Damn the feelings!

Going to a therapist reminds me that I can’t, and shouldn’t, do it on my own. Going to church gives me the same feeling.

The difference is having someone to talk to one on one who can say what they see from a viewpoint completely different of my own. Someone who can help me decipher what God is trying to tell me and what my body is trying to tell me.

My viewpoint: I totally got this.
Therapist: You are burying it; let’s dig around

She called me out today.

Her: Let’s talk about anger.

Me: Anger? Why would we need to talk about anger? I’m totally fine.

Her: I want you to tell me what you could possibly be angry about.

**We play the silent game for a bit until it’s clear she has all afternoon to wait for me to answer her.

Me: Ok, well I mean, I’ve been dealing with infertility for ten years.. *clears throat* and.. I guess the embryos were a hard reminder that I’m still in it, and well, my husband’s dreams of having children genetically related to him are over, and my dreams of experiencing pregnancy are over. And I’m tired of throwing money at adoption and fertility treatments. *Tears welling up* And you know, it’s not like I can just “get over” infertility. It will follow me for the rest of my life. *Tears falling* And every month that I get my period is a reminder that once again I am still infertile and cannot grow my family in a way I had always dreamed I would. *Sobbing* And even when I’m through menopause and the kids are out of the house, they will be navigating relationships with not only me but also their biological mothers. *Ugly crying* And although I will always be their mother, I will never be their only mother. I will never be anyone’s ONLY mother.

*Weird breathing-asthma-attack-style-crying for a bit here*

Her: *also crying* We can’t go through the life force of grief without dealing with anger.

We continued on for a bit with conversation and crying. She then did energy clearing techniques on me and we prayed like we always do at the end of each session.

Dear Holy Spirit, please bring healing and peace to my heart.

She brought my reality back to light. I am angry. I am angry that I have a “condition” that seems to cause endless sadness. I have to live in it, silently suffering. Obviously I’m not so silent about it, but so many people are, and so many more people don’t know how to be with someone who is infertile, so maybe my writing it down will help lessen the awkward conversations out there.

Why do I have to continually go through these incredible disappointments? Is God punishing me? It’s hard to think I am not being punished or being taught a lesson like a child that can’t seem to listen. The truth is that Jesus came and died to save us from our sins. To save us from being punished. So based on this, I know I am not being punished. I feel like I am though.

Could it be that I am punishing myself over and over again for being a failure to my past dreams? Keep trying this treatment and that treatment and maybe that will cure me of my inability to create life.

I listened to a podcast yesterday that talked about women not having children out of choice. Like there are women out there that have absolutely no desire to be a mother. They can create other things in life and be totally satisfied in that. They can live a beautifully fulfilling life without needing to be a mother. There are other women how never had the desire to create life so they adopted. Why couldn’t I have been one of those women? Wouldn’t that be the dream for any infertile woman? Why do we have to go through the humiliation of broken lady parts or man parts or whatever. Humiliation because you have to answer all of the inappropriate questions that come your way. I hope your comfortable with your lady parts because people ask you all sorts of questions about them.

“So are you infertile or is your husband?” “Tell me about your lining” “Have you tried having sex?” “How often do you have sex?” “What is your husbands sperm count?” “Have you had your tubes cleaned out?” “Maybe your ovaries are dying.”

Please, let’s talk more about my vagina, uterus and ovaries.

From as far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mother. Not an aunt or Godmother. A mother. I saw myself being pregnant and giving birth to become a mother. Adoption was never even something I considered. I didn’t know anyone adopted and really hadn’t heard much about it. It was a foreign idea. Talk about the power of visualization. I had it down. Except for the part where my reality did not catch up to that visualization.

I love my kids more than I can describe to you. I am their mother in every possible way. This is my reality. And it’s a pretty damn good one. It’s nothing that I had ever expected or dreamed of, but in a way it is. I get to do everything a mother does, because I am everything a mother is. I’m only missing the creation part – just those first nine months. Yet that creation part is the part I’m hung up on. I’ve only lost nine months, but really I’ve lost a lifetime. The mourning isn’t close to over. It’s constant. It’s there every month when my period comes and again I am not pregnant. Every pregnancy announcement my heart clenches a little tighter. When will this suffering end? When will I come out from this dream and just be satisfied with what I have (which again, is a lot of awesomeness)? When will I not want more? It feels like I’m doing my kids and my husband a disservice by not just “getting over” my infertility. Can I love them with all of my heart and soul and still be sad? 

It may not seem to the naked eye that I have lost anything on this infertility journey. The grief and mourning I am experiencing is because I have lost everything I thought was truth from childhood. A version of my reality has died. There is no memorial. There are no condolences. You don’t get flowers for having a broken reproductive system.