Healing Hobbies

Healing is a large part of coming to terms with grief.  The moment you realize grief is a life-long companion is terrifying but you can find joy in grief.  I helped myself by finding things that used to interest me.  It was surprising to discover I still had fun with hobbies.  You forget what you enjoy when you are swept up in the all-consuming struggle for fertility.  My favorite hobby is photography.  With every snapshot a bit of the pain has been taken out of grief.  I wanted to share some mementos.  Maybe you will be inspired to take up a hobby you love.  Even if you are still TTC you can find a moment to ponder what brought you joy before.  Go and create something.  Bring beauty into your life.

Controversial Opinion on being Childfree

Over and over I read comments from infertile women being wounded by their fertile friends. It's a problem born from ignorance. Just yesterday I had a woman say that when I stop trying is when I'll have kids. Those comments don't bug me at all any more so I smiled and agreed.

In the infertility community those comments are discussed to help heal the wound they leave behind. No matter my opinion I would never directly disagree with another infertile (sorry, if that's you and you're reading this). That is the same reason I wish parents would keep their comments to themselves in public.  We tend to keep our mouths shut not to make you uncomfortable though that is changing. God forbid, the person who's (presumably) never suffered through years of torture to have kids be uncomfortable in my presence when I could take all the burden.  I believe the point of being silent is that my experience will rarely change your opinion if you aren't asking to know what I know. Many people wish they could be as naive as a fertile myrtle.  If you are a parent and you don't openly discuss non-parents or vice versa then good on you; this blog does not apply to you.

But there is one jackass comment parents often say (which should be kept to themselves) that I actually agree with. I can't know what it's like having kids so I can't judge. I recently read one infertile woman's response to this. She was insulted, and rightly so, because that is the verbal equivalent of slapping her across the face for not being able to keep up. The problem is that I agree. Yes, I can have as many opinions as I want and you can like it or not. I'm very good at having opinions about kids and their parents. My first instinct is to judge everyone, parent or not, even if I say I'm not judging.

By voicing my opinions on how to raise kids I'm being just as big of a jackass as the person slapping the infertile woman with words. It's not my fault that I can't have kids and it’s indescribably painful at times. That doesn't change the fact that I haven't raised kids. I'm breaking my own rules here but I observe bigger problems that happen due to non-parent's judging those with kids.

First, I've listened to years of my Mother telling me how judgmental the board is when she takes my brother to his IEP meetings. They tell her how best to raise her own child when they have none of their own.  They have no way of knowing the real issues going on, especially if the parent is not all that articulate.  We all know that an education is no substitute for on the job training.  I have no idea what it’s like raising a child and while I want my opinions validated, in most situations my business is to be silent.  If I were on the panel doing the IEP it's my business to work with the parents, not look down upon them from an imagined state of superiority.  That goes for anyone choosing to look down on another.

Second, just the same as the fertile can never comprehend the constant torture trying to get pregnant the infertile don't (yet) know what it's like being crazy busy every day with kids. You can be busy from 4 am to midnight every day but if you go down that road you will only start playing the "grief Olympics." In the grieving community that is where you compare situations to always make it look like you have it worse. We all suffer. You don't like it when someone makes you feel guilty for being upset so why do it to someone else? Don't diminish people. Try building them up with compliments instead.

Thirdly and lastly, parents need to focus on their kids, not a barrage of opinions being pelted at them. We all want a better next generation. If we concentrate on telling people how to do it they may lose sight of actually doing it. Parents may feel the need to defend their decisions. They may feel like bad parents and question themselves. They may end up worse parents because of your opinions. Unless you suspect child abuse it’s best to leave this kind of judging to professionals unless the parents ask you for your opinion. I want to see parent’s succeed just as I wish I’d have been a successful parent. Everyone has different ideas on how to do that. It sucks that I never got to prove to the world that my views on parenting are the best (which would undoubtedly have changed) but that is what happened.

I got a crap deal but you know what, you did too. My experience dictates that you may never be able to relate to my experience but I can tell you all about what I've learned from it. Rather than telling people how to change we can listen to what they have learned. Eventually, all that listening, learning and adapting will lead to a perfect you. You take the good out of people’s experiences and you don’t have to learn it the hard way. So next time you want to tell off your childfree friend of vice versa remember that. You are better off letting them learn on their own because you can’t force knowledge; they will probably be insulted and rightly so. You have to come to knowledge on your own.

The Path to Wisdom is Grief

             How many times have I found myself sitting in front of the computer, trying to share my story but not feeling I can adequately express what effect the loss of my children has had on me?  Ask me for stories and I can talk for hours but ask me to share my children and I pause because instinct tells me to protect them and me from judgment.  So many people have shared so much inspiration over the past 6 year journey.  I know grief has made me wiser but how do I give that wisdom to you?  It’s at the cost of my children so I’ll start with them. 

In the first year after my son, David, was stillborn and we found out about his twin, Alex, who was an early loss, I shared everything with everyone.  I couldn't stop talking if I tried.  There was no greater mission than to get what was inside of me out.  It felt like the world had ended and all the people who went about their daily lives were ghosts; merely echo’s of what life once was.  I wanted to go back to that world but all the shadows of what could have been haunted me and I was tormented. 

I spent a long while thinking I’d gone insane.  After my outbursts calmed down I learned to hole everything up inside of me.  While I was quick to pass judgment about everyone and everything I also learned that I needed to keep everything to myself.  I made enemies before I learned not to air my opinions.  How could I be so angry all the time?  Where did all that anger come from?  It was present every moment of every day.  I loathed myself, my family, my friends, pop culture, religion and god; especially god.  

I was ashamed of who I’d become, knowing I’d made myself miserable.  I knew having a baby wouldn't heal that misery.  I knew, even if everyone else judged, that I had limitations to my abilities most people don’t have.  I was so broken that I could not function and people are going to have to take it on faith that I wasn't simply being lazy.  The world and everything in it terrified me.  My mantra over the years became, “say nothing to anyone ever, under any circumstances.”  I said I did that to protect them from me but I was really protecting myself from any embarrassment over who I was.  I wanted to be an inspiration, a strong woman, who succeeds where other women crumbled but I, like everyone else is fallible.  Failure is my oldest enemy and she sent me diving ever deeper into this dark hole I’d dug for myself when I lost my twins.  It took untold amounts of effort to begin digging my way out.

It took me 3 years to feel I was ready to try again.  We were restrained this time.  My husband and I became less intimate and there was little passion in us coming together.  We were too frightened to be hopeful.  What used to be a beautiful part of us as a couple now drove us apart.  I had been unable to cope with life after my loss but we got pregnant only a few months after my husband returned from a deployment.  While he’d been gone I learned to face my fears so I could survive.

Savannah miscarried.  I’d only just picked out the ladybug crib set.  After the shock wore off I had so much emotion that my body shook and rocked myself to get some of that energy out.  Any woman who has lost a child knows what it’s like to wail from your guts while your soul is shredding into a million pieces.  From the moment the nurse took David from me I knew why they put me in the room farthest down the hall.  This was no different.  The snot and tears ran down my face.  I didn't care if I showered or got out of bed.  I didn't care what my neighbors would think of the noise.  It was too much emotion for one person to carry.  I had to find a way to turn it off so I turned to anti-depressants and alcohol.  Lord knows what I would have turned to if anything else had been legal.  Therapy didn't seem to help.  I began to think I didn't want help or I’d be better already.  I never wanted healing to take time.  No matter what I’d hear to the contrary I believed grief had an end point.  I felt coddled and judged while I also missed my kids terribly and wanted to bring a baby home.  The ache for a real live baby was stronger than any drug.  It was an obsession.  I was not weak but people walked on eggshells around me.  I knew I was being taken care of rather than taking care of myself.  I wasn't suicidal but I hated myself for being a burden. 

I was done with this roller coaster.  How many years does someone have to wait for some good news?  I was so tired.  By the time I found out what caused my losses I had no emotions left to cope with the idea that I would not have natural children that were genetically mine.  I remember the day it set in for me clearly because it was the day I went to a birthday party for my friend's twins.  We got a second opinion only hours earlier telling us our odds of conceiving were  "astronomical".  That must be irony.  I felt completely empty.  I knew I had to find some way to live.

The answers lied in action.  For years I’d been frozen in a state of not having a job because I left my job right when I got pregnant.  I was the stay at home non-mom.  A person needs a community but it has to be the right community.  That is hard to find in culture ripe with trolls.  No one wants to listen to you complain unless you are a huge success.  They like hearing about death even less.

So, I made the choice to go to school after losing Savannah.  If the universe would not send me good news then I’d make it come.  I had to face the fact that may never be a Mom.  My grief came out in paralyzing fears.  At one point I’d been afraid to walk across the street to get the mail and now I was driving 40 miles away to get an education, five days a week.  School gave me something else to do.  I didn't spend 24 hours a day thinking about my loss, fears and anger.  I didn't have time any more to drive myself crazy.  Suddenly, I had a schedule and structure.

When my husband and I realized we had nothing left to give to an adopted child I had my tubes tied to prevent any further miscarriages and we said good-bye to parenthood.  You would think that would be the darkest moment of all.  It’s certainly the scariest for women with infertility.  I’m the nagging dark fear itching at your brain, “What if I never get to have kids?”  For as sad as my story has been the moment I knew I was done my soul became lighter.  I felt happy.  I forgot what it was like to be carefree.  It’s not that I suddenly stopped wanting kids.  I never turned off my grief.  I turned on everything else.  The world was in color again.  Suddenly, all those opportunities I saw as a kid were options to choose from.  Sometimes I’m bitter but mostly I don’t care anymore.  Some things will always bother me, like a soldier who comes out of battle changed I have been changed and that growth is who I am.  I no longer blame myself or my husband or god.  But I know better how to empathize and how to form my opinions.  I’m less likely to be so angry over circumstance.  I’m less likely to judge without serious fault.  I'm a more cautious person and quieter but I think I'm also a nicer person because I'm not as ignorant as I once was to how bad it can get.

Last week was the 6 year anniversary of the twin’s birth.  We put birthday balloons on the grave with toys.  We said a prayer and this year we said good-bye.  It has been a long journey but now it’s time to move on.  I left my mark on Utah with my diploma in the other hand.  I run a Resolve Infertility support group for women who are now where I was and hopefully that will exist long after I’m gone.  My husband and I are relocating across the country to start a new chapter of what I hope will be our happily ever after children.

Don't Ignore Infertility

One in eight couples face infertility.  It should be a common topic with tons of easily attainable resources but no one talks about it.  Some people believe infertility is ignored because the topic deals with sex.  In case that’s true I want to do it first and move on. 

Sex.   Screwing.  Doing the naughty.  Legs up in the air or from the rear.  Wet and dirty; just like on the Discovery Channel.  It’s about the birds and the bees and we’ve got hungry eyes. 

Now that we prudes are all awkwardly uncomfortable I can continue with the less comfortable topic of infertility. 

When I started this blog I felt keeping infertility to myself was driving me crazy.  I hoped I wasn’t alone.  When I thought about letting go and braving the world I hoped I would find friendship.  I wanted to help pioneer a community that I could understand.

I had this great idea of being a voice for change.  I imagined a world where people would come together to lift us up in support.  I want to see every market selling pink and blue ribbons. 

Every October it’s a reminder for me the potential we have to share our suffering in a positive way.  You can’t leave the house without seeing pink everywhere, being asked to participate in 5k runs or donate to the Susan G. Komen Foundation.  To be fully supportive of women they need to add the color blue.  October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  Infertility and fertility need to be addressed.   My mission is to spread the message shamelessly.

To do that, I have to inform you that this is National Infertility Awareness Week.   To kick off the week I attended the Utah Infertility Awareness Seminar.  I learned so much and met some really wonderful people.  These are all people who want kids or wanted them.   They came together to share their frustrations, learn better ways to become parents but most of all to be in a room of infertiles that have hope.  They were there hoping for pregnancy, for surrogacy, for egg adoptions and fostering to adopt or dreaming a pregnant Mom would choose them.  When all else failed they were there hoping to find peace at the end of trying.   

These were women who have dreams of children stamped on their hearts and many have had to change that dream.  That is what one of the groups was all about.  Couples lined the rows to listen to Monica Ashton help them find peace and healing when you face the reality that your family will not be what you thought it would.   I sat there and listened to one woman discuss how she came to realize that a family of two is still a family.  So often we want to ask people when they are going to start a family but they do that when they get married.  They already are a family.

Even Isaiah had a laugh when Josh Redfern  got up and talked to us about infertility from a guys point of view.  Both of us sat there thinking, “That’s me he’s talking about.”  We hoped each other was really paying attention and it was because of what he said that we talked the whole way home, decided we weren’t done so we stopped to walk around the mall a few times until we had worked through so many things we felt we could never say because of that gender gap between us.  That is why I say I learned a lot.  He didn’t tell me he’d changed his mind but at least he understands why I act the way I do.    

We shouldn’t have needed to go to this big event to find a way to discuss how infertility affects us. Why is it so awkward to bring it up?  Why does he change the subject?  These were things I need to know.  Again, I shouldn’t have needed a seminar to learn answers.  I’m glad I went.  It was helpful but these are the things we could find easily if our culture was more open to sharing their infertility.  We so often carry the burden alone.  Would is surprise you to know that studies at places like Harvard have placed this stress on the same level as terminal illnesses like Cancer?  I’ve never been so upset or consumed with something in my life.

Those blue and pink ribbons are where we start the discussion.  We may not be able to say it out loud but we can pin this message to our shirts, our cars, our window decals, our web pages and our key chains.    Our friends who get it will know we stand for something.  That ribbon can lead to conversations that lead to change.  Your friends will be wearing those ribbons to honor you and in the years to come October will become the month of pink and blue.  People will know this is the week to recognize those who cope with infertility.

Making the decision to be open about my struggle is harder than I imagined but I have a ribbon I display everywhere I go.  My goal has become to be open enough to talk about my infertility in the same way as I talk about my marriage, or where I come from.  I don’t want to be ashamed of this integral part of who I am any more than I want to struggle with it.  That is why I have started the process of working with Resolve to open a support group in my area.  I'm still in training and we'll see where that goes in the weeks to come but it all starts this week.  This is the week I change my mindset from closed to open.  So hug your infertile friend, wear your ribbon and ask to start a discussion.  We can’t ignore infertility if we want to find the answers to end it.

To help you understand infertility you can check out these links below:

http://www.resolve.org/infertility101  (Basic understanding of the disease of infertility.)

http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html (About NIAW)

Choosing to be Childfree After Infertility

Part Two: Reflections

            

                I was in the military the first time I contemplated having kids.  It was exciting but it wasn’t the right time.  I didn’t start trying to get pregnant until I was almost out of the military.  We spent about a year trying not including the months we stopped so I could deploy.    I was pregnant less than 90 days after my separation.  The plan was that I would stay at home until the baby would go to school because it would be cheaper than child care. 

                When my husband told me on April 3^rd that he will never want to adopt or try to have kids in any way I was devastated.  He told me to stop hoping he would change his mind.  The physical, emotional and mental cost was too high after our other losses.  He told me he couldn’t meet the requirements above.  He can’t be charismatic or convince people to give him cash.  Neither of us is social.  He wants stability that raising kids can’t give him.

My reaction at first was shock.  I sat there staring at the wall.  I barely registered anything happening the next few days.  I haven’t wanted to eat, can’t sleep.  I keep crying.  It sucks.   Everything reminds me that I will never raise children.  I spent over $100 on used books to cope with infertility and being “Childless by Chance.”  I even spent $50 on Fannie May because I haven’t fully accepted that chocolates don’t make everything better. 

The worst thing is I wanted to talk but when the opportunity arose I was ashamed, upset and scared so I didn’t share with many people what I was experiencing.  I want to be seen as a strong capable person and this makes it hard to be that way.  It was days before I even spoke with my own Mother.    When you are in the middle of infertility it’s impossible to see any happy ending that doesn’t involve bringing a baby home.  I didn’t want pity but I needed support. 

In the last few days I’ve begun asking new questions.  Why did I ever want kids?   At the time I knew I was getting out of the military and that was scary.   I’d worked so hard to get where I was.  I didn’t want to start over but I knew I couldn’t last much longer on my current path.  I wanted to hide and being a stay-at-home Mom gave me enough reason not to face the world.  I didn’t want to try because I didn’t want to fail.  In not trying I have met even more failure than I ever would have imagined back then.  I found out that physically having kids is not easy.

Everyone knows its hard being a parent.  You can’t be a selfish person when it comes to your kids.  We have programs to help parents.  We even have the famous line from Hillary Clinton, “It takes a Village to Raise a Child.”  You can’t go outside without facing their reality.  I know and accept that I will never comprehend what it is like to raise a child.   There are a million blogs and forums for parents.  People often go out of their way to be considerate to the needs of parents.   We have whole days set aside to thank our parents.   

We have a kid-centric culture.  It’s normal to grow up, get married and have kids.  I realized that I wanted to be a part of something like that.  I want to go to church on Mother’s Day and stand up with all the other Mom’s but when I do I feel like a fraud because I’m not living that lifestyle.  They don’t ask for all the women who have kids, are trying to have kids or have lost pregnancies and young babies to stand up.  They ask for Mom’s and generally when you think of Mom it’s that person who raised you even if that person wasn’t technically your Mother.  I wanted to experience that positive reinforcement; to have some recognition for something I had worked so hard to accomplish.  I saw Motherhood as the most normal way to do that.  

I never wanted to lose my kids.  When I did I wanted to share them.  When I got mad it was never my fault.  I can see now I didn’t want someone to think I was less than them.  I don’t like believing I’m not good enough or capable enough.  I really don’t like failure.  I’ve spent years hating people who say the wrong thing because what they say is coming from a place of pity, assumptions they couldn’t know about or because they are repeating a platitude.  To pity me says that you think I haven’t got something vital.  I don’t want that.  I want recognition for accomplishments.  But to this day I’m still afraid to try.  The difference is that I do try.  Sometimes it feels like it’s never enough but I do it even though I fail over and over again.  Failure is a big part of who I am; a good part.

I wanted to be normal.  Everyone I knew that was normal had kids or was having kids.  I’ve never liked being odd.  I learned that doesn’t get you far because people notice.  You become an outsider.   At a certain age not having kids makes you unrelatable.    We all conform to the culture we are raised in.  You are supposed to want the white-picked fence in the suburbs with 2 ½ kids.  If you meet a new acquaintance the topic of kids is as bonding as talking about the weather.   It’s hard to connect with people who have nothing in common with you.

I was afraid of what would happen to me without kids.  I’m afraid I’ll be old and alone but that's no reason to have kids.  After pregnancy and infant loss people’s fears become magnified.  A common grief reaction for anyone is to become socially isolated.  I barely left the house.  I was so vulnerable to any comments made by anyone that I buried my loss with all but a few.  That is a tough habit to break.  If I don’t break it I really will end up old and alone so I have to work on it a bit at a time.  Like most people I want to be remembered.  You need to impact people’s lives to be remembered; you have to earn that not give birth to that right. 

But when I think of adoption I want to be fair.  I don’t want to adopt just because I can’t have a kid naturally.  I don’t want them to be a replacement for my kids that died.   I want them to see me as their Mom and not just a caregiver.  If I say I would do anything just to have a kid am I really giving that child all the respect they deserve? 

It’s very hard for me to think about never trying.  This is a lost dream.  When my son was stillborn there was nothing else that was as important.  I waited years between each pregnancy to make sure I wasn’t trying to replace one child with another.   I wanted to know the feeling of breast-feeding and nurturing.  I wanted to scold and keep them safe.  I wanted the sleepless nights and midnight trips to clean up sick. 

I know what that connection to your child feels like.  As soon as my kids were born I knew that there was no bond stronger than that of a mother and child.  Yet,  I had to let go.  That feeling never went away.  But here I am letting go for good. 

The dream will end when I can see that not all happy endings result in kids.  The fairy tale is not always the best way to judge your own success.  Those who are different are the ones who make a difference.  I don't have to be a Mother to do that.

Choosing to be Childfree After Infertility

Part One:  Questions

There are a lot of questions to ask yourself before starting on the path to fertility.    It takes a lot of sacrifice, pain and suffering.  You should be informed.  If you are able to effortlessly get pregnant you need to throw out old biased concepts and learn what your infertile friends go through to have kids.

 Are you willing to be charismatic no matter how powerful the grief?  Are you able to convince people to give you large sums of money?  If not, would you forgo college tuition to pay off your debt?   You will need these traits if you choose to adopt either kids or eggs after losing your kids.

Would you be willing to undergo dangerous medical procedures that can have disastrous side-effects, such as paralysis and Uterine Cancer?  How about letting a doctor inspect your naughty bits on a weekly basis?  Can you try again if you suffer multiple pregnancy or infant losses?    

Will you sacrifice any possibility of buying a new house or even updating the house you have?  Will you be comfortable in your home if you never have spending money for vacations or getaways?    If you do find you have money for vacations could you be flexible enough to plan every day around the moment you ovulate or around the moment the clinic can see you?   

Are you strong enough not to become an emotional eater or drinker when year after year you still have not met all the above requirements?    Better yet, can you handle the hurtful comments you will receive from others when you don’t meet those standards?

If you go the route of adoption could you accept it’s the most expensive option?  Could you handle having social workers inspect your home.  Are you comfortable sharing intimate details about yourself with strangers who will then decide if you are a capable parent?  Can you explain to a judge why you deserve to have kids?  Would you inflict mental and physical testing upon yourself to prove you are a fit parent? 

Will enough people in your community to give you letters of recommendation?  Can you wait two to ten years to wade through the mountain of paperwork?   Even if you adopt can you give back your child if the parent comes to legally remove them back to their care?  How can you comprehend that these same parents don’t have to undergo all the same processes you do because they are genetically linked to your child?   

On April 3^rd I was honest with my husband about the struggles ahead.  The last thing I wanted was to make him believe we could hop to the corner market and bid on a baby.  I knew telling him the truth would cost me because I know his heart is not wrapped up in having offspring.  I still feel it’s worth it to at least try to adopt so I did tell him that.

My perspective is that if I haven’t tried everything then I’ve given up too early.  If I had it my way we would spend a fortune on trying.  We would already be so far in the hole that we would never contemplate retirement.   I would have plastered on a permanent smile, kissed all the right asses, gone to all the right events and followed all the right health and beauty tips to be as appealing as I can be.   I was even willing at one point to secretly try to get pregnant, knowing the odds were so stacked against me.

That is why I’m glad for my husband.  He’s strict and sees things differently.  Often I don’t think he fully comprehends my need to have children.  This is the driving force in my life.  Kids are all-consuming.  I can think of nothing higher on my list of priorities.  I would walk away from everything, even my life, to have a baby that I knew would grow up, be healthy, have a life of its own and maybe even give my husband grandkids one day. 

How do you go from that to having a tubal and questioning why it is you ever wanted children in the first place?