Tag Archives: Infertility and Sadness

Infertility: I am here, but I am not

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labor-diagramAnyone who has been journeying down the life experience of infertility knows there are stages.

There are stages of shock, stages of grief, stages of hope, stages of despair, stages of defeat, stages of acceptance, and in the end, there is a stage of joy and moving on.

We all live for that last stage in one way or another. I live for that last stage.

Over the last three years I have sat captive on this roller coaster ride. I have experienced the ups and the downs and held close a flickering flame waiting to ignite a future where someone calls me “mama.”

And over the last six months I have had my life dissected, my privacy invaded, and every major decision I ever made questioned, during the process of being approved for adoption. For those who believe that physical labor is the most excruciating experience a woman can go through, give this experience a shot.

So here I am, in 2013, maybe just maybe the year my child is born.

Am I excited? Yes. Am I terrified? Yes. Am I scared to believe that it’s even possible. Oh yes. Yet am I ready for all of these years of labor pains to end. YES!

When I am at work I am there, but I am not. When I am with friends, I am there, but I am not. When I am enjoying date night with my husband, I am there but I am not.

Where I am is with my child. I suppose where a part of every woman who desires to mother always resides is with her child, it’s just that for those of us who labor for years and years to bring our child into our world, as the years move on the contractions of the heart get stronger and stronger, and closer and closer, drowning out the rest of the world.

I am not sure if I was ready before. I mean I thought I was ready, I could have convinced any single person, close friend or stranger, that I was ready, yet I’m not sure that I really was strong enough to push through these contractions. But now, I am ready.

The unfortunate part for women who labor in this way, in my way, is that there is no epidural to numb the pain, there is no room full of supportive professionals coaching us through the pain, telling us what to expect at every turn, and holding our hand. And there is no definitive marker of just when the contractions will usher forth our child.

And so, for me, these days feel the most difficult.

In a week or two we will be “fully approved” and then the waiting does not begin, it continues: the waiting for the call, the waiting for the meeting, the waiting for the words “she picked you,” and the waiting to hear our child’s first self righteous cry.

And so until that moment, I am here, but really I am not.

Infertility: She Let Go And She Let It All Be

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IMG_3285At times on the journey toward conscious conception we may find ourselves having delusions of grandeur, perhaps better known as delusions that we have control.

In those moments we are usually quickly reminded that finally getting the one thing that we want most is totally and completely out of our control, no matter how hard we try to bring it into being.

And so what if we just let go? What if we let it all be?

Not because we have cried all of our tears. Not because we have read books or been through counseling. What if we let it all be because it already is, even if we refuse to acknowledge this truth.

Give up? No. Stop trying? No. Forget our dreams? No.

Just make peace with what is and let go of the how and what will be.

SHE LET GO

Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of fear.

She let go of judgments.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She just let go.

She let go of all the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her.

And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.

- Dr. Ernest Homes

Infertility: What to do on the really hard days

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On your path to motherhood some days will be easy. They will be sun-filled and rain-free. They will be days when you can see all that is right in the world, cherish all that is right in your life.

Yet other days will be darker. They will be harder to passage through. They will be the days when it’s hard to remember that the pain isn’t always so raw, the hurt not always so deep.

Those are the days when we must remember the tiny green sprigs.

When spring first sprung here on the east coast I spent the weekend planting flowers: reds and yellows and oranges and purples, my favorite hues.

Some of those flowers were in an area that just didn’t get much water. And so, undoubtedly I forgot to water them a time or two and they were a brown crumbly mess–kind of like our hearts feel on those hard days. I was certain that they should just be tossed. But something told me to not give up so easily on their faded blooms.

And after weeks soaking in water, what do you know; they sprouted tiny, tender green leaves.

We are not so different from the plants mama nature blossoms to fill our world with vibrancy. We are not so different at all.

Sometimes life reminds us around every corner that we turn that theirs is not ours, and that the dessert of a wilted plant is the desert of our wilted womb.

When those days come we can throw them out. We can toss our joy into the compost bin and we can sulk in the breaking branches of our strong wills.

Or, we can plant ourselves in cool, soft, nurturing water and wait for our rebirth.

Take a dip into the pond of hope on those hopeless days. I promise that when you re-emerge the sun will be out again and your tattered heart will be softening to open to the sprouts of new promises for tomorrow.