After my second surgery last November, I was pretty much a wreck. I just wasn’t dealing well with the words “You may not have much time to conceive.” I was dealing even less well with the words “You will never conceive naturally.” But, I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I couldn’t get the words out, and when I could; I felt like I was saying the same things over and over again. Vocalizing what I was feeling wasn’t working.
That’s when Mrs. King started to encourage me to start a blog. She was being an incredible friend in every way she knew how, but she could see me struggling. She also knew that writing was the best way I knew how to communicate, and so she implanted this idea in my head and let it grow. I started looking at other infertility blogs, but I had a hard time connecting with a lot of them. Most of them had husbands, and while I felt I could still understand them on this painful level (in this club I had now gained entrance into, and wanted out of), they still had something I didn’t have; they still had someone to hold them as they cried.
Even beyond that, many were consumed by their desolation. I was too (don’t get me wrong – desolation and I were becoming quick friends); but I knew I couldn’t focus on my pain 24/7. I knew I would drown in it if I allowed myself to, so I knew I had to have a place where I could laugh at infertility as much as I cried over it. I knew I wanted to be able to find the light and humor wherever it was hiding.
I labored over a name, trying to find something that said it all – and did so with attitude. At one point I started looking through movie’s I had rated on Netflix, hoping to find inspiration in some of my favorite titles. That is when I scrolled passed Single White Female and knew: that was it. Exchange "white" with "infertile", and that was me: single, infertile, and mildly disturbed… perfect!
Initially, I wanted to be completely anonymous. I didn’t even want my picture to appear anywhere; nothing I could be identified with. (Clearly I’ve gotten past some of that.)
But, I didn’t want to be signing off as “Single Infertile Female” every time either. That just seemed like too much. Therefore, I shortened it to S.I.F. I still wasn’t super pleased with that moniker, but I figured it painted the picture and did the job. I wouldn’t allow myself to worry too much about it.
When I set up a Facebook page however, that was when I got irritated. Facebook does not make it easy for you to have a regular page with an irregular name. I tried every combination I could think of, and eventually ended up with the Facebook name Sif Infertile. Seriously, that was what they gave me.
Sif. Sif Infertile. How lame was that? I was annoyed, but I also wasn’t going to spend too much more time trying to figure it out. What could I do?
You may remember about a month ago I had a job writing articles about baby names. Some of the articles were out there (Vampire baby names, Elvish baby names; you get the point). I was actually looking through the names of varying Gods and Goddesses of different mythologies for inspiration at one point when… there it was.
Sif. The Nordic Goddess of fertility.
I am not kidding. I’m not smart enough to make this stuff up.
Now, I am not vain enough to be comparing myself to a Goddess here (unless we are talking about the Goddess of cheese; if there is one of those, I might compete for the title!), but… there was something about that. Something about the whole chain of events and origins that just felt… right. Something that felt like fate.
Something that felt like someone somewhere telling me it was OK to have a little bit of hope.
ADSPACE
