There are a lot of things I’ve done in this life of which I am not proud.
I’ve listed many of them within the confines of this blog in fact. Discussed my own missteps and dalliances not only in the last 2 years, but throughout my life.
Because I have never pretended to be anything better than what I am.
And what I am is a flawed human being, trying her best to make it through a difficult and painful situation. Writing about it as openly and honestly as I can possibly imagine. Exposing myself to all kinds of judgments and criticisms, even as I face overcoming one of the most painful experiences I have ever gone through.
I have been honest here about my own heartbreak. I have admitted my remorse surrounding dragging my family into this failure with me (even though I know they would have had it no other way). I was also blatantly honest about the guilt I felt surrounding the fact that I simply could not commit to volunteering with Chatty anymore. A little girl who I had given time to every weekend for the last 2 years. Until suddenly, my aches over my own infertility made it near impossible for me to be there for her any longer.
I have never hidden these failings of mine from this space. Or the guilt I have felt surrounding them.
So today, when I got a comment on this morning’s post pointing out my selfish choices in these areas, I was more than a little taken aback. Haven’t I already admitted to my failures here? Haven’t I already owned up to my own lack of perfection as a human being?
I am not proud. But I have acknowledged my failings here every step of the way. I could have easily hidden them. Pretended they never happened. Choked down my own guilt. But I haven't. I have exposed them all here. As honestly and openly as I could possibly muster.
So, there was really no way to respond to this comment. Because I already feel guilt over these instances. Without the judgment of a stranger who has never before interacted with me, I already felt shame over the pain I have inflicted upon others in this journey.
But the comment went on. Making incorrect assumptions about my feelings regarding adoption, as well as admonishing the hurt surrounding my own infertility. Claiming to be doing so only out of care for me, without recognizing that when you have never before interacted with a person - this is not how you express care.
And it was there that I thought “They are wrong.”
This person does not know me. They have never interacted with me prior to now. They claimed to have only just recently stumbled upon my blog (although they seemed to have read a great deal). They were picking though. Clearly trying to hurt me.
And how pathetic would I be if I let them?
We all know that there are haters within the blog world. That there are people who get a sick kind of enjoyment out of tearing others down. I have never understood it. It is a concept that is entirely foreign to me, because I cannot imagine going out of my way to hurt a stranger in such a way. I cannot imagine making such strong judgments based solely on the words written within a blog.
But we know it happens. In this case, the commenter just happened to pick up on some of my own sore spots to poke at. Places in my heart that were already inflamed, because I have picked at them myself more times than I can count.
They made one very big mistake though. Because they judged my feelings surrounding infertility. My feelings surrounding adoption. My feelings surrounding this very personal journey of mine, which they could never possibly understand without walking on the exact same path.
And in questioning my feelings, it dawned on me that they were also questioning the feelings of every single infertile woman out there. Every woman who has ever hurt on this journey. Every woman who has ever made the same decisions as me. Every woman who has ever had any thought or feeling at all regarding this experience.
This person judged that.
And in that moment; I realized they were truly far more flawed than they were judging me to be.
I have gotten enough e-mails from adoptive mothers telling me that my concerns regarding adoption are normal, to know that they are in fact normal. That my ache over the fact that I will probably never be able to carry a child is also normal. I still have a promised adoption post in the works, but I know now that my thoughts and fears are not wrong. That they are not strange or different.
That so many women out there feel the exact same thing.
And I have interacted with enough of you to know that grief is a normal process of dealing with infertility. That it is in fact necessary.
That this stranger could never possibly know what I should be feeling in this moment, because what has happened to me has not happened to them. Not in the same light. Not in the same way. They have not lived my life.
And just so we are clear – they haven’t lived yours either. Because in reading this comment, my heart ached for every single infertile woman who has ever felt the same as me. Every single infertile woman who has mourned the loss of being able to carry a child beneath their heart. Every single infertile woman who has gone through this journey with as much grace and strength as they could possibly muster, but who has still succumbed to the grief and pain from time to time.
Because if you don’t acknowledge that grief and pain, you aren’t being true to yourself or your journey.
I feel it may be time for a refresher course on what it is I’m doing here though. On why I’m here in the first place. Because clearly this random stranger missed that post when they were digging through my blog looking for daggers to throw.
I am not here to build readers, or sell a “compelling” story. It is not to convince people that I am something I am not, or to paint myself in such a pretty light that no one could ever possibly question me. It is not even to try to make myself out as the young heroine in this epic battle against infertility.
No, the reason I am here (the ONLY reason I am here) is to tell my story. To be as real and authentic and true to myself as I can possibly be. To not fear exposing the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Because you know what? There is someone else out there who feels just like me. Someone else out there struggling along this same journey. Someone who wants to know that they are not alone. That they are not a horrible person for the thoughts and feelings and fears they experience along this road.
It would be easy enough for me to hide the parts of me that are more broken. For me to pretend that they simply do not exist. That I am whole and complete and Suzie Sunshine all of the time.
But that wouldn’t be reality. And people would sniff it out as being a fraud in a heartbeat – because we are all flawed. No matter how we try to pretend it isn’t true.
Somewhere out there, there is someone just like me. And if I were the type of person who tried to hide these darker parts of my life and heart, I would only be lying to them. Only be making them feel like less, because they couldn’t face the dark in the same way I have.
When in reality, that story would be based on nothing factual at all. On lies meant to convince people that I am somehow better than I am.
When I’m not. I know exactly who I am. I know my flaws and broken pieces better than anyone. I am, if nothing else, one of the most self aware people you will ever meet.
And I am not afraid of showing you into those darker corners of my heart. My mind. My life.
Because this is reality. This is infertility. This is the truth.
And of that, I am proud. My ability to tell the truth. To be honest about who I am to both you, and myself.
I am not proud of every decision I have made, or every path I have chosen to take. I wish now that I had never allowed those I care about to be as injured in this journey as I have been. I wish I had been stronger, more capable of dealing with the injustices I was witnessing surrounding Chatty’s life.
But I do not regret the path I took. Because all along, as I prayed and begged and pleaded for answers, I knew I was supposed to try. I never knew one way or another whether or not it was meant to work, but I always knew I was meant to try. And that is a path I was meant to walk that is between only God and I. It is not anyone else’s to judge. I am not proud of some of the other decisions I made along that journey, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was a path I was meant to walk.
And I am proud of my ability to forge those roads with integrity.
At the end of the day, the people in my life who really matter are the ones with opinions that count. The people who know my heart and soul, and love me anyway; those are the ones who I have listened to every step of this journey. They are the ones with the advice and thoughts and words that have helped to guide me. My father and grandmother that this commenter was so worried about. My friends. The people who have always had my best interest at heart, and have always told me the truth with all the love they could possibly portray. Those are the people with opinions that count in my mind.
And I can guarantee you that those people have never described me as selfish or unstable as this path has taken shape.
Even if I have described myself as so on more than one occasion.
Some random person out in the blogging world who I have never interacted with in any other way suddenly heaping all kinds of judgment and venom upon me though? Well, they don’t know me.
And they don’t know you either.
Because I promise you, your feelings are normal. Your hurts as you walk this path are real. And expected. And true.
And anyone who would ever ask you to stifle that, or attempt to make you feel worse as a result of it; well, they obviously don’t have your best interest at heart.
The world is full of judgmental people. Cruel people. Ignorant people. People who will never understand, because they are so busy picking out the flaws of others that they have forgotten to see their own.
But know this one thing; losing your ability to carry the child you so long for is a painful and difficult process to go through. And your feelings and hurts and sadness are all normal. All expected. All nothing short of completely and totally OK.
Anyone who would ever tell you otherwise, isn’t even worth a response.
Especially if they are simply some stranger on the internet.
Some stranger who while picking up quite adeptly on some of your missteps, still has no real idea who you are.
Because they were too busy judging, to pick up on the truth.
The truth that we are all flawed. Deep down to our cores.
But there is something to be said for being able to acknowledge that.
And being able to admit from time to time; I am not proud.
But I am learning, growing, and becoming better from my experiences.
Each and every day.
And for that, I will keep my head held high.
ADSPACE
