So I had a list of all the things I was going to catch up on and write about when I took a break waiting to gain more storage. But I re-read that list and there wasn’t much on there that actually seemed important now. So I crushed it in my hands and tossed it in the trash. So with no prompts or lists of topics I am just going to write.
For a long time writing has been therapeutic for me. I have so many documents in word and drafts in my e mails where I just free write to get things out of my head. It is so funny to go back and read some of the things I have written and seeing where I was at that time in my life. Then sometimes reading the things that I have written just takes me back to places I don’t really want to be again.
Over the past several years infertility has been my demon. It is something that consumes a lot of my time and thoughts. The what if’s roll though my head. The why plays over and over in my mind and heart. The insecurities are crystal clear in the writing. The blame I placed/place on myself and God are there. The frustration creeps back in.
Let me be very clear that while I am living and breathing infertility and it consumes so much of my life – it does not consume everything. I have moments, days, weeks, and months even that I exist with this label and don’t bat an eye. That I push it to the back of my mind the best I can and enjoy life without worrying what happens next, without feeling like I have to be an advocate, without feeling like I have to explain why we have no children or defend why we haven’t been chosen with the adoption, without feeling like everyone that glances at me has a look of pity for me. Where the past and the future don’t taunt me. So while infertility is my demon – I still have some freedom to hide from it. But that is all I can really do is hide. Eventually it finds me. Eventually it allows those thoughts to flood back in and I become that infertile girl again, and she warps into this monster.
As I read back through and think about where I have been and where I am, I realize I am caught between despising who infertility has made me and being proud. With Mother’s Day approaching I swing closer to the despising side. I think about the years I have missed out on that holiday and how each year is breaks my heart a little more. Yes I celebrate my mother and other women that have “mothered me” but with each year that passes my time feels further and further out of reach for me to actually get to be on the receiving end of Mother’s Day. It hurts. It makes me mad. It frustrates me. I hide on that day because I worry that the monster that infertility has created will do something or say something stupid or offensive to someone. That my bitterness will be more evident and that I will hurt feelings and people will make me feel guilty because I don’t have a child, that make me feel selfish because I can’t just “get over it and be happy.” In years past I avoid church and will this year as well. Sad but oh so true. I can’t do it. I avoid facebook and other social media. I do my best to avoid going out to eat. I attempt not to communicate with people in public because strangers tell women “Happy Mother’s Day” even if you don’t have a child with you. And sometimes people that know you don’t have a child will speak that phrase to you and makes you wonder why? Why in the world would you say that to me knowing the road that I have traveled. And those three words when spoken or texted to me cuts straight through my soul. I don’t deserve them. I am not worthy and those words are wasted on me. I despise that part of me. The part that hides from the world – that allows the bitterness to creep in and fears that I will forever be 1 in 8 and never get to experience what motherhood is.
So this year as we get closer to Mother’s Day I find myself surrounded by emotionally bad days, the monster that comes with those days breathes bitterness and disdain and hopelessness. Not with everything in my life, but with everything infertility related. That monster has crawled into my head and heart and set up a tent, built a little camp fire, sitting all smug in a chair roasting marshmallows.