I’ve been accused recently of being self-involved in this space. Of being selfish, and petulant, and whiny, and… Well, I forget what all else. After a while, I suppose the negativity and hurtful words being spewed by people hiding behind the anonymity of the internet all start to bleed together.
Of course these words have all come from total strangers, because the people who know me personally know that nothing could be further from the truth. In real life, I am surrounded by amazing friends. Strong, supportive, wonderful, loyal, warm, intelligent, hilarious, open women who I would trust with my life any day of the week. I would like to think that I am blessed with these friendships because I in turn am the kind of friend to them that they are to me. I would like to believe that our relationships are based on a give and take where they get as much from me as I do from them. I suppose coming from me – those words fall flat. But the truth is, I can guarantee that none of them would ever think to call me selfish or self-involved. Not to my face, or behind my back. If nothing else – these women know my heart. And they know how readily I would drop everything to be there for them in any possible way should they ever need me.
Just as so many of them have done for me throughout these last few years especially.
Still… I find it humorous that someone would make these judgments about me based on the words in a blog. After all – isn’t a personal blog the epitome of narcissism? It’s a space to discuss solely one’s own take on their world. To publish and display THEIR thoughts, THEIR feelings, and THEIR version of events. Most blogs are not collective projects, and when it comes to personal blogs – I can guarantee that you are going to learn far more about a person’s life in that space than you would ever take away from a face to face conversation with them.
I, for one, know that I am very hesitant to discuss my own struggles in real life. I have a very real desire to always appear strong and in control to those who love me. There were too many times in my past when I faltered. Too many times when I outright fell. And because of those times, now – as an adult – it is incredibly difficult for me to let the people I love see me struggling.
Which is, in reality, why this blog started. I needed a space where I could let out those frustrations, and fears, and heartaches that I wasn’t articulating in real life. I needed a sounding board. A place where I could express myself in a way that I have never been particularly good at doing in real life. Writing is my therapy. It is the only way I have ever really known how to say what it is I’m thinking. The only way I’ve ever really been able to open up those darker spaces in my head that I tend to otherwise keep under wraps.
I started this blog because I needed to expose those dark spaces. And I needed to be able to connect to other women who could perhaps relate.
Still… I know how lucky I am. How blessed my world has been with the friendships I have. With the women who know what I’m thinking and feeling without my ever needing to say a word.
I know it says something that no matter where I have ever gone in my life - these loyal and incredibly strong friendships have found me.
I so often hear women complaining about their lack of female friends, and I know that what I have is rare. Special. To be cherished and nurtured always.
Because I wouldn’t trade my friends for anything in this world.
I say all this to warn you though – I’m about to have a self-involved moment. To say in this space something I would never fully express in real life.
Because again – that’s exactly what this space was created for.
I currently have 2 women in my life who I have grown very close to over the last few months. Both were brought into my life by way of the boy (one I had actually communicated online with for months prior to our actual introduction – but both were ultimately connected to me through him, even though neither had met the other until I brought us all together). Both have endometriosis, making them the only women I know in Alaska who have dealt with this disease.
Which means: the connection between us was immediate and strong.
It just so happens that both are women I would have also been immediately drawn to had that connection of disease never been there at all though. They are both genuine and warm and sincere. Hilarious and intelligent and strong. They encompass all of the qualities I tend to seek in friendships.
I am blessed to know them.
Both are also currently embarking upon IVF. One is a few weeks further along in her cycle than the other, but both will be in their 2 week waits within the next month.
It is the first cycle for each of them.
We have connected over this fact. And I’ve been beyond thrilled to be a sounding board to them both. To be in a position to answer questions they have each had that I myself wish someone had been around to answer for me. IVF is a scary path to take. It’s a roller coaster filled with ups and downs that no one can actually ever anticipate until they are in the middle of it themselves. It has meant the world to me to be able to be there for each of these women through this part of their journey.
And on more than one occasion – I have told them both that if nothing else, I know that I was meant to meet the boy because he facilitated bringing each of them into my life.
Still – and this is the self-involved selfish moment I warned you about – witnessing them walking this path I myself walked not too long ago has left me with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. An impending dread.
The knowledge that no matter how their cycles go – I am going to hurt.
Don’t get me wrong. The last thing I want is to see either of these women fail. It is ultimately my greatest fear. I would never in a million years want anyone I care about to go through that. Hell – I would never in a million years want anyone I couldn’t stand to go through that.
And in all honesty (taking this back to a selfish place), I am terrified of watching either one of them go through a failed cycle because I know it will thrust me right back to my own failed cycles. I know it would bring me back to that place, and I don’t want to go there. I don’t want them to hurt like that, and I don’t want me to hurt like that.
Not again.
But… I would be lying if I said I wasn’t also anxious to watch these women succeed where I failed.
I’m afraid of once again being the odd man out.
Of course that’s the option I prefer. Of course I want them to have success in this. Of course I believe them to be incredibly worthy of being mothers. They deserve this. They’ve earned this. They belong in the mommy club.
It’s just that I know their success will once again leave me pondering my own failure. Wondering what it was that I did wrong. Why it is that I didn’t deserve that same success.
I know it doesn’t work like that. I know there is no one arbitrarily picking and choosing who gets to become a mother.
If there was - none of us would ever be inundated with the stories of abuse and neglect we see and hear on the news every single day.
But still… I know it’s going to be difficult for me to partake in their joy, if only because my own sadness will be in such direct contrast.
For the record – I have every intention of being there every step of the way. Success or failure – I plan on being there. Holding these women’s hands and supporting them in whatever ways they will let me.
And if the best case scenario happens and they both succeed – I have every intention of being the kick-ass auntie I know I was born to be.
It’s just… I wouldn’t be being true to myself if I didn’t admit here that it’s hard for me to watch. Even at this stage. Even before anything is known at all.
It's almost as if there is a little bit of PTSD going on there. A car backfires - and I duck.
Someone I care about goes down the IVF road, and I find myself a pile of nerves as if I'm right back there in the thick of it all over again.
Which of course, inevitably leads me back to the ending that broke my heart.
If I'm being honest, it’s also hard for me to watch them be filled with the hope of trying, when I know that I myself will never be trying again. There is a certain level of jealousy there, even now. Even before the outcome is known. Simply because they are trying. Because they have that hope. That possibility. And I do not.
And as much as the logical side of me knows that the dream of a biological child needs to be retired on my end, in my heart – I still wish there was another round or two of trying in my future.
I still wish I had that hope.
That possibility.
That promise of a baby grown and loved beneath my heart.
I wish I was trying alongside them.
I wish we could all have that success.
I wish we could raise our little IVF babies side by side.
To be best friends.
To be joined by this connection that we, as their mothers, shared before they were ever even conceived.
I wish I could have it all.
But since I can’t – I wish for their success.
For their happiness.
For their wombs to be filled and blessed in the ways that mine was not.
I wish for them the ending that I couldn’t achieve.
And I wish for myself the ability to move past these selfish and self-involved moments.
Because I know it’s not who I am.
Or at least – I know it’s not who I want to be.
ADSPACE
