CD: cycle day
DPO: days past ovulation
Sunday Funnies: Cycle
October: The Awareness Month
Most people in the US probably know that that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. We’ve all seen the hot pink yogurt lids, hot pink jerseys on athletes, and the messes of hot pink ribbons, lanyards, shirts, and buttons in the grocery store. The hot pink items for breast cancer are hard to miss because they have been embraced in so many places, and by so many products and companies… They are everywhere, especially during October.
But did you know that in addition to breast cancer, October is “the month” for 24 other issues? For some reason October is the most commemorative, most awareness raising month of the year. Check out wikipedia’s list of commemorative months for the whole list throughout the year. You’ll see that August doesn’t commemorate or bring awareness to any issue, and July is only “National Ice Cream Month”, but October has a whole list, including some very serious problems. Weird, right? Anyway, I have no idea why October is so popular. But what I do want to talk about is two of the issues in October that are close to my heart and don’t get very much attention, but should: domestic violence, and infant and pregnancy loss.
Domestic Violence
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Unlike breast cancer, which I consider to be a “popular” issue, DV is hushed up. No one likes to talk about DV. It’s seen as a problem in the home, in the family; but it’s not — DV is a widespread, societal problem. But if we work hard in our communities, it could be stopped. So in an effort to raise some awareness, I’ll share a bit of information about DV.
Domestic violence is a pattern of behaviors in which one person attempts to gain or maintain power and/or control over their intimate partner. Domestic violence is not always physical abuse; it can also be verbal, emotional, sexual, financial, and spiritual, and it includes stalking.
Domestic violence is extremely common and has lasting effects:
- 30 Shocking Domestic Violence Statistics That Remind Us It’s An Epidemic
- How Domestic Violence Affects Kids
- The Hidden Consequences of Domestic Violence Linger for Decades
There are ways you can find help and ways you give help:
- Get help
- Find a shelter
- Support a loved one
- Getting involved in the cause — consider donating to or volunteering with a shelter in your area
Infant and Pregnancy Loss
October is also Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month, and October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I didn’t know about this until I entered the world of infertility and I started to see it mentioned in posts and on pins on pinterest… and then I experienced my own loss, which made the month personal for us. I see October as an extra opportunity to remember and honor our lost baby. It gives us an opportunity to connect and share with others, to stand together and remember.
Living children are celebrated everywhere, and certainly on every holiday throughout the year… but lost babies are widely forgotten or ignored, in part, I believe because they make other people uncomfortable. I see October as a way to bring awareness to this problem and to remember lost children. Having an awareness month for infant and pregnancy loss is also validating — it says to me that even though no one wants to talk about it, my loss is real. It also says to me that my experience is not in isolation, even though it feels like it. There are so many grieving parents out there — 1 in 4 women will experience pregnancy loss — and so many are suffering silently and alone. But we can change this as a society. We can remember with each other. We can support parents who are missing their children. We can be more sensitive and compassionate.
If you’re wondering how you can help…
Here are some posts on honoring babies who have been lost:
And here are tips on supporting someone after infant or pregnancy loss. Please keep in mind that support isn’t only important immediately after a loss — healing from the loss of a baby can be a lifelong journey.
- Caring for a friend after miscarriage or stillbirth
- What to say to a friend who has just lost a baby
- 7 things you can do to support a friend after a miscarriage
For more infant and pregnancy loss awareness images, please visit Luminious Light Studio.
Awareness Matters
Being aware of issues like domestic violence, infant and pregnancy loss, and the many other issues highlighted in October is important because when we know about something that needs to change, we can stand together and make a difference. Even though individually we may feel powerless, together we are strong. Together we can talk about these tough issues. We can learn about difficulties facing our world and do what we can to spread our love and support. We can work to end domestic violence and support its survivors. We can remember the babies who were gone too soon, and comfort and support their grieving parents. We can be more sensitive and inclusive of people facing difficulties or heartache. We can speak up about important issues and get involved with movements that matter.
October is ending soon and it might feel like I’m a bit late to the game for this month of awareness… but really, at the end of the day month, October awareness is just the beginning anyway. There is so much to learn about problems facing our communities and our world, and so many ways we can share love and support, and get involved. Humans are capable of societal change and very great love and compassion… when we want to be. So let’s not waste that potential. Instead, let’s work together to make our world a better place.
Our Never-ending Chapter
If I think of life like a story, I feel like Matt and I have been stuck in the same chapter of trying to grow our family for too long. Months. Years. We read the same sections, pages, and sentences over and over, unable to move forward in our story. Unable to turn the page and start the next chapter. We might inch forward with a new treatment, only then to remain stuck there while we give it “enough” tries. And when it ultimately fails, it feels like we’ve been sent back to the beginning of the section to start over with a new plan… Scratch out that paragraph and try this one instead. Let’s see if it goes somewhere else… We’ve tried so hard to turn the page and continue forward in our story, and it stubbornly remains unwilling to turn over, refusing to budge at all.
The one time we did move forward into the “pregnant” chapter, it was so short and had a tragic ending. Then we found ourselves in what’s probably going to be a lifelong “recovery and healing” chapter, and at the same time back in the familiar old “trying to conceive” chapter. I hated that chapter before, and I hate it now. It’s exhausting and miserable.
While we remain stuck in our “trying to conceive” chapter, most of the couples we know are swiftly moving right through theirs and into their early chapters of parenthood. We know couples who started trying to conceive way after us who already have their babies at home with them. We even know couples who have gotten married, conceived, and given birth to their child in the time we have been trying to build our family. We know couples who have given birth to more than one child (in singles, not multiples) in the time we have been trying. People tell me it’s not a race, and I know that… but when I’m getting lapped on the path to parenthood, I can’t help but to feel like a major loser who’s going nowhere.
We stand still, with our story stuck while the rest of the world moves forward in their stories around us. Sometimes it’s almost easy in our quiet home to forget how much time has passed, but when I see the changes in my loved ones’ families I am reminded that time is moving, children and families are growing, and Matt and I are stuck and alone.
I am trying not to let my infertility keep me stuck here forever. I’ve tried to move forward in other areas of my life — grow my business, explore areas of my creativity, volunteer, travel when we can… I’ve tried to explore some new chapters unrelated to parenthood. But it’s hard to get excited about moving forward anywhere else when the thing that’s most important to me hasn’t been attained yet. These things feel like side stories that give depth to the novel of our lives, but they are not advancing the main plot that I’m most interested in. Additionally it’s hard to even put focus on other things in my life because treating infertility is so physically, emotionally, and financially demanding. I’m stuck in treatment cycles and my schedule is dictated by appointments, medications, and managing side effects. Infertility takes over, despite my best efforts to contain it, and it limits my ability to participate in the other storylines in my life.
The story I most want to experience is being a mom. I’ve wanted to be a mom my whole life. Ask my kindergarten teacher — I went to school that year as a mom with my baby (doll) on “what do you want to be when you grow up day?” My whole life I have assumed I would be able to make that one dream come true. “You can be anything you want,” the world tells us. Unfortunately, that’s just not true for everyone. Conception is something that, for most of the population, requires no education, no money, no doctors, and nothing but getting busy with a partner; but for us, it has turned into an agonizing, multi-year, financial, physical, and emotional stressor filled with doctors and nurses, and way too many needles, exam tables, and tears.. And so far, it has left us empty and heartbroken.
I’m not usually one to skip to the end of the story and read the last page, but this is one story in which I’d love to get a glimpse of the ending. I’d love to know if it’s worth it to keep trying… Will we end up with children? Or are we just wasting time, money, and energy, and delaying the inevitable — having to accept our empty arms, empty home, and broken hearts?
Infertility has made me realize that my story might have a very different ending from what I expected… This part of our story has certainly not met expectations. I’d rate this chapter with zero out of five stars. It has sucked. And I have no idea where our story is going. But I do know that I don’t want to envision a different ending. I want the one I thought I’d have when I was five. I want to get into the chapter of being a mom with living children. I want my last chapter to be growing old with Matt and with our own family. I don’t want an alternate ending. That said, I know that the world isn’t fair and that we can’t always get what we want… I’m going to have to accept where my story goes whether I like it or not. I’m trying *so hard* to keep myself open to adjustments in my expectations, open to alternate endings, but that’s so much easier said than done. I’ve built up my expectations and dreams for my future since I was a very small child, and it has proven extremely difficult to envision something different.
We’re doing everything we can to guide our story in the direction we want, but this chapter we’re stuck in is horrible. I know that the only way out is through, so we keep on trying to move forward. Every month we read the revised paragraphs and then try to turn the page and start the next chapter. I know it will turn at some point, but I have know idea when and I don’t know what the next chapter will hold for us. All I really know is that this part of our story is miserable, and I’m so tired of being stuck here in this never-ending chapter of disappointment after disappointment. I hope we reach the end of this part soon. We are *so ready* to move forward.
Strength
We’ve probably all been told at some point, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And we’ve seen the motivational posters. We’ve maybe even said it to someone else or told it to ourselves. It seems like such a nice encouragement, and I’ve heard variations of it a number of times during my infertility journey. But when I hear it I hesitate.
This journey is making me stronger? Please. When I’m told this I roll my eyes, or more often I try *not* to roll my eyes — I know it’s not considered nice — but, to be honest, I have never had a good poker face and I’m sure that even as I bite my tongue and try to control my eyeballs, the well-intentioned person trying to encourage me can see the unpleasant emotions filling me up. Because honestly, this is how I feel about it: if I wanted to be stronger, I would go to the gym more often.
I know that no one says this kind of thing intending it to be physical strength. I am aware that they are referring to strength of character. But I really don’t think infertility has had much of a positive impact in my life — infertility certainly doesn’t make me feel strong. In fact, I think the saying, “what doesn’t kill you makes you broken” is far more accurate for describing infertility.
Having my heart broken by infertility has made me feel weak and powerless. Crying on the way home from bad news at the doctor’s office doesn’t feel strong. Feeling hopeless and sad when my period starts and my blood test confirms no pregnancy doesn’t feel strong. Sitting with my grief is important, but it does not feel strong. Facing the fear of not knowing whether or not I will have children is certainly powerful, but not in a victorious, strength-filled kind of way. And honestly, I don’t really like the idea of only proceeding with half hope — it’s not fair and it feels weak. I’d like to push forward with full hope and forget all of this agony crap. But we all know I can’t do that. I’ve learned the hard way to be cautious and careful. The infertility roller coaster is a rough ride.
But I don’t really like the idea that infertility is making me broken… and I’m trying hard not to think of it like that, even though it’s how it feels. So I try my best to put the broken pieces of myself back together. I hold them together with love and hope. And I try to think of other ways to think about the experiences I’ve had on this journey. I have a quote saved on pinterest that says, “You are not broken. You are breaking through.” I really hope that’s the case.
So as I go around trying my best to stay in one piece, and then I’m told that infertility must be making me stronger, I really wonder if and where that strength is accumulating. Because infertility doesn’t feel strong. So where *is* all of that strength going?
Perhaps the strength is building up my stubbornness. Because I really want to be a mom. Like really, really. Ugh. Don’t you get it, infertility?? <she says as she crosses her arms and stomps her foot> But really. I’m stubbornly pursuing treatment despite our failures, asking questions to stay informed, and hoping for the best even though the past has repeatedly let me down.
I also think that infertility has strengthened a little defiant streak in me, particularly in regards to my body. Infertility has made me feel so out of control of my body, so in attempts to take a stand and own myself again I’ve made a couple small changes. A few months ago I added purple highlights to my hair. I pierced my nose last summer. And I like the changes. They suit me, at least right now (I sometimes have to remind my mom that these changes aren’t permanent!), and these little changes have been a tiny, somewhat defiant, way for me to take control and make a statement about owning my body.
Or perhaps the strength is increasing my patience? I have certainly been waiting for a long time for our child, and although I have bad days, I think I have yet to throw any grand tantrum. But… then I do find myself stuck in traffic feeling frustrated with the badly timed lights and poor traffic flow in our city… so it must not be that. Infertility has given me a lot of practice in patience, yes, but apparently it’s not helping me in daily life… darn. It’d be great if I could claim patience among my virtues.
Maybe after all this, all I’m building is insanity. After all, we keep trying again and again and expecting different results — isn’t that a silly definition of insanity on t-shirts or something? Yikes. To be honest, sometimes I do feel like I’m losing it… but I like to blame that on my medications and hormones. Let’s really hope insanity is not gaining strength.
So if not patience or insanity, perhaps infertility is strengthening my courage. In the face of all of our failures, we do keep trying and hoping for the best. Infertility keeps throwing me around, and I keep picking myself up and carrying on, trying not to let it get the best of me. I may not always feel very strong while I pick myself up and brush the dust off, but with Matt’s help, and love and encouragement from our family and friends, I’ve managed to have enough courage to continue on.
When I asked Matt where he thought my strength was going, he told me that maybe this journey is making me more resilient; that I’m handling the lows better than I used to. Hmm. Practice makes perfect? Ha. I’m not sure this is the case. I told him maybe infertility has just made me more jaded. Usually I’m not even surprised anymore when I’m not pregnant. Don’t get me wrong — I’m still sad and disappointed, but not altogether surprised. Sad, right? But why should I expect different results?
But if I think about resiliency more carefully, he might be onto something. He’s a pretty smart guy. Maybe infertility *has* made me more resilient, and maybe this is what people really mean when they say this journey is making me stronger. I have practiced a lot of coping mechanisms that have helped me to try to stay in one piece, so that I can bend with the harsh conditions of the roller coaster instead of snap. I really don’t think I am able to just bounce back; after all I’ve learned that sitting with my grief is really important…but I do think I’ve learned a lot about myself, Matt, and our relationship during this time, and I suppose that the things I’ve learned have brought us closer together and better equipped to face this tough world we live in.
But I think that maybe most of my strength is going into my ability to hold on to the threads of hope we still have. Half of the threads we’ve got left on our rope are agony — they’re filled with pain and loss and disappointment, and we’re trying to let those ones go. We’re still hoping for children. We’re hoping for our future to be happy and full of love. We’re hanging on to our threads of hope with all the strength we’ve got, and we’re trying to let the other ones blow in the wind, hoping that they’ll loosen and fall out of sight.
So is this journey making me stronger? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just making me flex my muscles in different ways than I used to, focusing my strengths into different areas. Either way, I think this journey is shaping me into a different person… One who is trying to be hopeful in the face of disappointment. One who is practicing patience. One who is attempting to hold the pieces of herself together, and break through this difficult time. And all of that requires strength, whether it’s newly gained strength or not.
Sunday Funnies: Memes
Writing
As I’ve said before, I like to write. And my enjoyment of writing has enriched my life in multiple ways. Ever since I learned to write, I have been writing: writing little books, writing in diaries, writing letters, writing a blog, writing a new blog… and in school I wrote a numbers of papers too. They were necessary at the time, of course, but not so important to me in the grand scheme of things; my important “works” have been the bits for myself and communications with others. Writing in my personal life has been far more satisfying than any writing I ever did for teachers or professors… writing has allowed me to connect with other people, it has connected me to myself, and in both situations for me, writing has been therapeutic and healing.
During infertility, especially, I have found writing to be immensely helpful, and I have taken advantage of several writing outlets during my journey. Ernest Hemingway said, “write hard and clear about what hurts”… and although I haven’t read any of his work, I have taken this advice — I have written lots and lots about my painful infertility journey… and I believe it has been healing for me. Writing has been a way for me to release my feelings and work through them. I know this is not the case for everyone, but it has been for me… and for anyone on the fence trying to decide to write or not to write, maybe knowing how it has benefited me will nudge someone else in the direction of giving it a try.
Journaling
On and off throughout my life, since learning to write, I have journaled. I started in a little kitty cat diary with an actual lock and key when I was younger. That filled up quickly, and during my teen years I filled many journals with my thoughts… After a pipe burst in our basement last spring I had to repack all of those old journals and make sure they were dry and undamaged, and wow — reading some of those took me back. I’m so glad I’m not a teenager anymore. Anyway. I have since switched from writing in a physical journal to writing in private documents on my computer. Some people say that typing doesn’t provide the same release that handwriting does, but I disagree — that might be true for some people, but typing works for me and I don’t think there’s a “wrong way” to journal. If it’s helping, who’s to tell me that my way is wrong?
Whenever I choose to journal, I have found it to be a therapeutic way for me to release my thoughts, worries, fears, and wishes. Sometimes I don’t know how I am feeling about something until I try to sit down and write about it. When I write it down, it can be easier for me to acknowledge what I’m feeling, to accept, or try to accept my feelings, and to release them, if I need to. And I think that writing it down and getting it out of my head seems to end some of the internal narration that plays itself on repeat in my mind when I’m upset. I don’t think that writing fixes anything, but it has helped me to process situations and work through my feelings.
Letters
Writing letters has been a wonderful way for me to communicate with many of my loved ones for a very long time. My best example of how writing letters has enriched my life is my friendship with my pen-pal — we have been writing to each other for 18 years! I also love to write thank-you notes, send greeting cards, and send postcards when I travel. There’s something so lovely about receiving a meaningful piece of mail, so I like to spread that joy when I can. In general, I think that writing things down and sending a letter is a special and meaningful way to communicate with a loved one. However, I have also written some letters that are best unsent or cannot be sent…. But for me the act of writing them is still very powerful and therapeutic.
Unsent letters
I have had some times during my infertility where I have been extremely upset about something someone has said to me. These have been good opportunities for me to write someone a letter, to be honest with them, and let all my feelings out… and then never send the letter. (It can be deleted, or burned, or whatever.) Writing unsent letters has helped me to release emotions and thoughts that would not necessarily have been appropriate to share. After releasing the emotions I can calm down, and then more appropriately address the situation. Sometimes that’s to completely let it go — forgive them and move on, and other times it’s to confront them. But either way, the unsent letter has been helpful for me to avoid nasty confrontations that would not have been helpful or productive.
Released letters
During this journey, I also wrote a letter that we released. After my ectopic pregnancy we did a few things to honor our lost baby… one of them was writing a letter to our baby. I wrote my letter privately — Matt didn’t even read it — and we released it together in a river at a quiet park. Writing this letter was very hard for me… But I had really wanted to do it, and I’m glad I did — it turned out to be very healing for me. In writing my letter, I felt like I had found a small way to connect with our baby. To tell her how much we love her and miss her. To explain what happened. Writing the letter also allowed me to acknowledge a lot of emotions I had been feeling. It brought them to the surface. And releasing the letter helped me to feel like we had done something meaningful to acknowledge our loss and to say goodbye.
Other people have published or posted their letters to their lost babies. I was not comfortable doing that myself… but I am grateful to the mamas who have been so brave and open. Reading their letters to their children has been healing for me. In the book Our Stories Of Miscarriage there are a number of letters and poems written to children, and online I have found some too. Here’s one example — a letter written to a baby lost in an ectopic pregnancy.
Blog
Most recently, writing this blog has been a healing project for me too. The writing I do here is very different from my journaling or my letter writing, and it’s been helpful. Even a little fun. Although to be honest, I never thought I’d be writing publicly about infertility… not in my wildest dreams.
Gratitude Journaling
About nine months ago I started a gratitude journal. This one is a physical journal. It lives in my bedroom and every night before I go to bed I write down the things I am thankful for from that day. It was a simple and quick addition to my nighttime routine, but it has been very powerful. There are lots of things “out there” about how practicing gratitude is good for us, and I won’t bother trying to look up statistics, but I will say that it has helped me.
When I started my gratitude journal, I was not really in a good place emotionally. So many months of disappointments had made me feel like everything was awful. Once I started practicing gratitude I was able to keep my mind more focused on the good things that were happening in my life. That said, practicing gratitude doesn’t take away the bad things or even make them less painful, but being more aware of the good things has helped me to stay more balanced, more positive, and, at times, more hopeful too.
There are some days where writing down the things for which I’m thankful is easier than others, but I can honestly say that there has been something good in every day, even my really, really bad days. Practicing gratitude on my really bad days has reminded me of some of the simple things in my life that bring me joy: my kitties, a walk with Matt, a relaxing dinner on the deck, time to water my flowers and sit in my garden. Thinking about and writing down the things I’m thankful for has reminded me that even when I feel absolutely miserable, there are still things in my life that bring me joy.
Until our infertility journey took a major toll on my emotions and outlook on life, I had never kept a gratitude journal. I wrote thank-you letters for gifts and for favors from loved ones, but I had never taken the time to sit and write down the daily things for which I was thankful. Now writing in my gratitude journal is something I look forward to every day and I plan to continue to the practice. I would even say that I’m grateful for being alive and well enough to practice gratitude — practicing gratitude has brought me joy and given me a renewed sense of hope for our future happiness.
Writing is powerful
With my all of my writing about infertility in my journals, my letters, and now my blog, I think Mr. Hemmingway would agree that I have written hard and clear about what hurts. And it has helped — writing has been therapeutic for me. It has aided me in working through my emotions. But it’s not just writing about the things that are painful that has been important. I have also found great healing in writing about the things that don’t hurt — the things that bring me joy. Words and writing are powerful and I plan to continue using them to aid in my healing.
Blessings
I see and hear the word “blessings” all the time… I see people pointing out their blessings in baby announcements, Christmas cards, and home decor. I hear people discussing their blessings in conversations and on facebook. And usually what I hear are people saying things like they were blessed with good health this year, blessed with their satisfying job, blessed with their home, or blessed with their children. But every time I hear someone talk about blessings, I wonder if this word really means what everyone in our society thinks it means.
I understand blessings to be favors from God that he has bestowed upon someone. And I think that a lot of people I know (and let’s be honest, probably most of America) would probably agree with that definition.
But it’s not the definition that gives me pause; it’s the way our society currently identifies blessings… I think that the way we currently identify and discuss blessings can be alienating and hurtful, and I believe that we can do better.
In general, when our society thinks of blessings, we think of our good fortunes — good health, sturdy and warm homes, a steady job, financial success, our families and friends… and basically all of the wonderful things that make our lives easy and joyful. But if these are truly blessings, then what does it mean for the people who live in poverty or with disease or in a war zone? Doesn’t God love them too? Why isn’t he showing them these favors?
In regards to infertility, I am told on bumper stickers, commercials, at church services, and in conversations that children are a blessing from God, and even that children are God’s greatest blessing. If this is the case, then obviously God does not favor Matt and me. Or anyone in my support group. Or anyone else out there struggling with infertility and pregnancy loss. And this is so hurtful. Being told repeatedly in our society that children are a blessing makes me feel like I have done something wrong and am being punished with my childlessness.
But this is wrong. My infertility and my lost pregnancy are not punishments, and someone else’s child is not their reward.
The things that happen in our lives are mysterious and strange, and in the end none of us know why things happen. But if we pretend to know what’s going on and count our good fortunes among our blessings, it implies that some of us are more favored by God than others. That some of us are more worthy of having our prayers answered than others. But that’s not the case.
Unless I’ve read the Bible wrong, I understand that God’s blessing is to make us holy, and that his greatest blessing was his son Jesus. You know, the one who saved us from all sins and wiped the slate clean for us. He showed us love, and gave us forgiveness and hope. In the Bible the blessings that Jesus talks about are spiritual blessings, not blessings in the form of fortune, family, or good health. Therefore, children are not favors God has bestowed upon someone, and neither is success in business or school, nor wealth or good health.
I think many times when someone names something in their life as a blessing that isn’t a spiritual gift, they are intending to give God the glory, and possibly not considering the weight that the name carries. But I think we can fix this; we can do better. So I propose that we be more careful with the identification our blessings. I suggest that we say that we are grateful for our good fortunes and tangible things in our lives, and that we are blessed with our spiritual gifts. If we can more carefully identify and name our blessings, while remaining grateful for the other things in our lives, then we will be more compassionate and inclusive, and we might be able to make more meaningful connections with others. I believe we have the power to use our words carefully, and that we can spread love instead of hurt.
If we want to say we’re blessed, let’s use it in reference to our spiritual blessings — things like forgiveness and hope. When we count our blessings, let’s count the ways we can share love and peace in our world.
If we want to express gratitude for the things in our life that bring us joy, let’s do just that. For our partners, families, friends, pets, homes, health, and success; for music, books, and flowers; for mountains, oceans, deserts, and plains; for food and drink; for being alive; for anything and everything that makes us glad — let’s say we’re grateful and give thanks.
For further reading, I suggest:
- The One Thing Christians Should Stop Saying — I think the title is a little click-baity, but I do think the post is good. This writer gives a wonderful explanation for why we should stop saying we’re blessed. He calls out material fortunes, but I draw the same conclusions for pretty much anything else in life that we might desire. As he says, God is not a “wish granting fairy” who favors us with our wishes come true.
- This page is helpful for a quick refresher on blessings in the Bible: http://www.biblestudytools.com/dictionary/blessing/
- In regards to infertility, this post that I shared on my Recommended Reading post does a nice job (and it’s funny) of summarizing how infertility is surrounded by weird, outdated beliefs.
Sunday Funnies: Cat Edition
Today’s funnies are brought to you by kitties!
And last but not least: Infertility Explained By 33 Impossibly Adorable Cats. Not all of them are funny, but they are all adorable… There are way too many perfect images and captions on that post for me to include here. Just go there. You won’t regret it.
Reminders of Hope
According to Emily Dickenson,
Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
(Click here for the full poem.)
I think the thought of this is lovely. So lovely that I lettered it recently and originally posted it on my other blog.
But as I lettered it, I wondered… what happens if it does stop singing? What then?
After my ecoptic pregnancy, my “thing with feathers” stopped singing… or at the very least it sang so quietly that I couldn’t hear it anymore in the midst of all of my pain. It was a dark time. But I knew I needed to remain hopeful. I knew I needed hope to keep singing in my soul. As my mom has reminded me several times this since June, “hope is vital to our will to survive.” She’s right… But knowing I need it is different than actually harnessing the hope, so in an attempt to build back some hope, I have been collecting things to visually remind me to be hopeful. And to me being hopeful isn’t just having hope that I’ll get pregnant and have a baby — please read my survival post or my introduction to see my thoughts on that — more importantly, I am hopeful that regardless of what happens to us, Matt and I will survive this and be happy.
The first thing I found for my collection of hope was at a gift shop shortly after I was treated for my ectopic pregnancy. At that time I wasn’t even looking for hope. I like to think it found me. There it was, an unusual and beautiful necklace with matching earrings hanging on a jewelry display. Waiting. It spoke to me, and I responded by purchasing it. I have worn my hope necklace many, many, many times since. I’ve worn it to nearly every doctor’s appointment since. I wear it to work, and on the weekends. I even wear it with my comfy clothes. It’s comforting to me. And I think it may be comforting to other people too — many people have commented on it when I’m out and about… maybe it’s reminding them to be hopeful in their lives too.
Ever since I found my hope necklace I have been collecting reminders of hope, and it has been a positive experience for me. The things I have found have helped me to think about hope in different ways and what hope means to me. The searching process has also been almost like an alternative form of affirmation practice for me — while I look in stores and online for reminders that speak to me, I’m thinking of hope over and over while I search. (How’s that for an excuse to go shopping or scroll down, down, down on pinterest?!)
One of the early digital reminders I found that really resonated with me was the saying “Hold On Pain Ends”. It has been a good reminder that regardless of what happens, I know I won’t be in the middle of my infertility forever. At some point it will be resolved in some way. I will never be the same again, but the wound won’t be open and raw for ever. At some point I can start to make some peace with what has happened and some of the pain will subside.
I found some quotes that spoke to me and I lettered a few:
I saved some more quotes on pinterest that I haven’t lettered. Here are a few of them:
And recently my mom sent me a charm for my Origami Owl locket. I had been looking for one for weeks, and as soon as I told her what I was looking for she took it upon herself to find the perfect one and surprised me with a card in the mail. Thanks, Mom.
I won’t say that these reminders have completely cured me of my hopelessness, but I will say that they have helped. Sometimes the hopelessness still hits — infertility and loss are absolutely overwhelming at times. But when the time is right and some of the grief has let up, wearing my reminders of hope and looking at my reminders on pinterest help to keep me trusting that our future is going to be ok. And if it takes a visual reminder on a piece of jewelry to keep me hopeful, to keep my soul singing, so be it — at least I’ll look cute in the meantime.
My Invisible Scarlet Letter “I”
Infertility has turned me into a social outcast, except that no one really knows it but me. My scarlet letter “I” marking me as an infertile is invisible, etched on my heart. It affects me everyday… but since it’s invisible, no one else is really aware of what is happening. In general, I’d say that the far reaching effects of infertility are largely a secret, known only to the invisibly branded members of this horrible club. Most people I know do not understand how painful it is for me to walk around in this fertile world trying to fit in, trying to survive, and trying hard to not let infertility ruin everything. I know that the world isn’t trying to shame me, or intentionally exclude me, but my status as an infertile, grieving mother turns me into an outcast nonetheless: I become awkward when conversing with others and can easily become sad or uncomfortable during conversations; I’m anxious about social interactions, and sometimes I just avoid social gatherings all together.
Conversing with people I don’t know very well or don’t know at all has become very difficult for me because small talk is very uncomfortable. Simple questions from acquaintances or strangers make me uneasy. A “how are you today?” from someone I don’t know makes me wonder if I should lie, “I’m good”; or if I should be honest, “I’m terrible, everything sucks today”; or if I should go somewhere in between, “I’m ok”. And sometimes by the time I’ve decided which answer to give, they are already uncomfortable and probably wondering what is wrong with me. Doesn’t she know how to interact? In the end I usually lie or give an in-between answer… but even the in-between answers make people uncomfortable. “Just ok?” they’ll ask, alarmed. No one likes to hear that someone else is having a bad time, but I don’t like going around pretending everything is great either, just to avoid disappointing strangers, so it’s hard for me to give updates on how I am doing to someone I don’t know very well or at all. Perhaps we as a society could be more accepting of the in-between or bad answers. It would be such a relief to be able to more honestly respond to someone with, “I’m ok”, or “I’m having a bad day”, and instead of alarming them, they could just say that they are sorry and that they hope things get better. Feeling like my reality is acceptable to others would be comforting.
Another isolating question that is frequently asked in small talk is, “Do you have children?” Strangers, new acquaintances, and clients at work all ask me this regularly, and it never fails to make me feel uncomfortable, isolated, and sad. My friend Melinda, who blogs at www.youarerooted.com, wrote a wonderful post about this question… She thoughtfully proposes that instead of asking people if they have children, we ask, “Who makes up your family?” This question is much more inclusive of people in all kinds of different situations, and as a bonus, it doesn’t put me and my reproductive system on the spot. Please give her post a read.
These little changes in small talk could make a big impact on reducing the isolation I have experienced during infertility. Having my not-so-great days accepted, and feeling like Matt, me, and our kitties is a valid type of family would make me feel like less of an outsider. And I suspect that other people who are having a bad day for reasons unrelated to infertility, or who have unique or unconventional family situations would also appreciate feeling like their realities and situations are accepted and valid.
Small talk aside, I don’t fit in at most social gatherings. Nearly everywhere we go and nearly every event we attend, there are families present, or couples talking about their kids. Even if the event is adults only, so many of the conversations of parents is focused on their kids. And I get it — their kids are so important in their lives. In the case of friends and family, I LOVE their children, and at times I even enjoy being with their children. I’m glad that my loved ones are not experiencing infertility and I’m happy that their family building has been joyful. But at the end of the day, I’m left out. My desire for, and lack of children can be so sad and isolating in social situations. I don’t fit in with my broken, grieving, marked heart, and since my scarlet letter “I” is invisible, no one understands why I’m shutting down and making excuses to exit a conversation or leave a party early.
In general, my infertility has led me to limit my participation in the social world, making me feel like an outcast. Sometimes this is due to feeling left out or feeling anxious about social situations, and sometimes it’s because I am unwell due to treatments. I am often not feeling well. During our infertility journey I have declined invitations to numerous parties, happy hours, and other get-togethers for various reasons. And sometimes if we do attend we might leave early if I get overwhelmed or if I am feeling unwell. Either way, I’m left feeling like an outsider — infertility has ruined many events for me that should have been fun.
Even being in public spaces without talking to another person can be difficult while I navigate the world with my invisible scarlet letter “I”. Reminders of what I’m missing are everywhere I go. I see pregnant women all over town, and I avert my eyes because I’m so sad for my non-pregnant tummy. I see parents with their babies and kids everywhere, and I walk the long way around them because seeing their smiling faces make me so sad for Matt and myself. There’s a daycare across the street from my house and all of our neighbors have kids. There are kids at the shelter where I volunteer. More often than not, my clients at work have children. At the grocery store the baby items are in the same aisle as the paper goods, and I walk down the aisle quickly, my eyes focused on the prize — kleenex or toilet paper — while I try to avoid seeing anything intended for a baby. At Target the baby items are across the aisle from some of the home goods. And I won’t even get into how I feel about facebook. The world is filled with families, and things to support and help families, and that’s ok — I know it takes a village to raise a child — but it leaves some people out… and for me, with my infertility etched on my heart, it hurts. I know the world is not intentionally trying to increase my pain, but it still happens. And the only thing I can do is carry on the best I can.
My infertility has also led some of my loved ones to exclude and avoid me — the scarlet letter “I” isn’t always invisible. And before I write any more, I want to be clear that I understand that it’s hard for my loved ones to relate to me and to know what to say, and I know that none of them have intentionally caused me pain. I know they love me and want the best for me. But my infertility has been like an elephant in the room… we all know it’s there, but no one knows what to do with it. I’m socially paralyzed by my infertility, not knowing how much to talk about it and with whom, and I think my loved ones are often afraid of upsetting me by bringing it up. So, to my loved ones, I suggest three things:
- Please don’t be afraid to talk to me. I am trying to share and be more approachable… and a big start to that is this blog, so thank you for reading this. Please feel free to discuss with me anything I post here. If you aren’t sure that I’m in a good place to talk, please text first. I like texts and if I’m in a good place for a call, we’ll make it happen.
- If you haven’t already, or if you need a refresher, please visit the links on supporting someone with infertility and supporting someone who has experienced pregnancy loss. These are especially helpful if you are struggling with not knowing what to say to me.
- Ask me how I’m doing. In our society we often ask complete strangers the question, “How are you today?” without really meaning it, but I have realized that we don’t often ask the people we care most about how they are doing. More often we ask the questions like, “What’s new?” or “What’s going on?” to one of our loved ones… I think because it’s more informal, more friendly… but the questions are different. Asking a loved one, “How are you doing?” invites the recipient to answer how they really are, instead of listing what activities they have been doing lately. It’s a more meaningful check-in, and I instantly feel more connected to my loved one when they ask, “How are you?”
My invisible, or maybe not-always-so-invisible, scarlet letter for infertility has made my interactions with the social world complicated and painful, but I know that I won’t always be in this tough place… I know that infertility won’t last forever and that at some point it will be resolved. Either we will have a child, adopt a child, or not have children. And as I’ve said before, I hope that wherever we end up, Matt and I will be happy and surrounded by love. I’m hopeful that we will heal from our infertility and our pregnancy loss, and that the social world will be less isolating and more inclusive for us in the future… but I also do not expect that transition to be immediate. I do not think I will be “fixed” overnight whenever a resolution to our infertility presents itself. This journey has wounded me deeply and I know I will never be the same. And regardless of what happens, I expect it to take a while for me to heal and be ready to fully engage in social activities. I ask my loved ones now, in advance, to be patient and gentle with me whenever Matt and I end up moving forward.
And until then… I’m doing my best to survive with my invisible scarlet letter “I” etched on my heart. Sometimes the thing I need to remember most is to be gentle with myself. I am doing my best to navigate my path in the world. I may feel isolated, but I know deep down that I’m not alone. There are many others who are also struggling on their paths and feeling isolated, and I’m wishing them strength, peace, and love on their difficult journeys. My loved ones are hoping for the best for us, and I’m thankful for their love and support. And Matt is here, by my side, holding my hand every step of the way, reminding me with his constant love why we’re on this journey.