fast forward fifteen years and we did the MBTI in graduate school...
Where I scored the exact opposite personality, INFJ. I found this so interesting!! 

I'd always identified as an extrovert (the "E" of ESTP), but the more I thought about it, the more I thought I was just a really, really extroverted introvert (the "I" of INFJ). I am not afraid of speaking in crowds. There have been so many times in my life when I presented in front of hundreds, or sometimes thousands, of people. Plus, I really like hanging out with people, something I've missed greatly over the last decade. (Thanks, infertility! Thanks, pandemic!)

But I need my downtime. People exhaust me. After a long day at work, I like to come home and sew (not go out with friends, assuming I didn't have a friend apocalypse due to infertility or assuming I would have been invited out with co-workers if there hadn't been a pandemic).

Everything I've read says your personality doesn't change. And again, it's not a scientifically-based assessment, but everything I've read about the MBTI says your type doesn't change. 

And yet mine did. Completely.

What do you think?

Does trauma change our personality?

The Great Purge has Begun

I have big personal news. It may not seem like a big deal to some, but it is to me. I have flooring in my bedroom!!! After living in my new home for a year, I can finally start to move into my bedroom. Well, once the spare parts that we ordered to put together our bed frame arrive... We lost the necessary nuts and bolts sometime over the last year. Whatever! After waiting a year, I can wait another week or two.

It's a two-bedroom house so we've had our mattress on the floor in the extra room. It hasn't been too bad. But, I am so excited to finally unpack and put the house together. Eventually... Nothing happens overnight.

So the floor was installed this past Saturday. On Sunday, I felt inspired. Now that we have a floor, we have more room, and we can start shifting stuff around. This means I am one step closer to moving out of my storage unit. (You know, all the stuff I packed up in 2015 and then moved across state lines in 2018.)

But back to my inspiration on Sunday... 

While I have a bunch of stuff in boxes in a storage unit four hours away, I also have a bunch of stuff in boxes here. And on Sunday I went through all of my teaching materials. Twenty years of books and curriculum flashed before my eyes in four hours.

If you are a teacher, you know what I am talking about. You just don't get rid of your teaching materials. You hang on to it all. Tightly. It takes decades to build your inventory of resources. Plus, they don't make stuff like they used to. And all that time and money you've invested into your collection? Well, there are many reasons why every teacher's garage is overflowing with boxes.

But I'm not going to teach anymore. I am not going to work in pediatric healthcare either. And we all know I am not having kids. As of this past Sunday, I could start to get rid of all of my kid stuff. 

So I did.

And it felt great!

Some of it was trash, but most of it was in good condition. I set aside a box of stuff for my boyfriend's sister who has two little kids. I packed three boxes for my friend who just started her career in education. And I packed five boxes full of donations. And wouldn't you know it?? I went to the shipping store today to mail the four boxes I packed for friends and there, on the front door, was a sign advertising a homeschool curriculum swap in a couple of weeks. Perfect!! Now I know where my donation boxes are going.

Beautiful timing. All of it.

I kept some stuff, of course. I couldn't get rid of ALL of it. I have a box of resources and a couple of boxes of kids books. ;) Maybe in another year I will pass that stuff along too. Maybe I won't.

And there's more in storage. Ohhh there's more. So. Many. Kids Books. But at the very least, I can take those to the library for donation. Or the local elementary schools. New teachers always need books. I will find homes for all of the good stuff. 

The great purge has begun!

Here's somewhat of a throwback that my fellow Gen Xers will appreciate! 

Um, yes, I kept this for myself. ;)

And here's a picture of my new floor! A clean slate for my new life in my new home!! (When you've moved as much as I have throughout life, a year in a new place is still considered new.)

Retirement Announcement

In my last post I shared an article from an author who is retiring from aunthood. 

It's an appropriate segue to share my big news: I am retiring from pediatrics.

It's pretty major. I did not come to this decision easily or lightly. I looove kids. And they love me. It's pretty much always an instant connection when I meet a new child or adolescent. I love working with children. I mean, I've been doing it for 25 years!

It started when I was 17 and got an amazing opportunity to get trained to work with a 4-year-old with autism in his home. What an incredible opportunity for a high school senior. 

During my freshman year of college I started a mentorship program at a neighboring elementary school. We paired college students with elementary students one-on-one and met once a week for fun activities.

After graduating college, I became an elementary special education teacher. I loved it! Not the paperwork, but the kids. The relationships we built. The fun we had. Nobody ever wanted to leave my classroom, myself included. 

I tried a semester of law school, but it was boring. And pointless. To me anyway. My classmates would complain about reading for six hours the night before and all I could think was, "Yeah, but did you TEACH anyone to read? That's what matters." I mean... They were complaining about reading when they knew how to read. When they knew English and the reading was in English. I just couldn't wrap my head around their complaints. It wasn't for me. I dropped out. 

I went back to teaching.

I kept teaching until I moved with my boyfriend at the time. I wasn't certified to teach in that state so I got a job with a non-profit... Running a program that benefited children. But after six months of working in schools and training teachers, I knew I had to return.

I moved back home and went back to teaching.

That job was my favorite job I've had yet. I stayed there for three years before quitting to start a family with my new (now ex-) husband.

Oh. Maybe I should have waited until I got pregnant?

But even then... I volunteered at the elementary school around the corner. I needed something that gave my life meaning. I asked the school counselor to pair me with a kid that needed extra attention, and I would go once a week with a crate on wheels filled with books, games, and craft supplies. We would do whatever the child wanted to do for thirty whole minutes. It was so much fun for both of us.

But after years of TTC, 3 failed IUIs, and 2 failed IVFs, I knew I had to put my energy elsewhere. (Ha! What energy?? There was hardly anything left of me aside from my skin and bones.) After isolating myself in my home for several years (except for my weekly volunteering gig and my Friday nights out to eat), I decided to go back to school for a new career. 

I braved the outside fertile world. I endured a semester of pediatrics taught by insensitive professors and interacted with classmates who were parenting and/or pregnant. Since knowing I'm not going to be raising children, I have substituted at a preschool, taught middle school math, been a healthcare provider in an elementary school, and worked in outpatient pediatrics.

Some habits die hard.

But now... I am announcing my retirement. Only you all and my boyfriend know. I tried telling my mom, but she exclaimed, "But that's where your gifts are! Who will serve the children??" 

You know what? That's not actually my responsibility. I am allowed to develop new gifts and take my services to new-to-me populations.

I will miss working with kids, but I will not miss working with fertile co-workers who judge me for my methods. Like I said, kids love me. I take a different approach with them. I treat each child like they are their own, individual person. (What a novel idea!) I don't talk down to them, I validate what they feel, and I help them with whatever it is they want help with. Needless to say, they like me. Kids trust me. And that leads to a lot of jealousy in the workplace. I don't need that shit. I don't need to be treated like a 12-year-old by my co-workers. It has happened in every place I've worked (except for the aforementioned Favorite Job where I got the chance to feel valued and respected). Sorry I look 25 and sorry kids like me, but there's nothing I can do about that.

Whew! /end rant
Well, that particular rant anyway...

I didn't even have problems with the parents. That's a common obstacle. But not for me. Parents knew I had their child's best interest at heart. They knew it and they trusted me. Their child liked me and trusted me, and that's what mattered most to the parents. I didn't judge them or their child; I just met everyone wherever they were on this journey of life. The parents knew that.

It was the co-workers. And the screens. Ohhh the screens. Our poor children are growing up addicted. It's not just tv. It's cell phones and lap tops and tablets. It's not reading a book in the waiting room anymore but watching a video. It's not drawing in class but constantly checking social media. Even in grad school, my classmates were always shopping online instead of listening to the lecture. Until I can find a school or facility that uses old fashioned paper and pencil instead of computers with kids, I cannot participate. It's too much to overcome.

My last birthday was the turning point. Who knew turning 42 would be so pivotal? That's when I realized I'd been working with children for 25 years. I thought about what I wanted to do for the next 25 years. I don't plan on being able to retire, so I at least want to somewhat enjoy whatever it is I'm doing. I'm getting older and, as I look to the future, I don't want to be getting up and down from the floor all day. I already can't run and play as long as I used to. I'm just... changing. And that's okay. Physically, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually. I love kids, but I am taking my career in a new direction. I am going to build my skill set so I will be qualified to work with adults.

I am retiring from pediatrics.

It was an extremely hard decision.

But it feels right for me. 

My 7th Survivor Anniversary

In just a few days it will be 7 years since my last fertility treatment didn't result in pregnancy. The year was 2015 and I was completely empty. It seems like it wasn't that long ago, but then it also seems like it was a couple of lifetimes ago.

If you are new here, these posts will catch you up:

• last month when I summed up where I currently am with living with infertility
  
• last year when I wrote about not feeling settled in life yet but happy anyway
• the year before that where I kept it short but linked to my past anniversary posts

And now we are here, the first day of spring 2022.

I don't have anything new to offer in this moment. 

I just want to encourage you to stop and appreciate your own hard work. Grieving is HARD. It's lonely and devastating and tiring and soul-sucking and nobody seems to understand.  

After quitting my last job, I decided to take some time off. I was tired, I was sad, and I had worked way too hard for far too long to feel that bad. So I stopped. I rested, sewed, and got outside. 

I'm glad I did. I will never regret taking these past three months for myself.

After losing my lifelong dream of motherhood, I spent seven years working to create a new life for myself. It was, by far, the hardest thing I've ever done. But I did it. I created a life I want to life. 

So I stopped for a season to enjoy it. 😎

Coast For Awhile

What a decade!

I've been trying to put into words what my new house means to me.
How it feels. How far I've come. 

I bought my children's house in September 2011. It was beautiful and it was perfect. It was big, affordable, and equidistant from the two sports centers I anticipated commuting between. It was also near my husband's job. Closer to home = less time in traffic = more time with family. 

It was a two-story brick home with bushes in the front yard. The central living room had a two-story ceiling. There was a small fenced in backyard and a park, pool, and splash pad down the street. There were four bedrooms that all opened into the central living room. I figured this would give everyone their space while still keeping my family physically together.

Yes, I really thought like that. 

There was a second living room at the top of the stairs that would have been the play room. I had been teaching for years. I had so many books and puzzles. I had games and stuffed animals.

I had everything except a baby.

Damn, that house was nice. It was perfect for raising a family.

And that's exactly who we sold it to. A family. With multiple children. If I remember correctly, it was a large family. And they had a sister/aunt on the next street over. I loved that I helped bring a family closer together. They needed to live in the house that I bought for my children. Not me.

And since then... 

I've been untethered but grateful. I held my breath each time I looked for something to rent, and I let out a sigh of relief each time I found the next place. Grateful but not at home. Grateful but still living in other people's places, not wanting to invest in anything, and knowing I'd be moving everything again soon.

There was the rental house near my grad school. It was in a familiar neighborhood (where I went to college and where I had my first couple of professional jobs), but it was expensive. And hot. 

There was the apartment I got out of state. To be honest, it was really nice. But that whole thing was just weird. My husband was supposed to move with me. We had been planning it for years. But he never looked for another job in the new city. He never tried to transfer with the job he had. On the weekends when he was in town, we didn't explore the new city. He didn't listen to me as I tried to tell him about my clinical rotations. I was growing and he was... Not? Staying silent? Moving away from me? Moving away from us? There were other things as well. The marriage became untenable. I told my husband I didn't want to be married anymore. And then I found myself, unexpectedly at the age of 38, living on my own in an apartment in a new city. It was full of emotional processing and fun. I have great memories but it wasn't home.

The next place was a condo. It was too small. It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter. 

The next place was a house. I was so thankful to be back in a house. But it was dark. And hot.

And now.

Now I live here in my home. I've been searching and searching. Home is a place AND a feeling. 

The home I bought for my children would have been perfect for them.
But this home is perfect for me.

There's a yard. I might get a trampoline. I like to jump (for very short bursts at a time lol), but I also like to read outside on the trampoline on a beautiful day. We have trees. There's a car port. It rained the other day. It sounded awesome on the car port. I wanna put in a patio and a fire pit and a hot tub. Over time. Eventually. I have the rest of my life. It just feels good to be excited again.

It's an old house. It's not big but it's big enough. It's a single story. The living room is full of light and stays cool in the summer. We'll see how winter goes. But I have a good feeling about it. The kitchen is good so far. Not too big, not too small... The bathtub is big. Not huge or anything but it's bigger than the ones I had in my rentals.

I'm rambling. But I love it. It's a place where I wake up and drink coffee. I get ready for work. I check things online. I make phone calls. I write lists. I unpack. I organize. I eat. I sew. I watch tv. 

I live my life. I am home.

It has been ten solid years of infertility and grad school and my dog dying and moving and getting divorced and changing jobs and enduring a pandemic. But I got to where I want to be. I like who I am. I like where I am. And I like what I do. I am home.

I can't put into words what my new house means to me, but this was my effort in trying. 

Now, I know life always has its ups and downs, but I'm just gonna try to coast for awhile... 

😎