A New Year and Surrender

A colleague of mine told me a story about a woman she was working with, attempting to overcome her addiction to cocaine. This woman had done everything she could for many years in an attempt to get better, slowly deteriorating and doing horrible damage to her family. She fought hard, all the time. Each relapse leading to more guilt and shame, triggering her to use, causing her to fight harder...

Finally, one day, she came to the office of my colleague and was encouraged to surrender. This was a fight she could not win. She was not in control of her disease, her addiction. She simply could not fight this away. She had to accept this wasn't up to her. She had to admit "she is powerless" (1st step in AA).

It seems counterintuitive. It seems that surrendering to her addiction would only mean she would spiral further. But she didn't. She got better. She remained sober months later.

She gave herself over and got out of her own way.

This story struck me as mystical. I don't understand it but I believe in it.

After my last blog, in a way, I surrendered. I admitted that everything else felt rather insignificant in light of what my hopes are. Although that was depressing for a while, there came some sort of freedom in it as well.

There is something liberating about letting go and being honest, about being exactly what you are, in the place that you are, without putting any value statements on it, simply accepting life on its own terms.

I'm not miserable. At times I may be a bit depressed, but it seems like a normal reaction to having a goal constantly thwarted. Its normal. We will have extraordinary moments in this life and more challenging ones as well.

So, as we rang in this New Year, I wasn't concerned with how many people we hung out with or even new resolutions. I only want one thing in the coming year and there isn't a lot I can do about that for now. And, so, I will accept my life, which is a very good one, on its own terms. I'm done fighting. I surrender.

Driven to Distraction

They say that there are some babies who never really crawl, they just go from sitting to walking one day. That's not a good thing. They found that these children, as they grow older, tend to not fight battles they can't win. They grow frustrated with obstacles that don't come fairly easily to them. They sometimes lack frustration tolerance. They excel but pick their battles.

I didn't crawl much.

I think this is part of the reason I was so hesitant to start infertility treatment. If it was a matter of working hard to get it, I could sign on for that but I wanted to know steps 1,2 and 3 would lead me to my goal. Let me sit back, figure it out, and then I would walk into it. That's not how it works. When you first go to a consult at an infertility doctor's office you don't know what your journey will be. You don't know if you're one of the easy ones who gets pregnant after a first and simple try or if you will be the woman who needs 3 costly cycles of In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) or if, no matter what you try, you will not carry your own child, or, perhaps my greatest fear, you will miscarry, maybe even more than once.

So, I hesitated, for fear that I would become one of the women who was fighting the infertility battle for years.

Because I know myself. I know that if I throw myself in, I am ALL IN.

Also, at some point along the way, I decided that I wouldn't make choices based on fear. I would use fear as a warning if necessary but that it would not be the ultimate reason I did or did not do something. And so we moved forward. A life worth living requires courage.

But this is what I was afraid of.

To allow just one dream to consume you is dangerous, risky. Your perspective is lost.

And, if I'm honest, all I am doing is waiting until I can be pregnant. I AM READY to have a baby, children, a family of my own, and, until that point, everything else is simply meaningless, white noise. I know, in reality, that it is not, but I can't feel it.

I know the work I do is important. I know I will miss my freedom. I know I will hate morning sickness. I know I will be awful without sleep. I know I should be enjoying myself. I know I should be grateful.

But, I can't.

I'm tried desperately to keep myself occupied, entertained, distracted, happy, appreciative so that I would not feel the emptiness in everything else in the time between now and when I could have a baby.

But, I just can't.

I need the next chapter to begin.

The distractions DO work for a little bit. I'm not pretending to be anything I'm not when out with friends or family. The relief just doesn't last long.

And then I get afraid that I have placed WAY TOO MUCH on this child I hope to have. And what a terrifying idea that is, that this little bundle of joy will be responsible for lifting me from my depression and solve all of my problems. Cause that's how it works right? No, I know that is fucking sick.

But, here's the thing. I was not a depressed person who needed something to fill a void and decided it was a child. I was pretty content until I allowed myself to be honest about my hopes for a family, until we threw ourselves into this fight we didn't know we would win. I knew the risk of opening myself up to this, to investing my thoughts, energy, time, and health, to fully look my desire in the face and accept I can't do this on my own, that this isn't going to work naturally for us. I knew this could make me crazy.

And it has.

This desire comes from such a deep and primal place. I can't truly compare it to anything else.

And I wonder if I have blown it all out of proportion.

But then I see families together. I see mothers being mothers and think, "No. If you're going to lose your mind, this is a good reason to do it."

So forget losing 10 more pounds or learning to sew or making a new recipe. I'll do it if the mood strikes. I've been trying to care about other things but I just don't.

This child I hope to have is my marathon and, my God, will you see tears if I make it to the finish line.

This is it.

So, it appears as though all I needed was what I felt like I needed. I needed company, good conversation, Leaves of Grass by Whitman, time with my husband, some lazy, restful days, amazing food and apparently a few white Christmas lights in my living room.

This, is what life is made of. When I find myself feeling restless, I've tried to tell myself, over and over, "This is it. This is your life." If I am always looking ahead, just waiting, I will miss this.

When I have a child I will trade this restlessness for lack of rest. So. This is it. For now. And it has to be enough because this is all there is.

American Beauty
At the end of a man's life, he narrarates:

"I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time... For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars... And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined my street... Or my grandmother's hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper... And the first time I saw my cousin Tony's brand new Firebird... And Janie... And Janie... And... Carolyn. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday."

Spoiler Alert. If you haven't seen this movie, don't watch the clip:

Waiting for my real life to begin

My enthusiasm about how I could spend my time between now and IVF has dwindled and I find myself restless, bored, lonely and borderline depressed.

Tim is working unbelievable hours (5:30am to 9:30pm) almost daily and then Saturday mornings. (Clearly, his plight is worse than mine, but this is MY blog.)

One of my closest friends who I also work with has been out on medical leave for the past 6 weeks or more. (Also, her situation sucks 10 times worse than mine, but, again MY blog.)

Work has been PAINFULLY slow. Few clients and no groups, which I usually do weekly, for the past month.

As for friends, I have them (and I will stop using this as an excuse soon enough) but my closest friends don't live here anymore. I work with 2 people and I'm not a part of anything outside of work, so there's something of a deficit in opportunities to meet new people. Not to mention, my plan to this point has been making friends with extroverts and then befriending their friends, meaning I never have to do much of the initiation. Being the one who does the reaching out? Yea. Not my forte. And guess who moved out of state? The best extroverts a gal could have.

And, as time goes on, I feel like my brain is getting slower and I'm becoming socially retarded. It's like the loneliness and isolation makes me blurt out my internal monologue whenever someone is present to listen. I've started purging my house because it's clean and so now I guess it must become simplified too, just in case tomorrow is the day we spontaneously decide to pack up and move to Colorado or something.

Plain and simple. I'm losing it. And, if I'm honest, this boredom, this quiet is deafening in its screams about how no 30-something-year-old woman should be bored. Her life should be exhausting between a husband, job and kids. The silence only serves as a reminder of what I am lacking: a husband with only one full time job, children who wear me into the ground and close friends nearby for game nights, laughter, new perspectives and wardrobe vetoes (cause left to my own devices...).

And I find myself haunted by the words of Betty on Mad Men in a mean mother moment to her daughter, "Only boring people are bored." And then, who would want to be friends with a boring person? NO ONE! And so the slippery slope to my demise begins.

I imagine complaining about how I have SO MUCH free time on my hands may feel like the equivalent of 'I have more money than I know what to do with' or 'My boobs are so big that people simply objectify me'. I have tried and continue to try to find meaning in this quiet, boring time, but just can't. Life is just feeling a bit empty at the moment.

Trust me, self-pity and complaining don't come easy to me. I have the perspective to know how lucky I am, in so many ways. But, today, my pity party features me, so you can send presents to my home or office address.

I'm off to go watch J. Edgar... with my mother... on a Friday night. (See?!)

Love you all.

E

Bounced back and got a plan...

So, my last entry followed the disappointment of our 4th failed IUI. We've bounced back pretty well and have moved on to the next plan which is In Vitro Fertilization. We're going to wait until next year in order to save up some of the money that is required (holy crap!) and a slower work load where taking time off is easier.

In the meantime, I am attempting to get even healthier and enjoy what I hope is the last phase of our childless marriage. That sounds dark, but I meant all of the good things I will leave behind, like sleeping in and having uninterrupted time and having warm feelings toward Tim because a child has not yet made everything harder.

I'm feeling really optimistic about IVF, and realizing that what was once the controversial "test tube baby" headline has become much more commonplace for couples now. I'm not saying it will be easy (it won't), but if/when it works, I have a feeling all of this frustration and disappointment will get washed away should it give me a healthy pregnancy.

And with this little bit of time, maybe I'll lose 10 more pounds, run a 5k, pay off some debt, save some money up and continue enjoying work with clients who inspire me to be a better person.

It seems strange now that I was so sad pregnancy didn't "just happen" for us. I'm a planner so, in a strange way, this isn't so bad. And, clearly, I've found a lot to keep me busy until my pee on a stick makes a plus sign show up.

I took a look at those who "follow" this blog, and I can't imagine a better group of people.

I hope that you are doing extraordinarily well and to hear/see you soon.

IUI, FAIL!

Today we learned that our fourth IUI, or fertility treatment, didn't work.

In the grand scheme of things, I have this undercurrent of peace, which I am happy to find held on in the way I hoped it would.

Nonetheless, I have really been in mourning today. I can honestly say this experience lacks the intensity of my how I felt after my father's death, but its familiarity confirms it is definitely mourning.

The interesting thing about grief is that there are so few thoughts attached, at least the kind you can grab a hold of and study. I think ALL THE TIME. If I feel anything, I dissect it and evaluate it, but not today. I'm actually pretty bad at thinking today. Making decisions at the grocery store was like a game of "Would You Rather".

Well, ok. One exception. I wrote a poem in the post before this one which means I did "think" a little bit, but it just kicked in an hour ago. Prior to that, my mind has been mush.

I'm just sad and disappointed and my heart aches.

I think a large part of me felt that by working so hard on getting healthy over the past six months, I would have a much better chance of getting pregnant. Apparently not.

However, the six months of work on my overall health has helped me handle this failed attempt better. I didn't cry the 3 times before. I didn't tell anyone I was trying because I was afraid others' reactions would make me more vulnerable, and then I would have to feel everything I'm feeling now.

This time has been different, and although it appears as though I'm taking this round harder, I think I'm taking it in a more healthy way.

I will be sad for a bit, and then we will make a plan, but not a rushed plan. My life is still a good life, and we will take this on a step at a time.

Thanks for reading.

Much love, Friends.

Before I Formed You, I Knew You.

A blast of water was sent
Down your painted lips
And caught below
By tissues taped,
Dutifully changed
By a child much like you.

I have heard
There are cracks in the earth
And a floor of glass
Where we can stand
As if suspended
And be small together;
Although, I will be big enough.

There are many books
Preserving images
Of fascinating people
Waving
Clasping
Gesturing
With hands like yours
And your grandmother's
And mine.

There are lessons
Unnecessary to learn
Penance already paid.

Yet I simply cannot force you
To make the journey
From the wood floor
Where I brushed your plastic strands
Or the edge of a world wonder,

I cannot coerce you to exist
So that you may sleep against my chest
Or have my father's eyes,

Yet, before I formed you,
I knew you,

And our estrangement
Is often more than I can bear.