Some of you will remember that last year, I put some deep thought into formulating a few lists I planned on burning at midnight and sending out into the universe.
This was after hearing more than 1 story about women who had listed out the qualities they wanted in their future husbands, burned the lists at midnight on New Years, and found themselves engaged by the following year.
Yes, I am admittedly a girl who believes in magic.
Not real magic of course, but just… the kind of magic that comes from wishing and hoping and praying.
The magic that comes from making your intentions known to both yourself, and the world, and then positioning yourself in such a way that those intentions have an opportunity to come true.
I’m not sure if I’m explaining it correctly, but the point is – I believe in magic.
And I probably always will.
One of the reasons why at 11:11, I still always find myself wishing for love.
So last New Year's, after months of heartbreak and sadness and an incredibly strong need for a little magic, my lists were pretty out of control.
Four pages of what I wanted from the future love of my life, and an additional one dictating simply what I wanted from myself for the year to come.
That list, the one that started with my request for “Healing: Mentally, physically, and spiritually”… Well, I know I’ve come a long way on that list. I am in a good place. A place I couldn't even begin to imagine being this time last year. I also know that every item on that list is still a goal for my future. For the year still to come. I don’t need to write a new list, because I want to continue focusing on every single word I wrote on that one.
And the same can be said for the man list. (Let’s not forget – Loo burned a list last year with me, and she is now engaged to a man she met a few months later – magic I tell you!) No one can argue that I met a man who fulfilled many of the requirements of that list on New Year’s Eve last year, shortly after our little burning ritual.
You can’t tell me there isn’t magic there.
But we haven’t yet gotten to the outcome of that story, and I’m not ready to give anything away. So I’ll leave you simply with the fact that that list; it still describes the man I want to call my one and only.
So there’s no need for me to write another one of those either.
This week, I thought long and hard about what my midnight list to burn this year should contain. I knew I didn’t want to re-invent the wheel. I liked what I came up with last year, and I wanted to keep those vibes going.
But I also knew, I should put something out there this year.
And then it hit me.
The one real goal I have for the year to come.
Uncomplicated, undeniable, unrelenting and enduring love.
Mine to have and to give.
For keeps.
I had 5 pages of lists for last year.
This year, I have 14 words.
And I think they’re perfect.
At midnight, I’ll be burning my single page.
Adding it on to the wishes I put out to the universe last year.
And in 2012, I’m just going to continue moving forward. Chipping away at building the life I yearn for.
Relying a little bit on magic, a lot on God.
And more than anything; on myself.
To create that life I desire. For both myself, and whoever should find their way by my side.
I hope everyone has an amazing New Years Eve.
I know I'm planning on it being one I don't soon intend to forget.
You've already read part one and part two, so get ready to settle in and spend the next little bit taking in part three:
It’s a 40 minute drive from his house to mine. Before I had even made it into my garage, he was calling. Apologizing for being so distant. Unloading the fears and reservations that had been going through his head the night before. He admitted that something had triggered his missing her, and that he had then felt guilt towards me for feeling that way. He hadn’t known how to reconcile any of it, so he had just shut down instead.
We talked for over an hour – without me once getting out of my car. Just sitting there in my garage listening to him as he explained everything he had been feeling.
In the end, I told him I never wanted him to feel guilty over anything he still felt towards her. That it was natural and normal and I understood it.
And I did. All I cared about was that he continued to be honest with me. I would rather hear about his missing her any day over the maddening silence I had experienced the entire morning. I wanted to know where his head was at, instead of being left in the dark wondering if I myself had done something wrong.
After weeks of endless talking, the silence had about killed me. I didn’t care what (or who) he was thinking about – I just wanted him being honest with me about it.
Besides, it’s not like I was an idiot. Not like I didn’t realize something was up. It just broke my heart feeling like there wasn’t anything I could do about it. At least when we were talking about what he was going through – I felt like I was a part of the solution.
By the time we got off the phone, all was good between us.
And then about 2 hours later, he called again.
This time in clearly better spirits, and laughing once more like the boy I had started to fall for.
He said he had something to tell me. That he had called his mom after getting off the phone with me, and had unleashed upon her all of the thoughts and feelings he had struggled with in the previous 24 hours as well.
It is here I should probably point out that the boy has an unusually close relationship with his mother. Which I would probably find odd (or disconcerting), if it weren’t for the fact that I have an unusually close relationship with my father. It was something we had joked about – the fact that we both tended to overshare with our parentals. I actually liked that he was so close with his mom, because I knew it would mean he would find my very open relationship with my dad less uncomfortable.
But what he said next was not something I was prepared for.
Apparently his mom had inquired about the seriousness of our relationship – as any concerned mother likely would at this point.
And his response had been to tell her that yes, we were sleeping together.
Even though she hadn’t explicitly asked that question.
Even though I had only met his poor mother once.
And even though at that point, we had only been seeing each other for slightly less than a month.
“Oh no!” I panicked. “Your mom totally thinks I’m a whore!”
This reaction only incited further laughter from him. The kind of laughter he had a hard time talking through.
“What” I implored – my irritation palpable. “Is so funny?”
Finally he calmed enough to say, “It’s just that right after I told her, I immediately said that when I told you your first reaction would be ‘Oh no! Your mom totally thinks I’m a whore!’ Word for word! I called what you would say exactly!”
He was so proud of himself. So much so, that he didn’t even think to apologize for his embarrassing little revelation to his mother.
And he proceeded to invite himself over that night.
From then on out, his mom apparently started affectionately referring to me as “the whore" whenever they spoke about me.
Which I can’t take too much offense to, because I can say with certainty that his mom really did (and does) think very highly of me. Despite the fact that I’m sure she wished we had proceeded with a bit more caution – I know she was happy to see him engaged in someone else. Finding his way back to happy again, whatever route would eventually lead him there.
Even if it did mean sex far too soon with “the whore”.
This presents itself as good a time as any to bring up a delicate topic though.
S-E-X
We arguably had it too soon. I won’t delve into how soon exactly, but suffice it to say – it was sooner than I typically would choose to mark that relationship milestone. I can’t even honestly say we did it initially for the right reasons. In fact, I’m fairly certain we didn’t.
For him, I think there was almost this need to “get it over with” – that first time with someone other than his wife. This was a guy who had prided himself on his loyalty. On the fact that he had never even thought to stray. He was sure his wife would be the last person he would ever sleep with; and he actually wanted it that way. I think to some extent, the idea of being with someone else so terrified him that he just wanted to get it out of the way.
Which doesn’t even take into account the very real actuality that he wanted even more than anything else just to feel better.
For me, there was a certain level of pity there. We even joked about it after – that the whole thing had been a “pity lay”. I know that sounds awful. Trust me, I know. But try to keep in mind that the boy and I have the same self-deprecating sense of humor. We are both painfully honest, and also intent on joking about the things that make us uncomfortable until the point when that discomfort dissipates.
I don’t want to make it seem like I didn’t want to – because I did. I had been insanely attracted to this boy from the moment I met him, and that attraction had only grown with each second we spent together. I wanted to do it.
Under normal circumstances though – I would have curbed my own desires for at least a bit longer.
But in this case; he was just so sad and scared and so clearly reaching out for anything to make him feel better. I wanted to be that thing. As awful as that sounds, I wanted to help him in any way I could. I wanted to be there for him in any way I could.
So where I normally would have said “no”, I instead didn’t say anything when he started down this path earlier than I think either of us was prepared for.
And once we had already opened that door, what could we really do? Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.
We actually talked about taking sex out of the equation fairly early on. He had struggled with feeling guilty for sleeping with me – almost like he was cheating on her. I don’t think he anticipated that feeling, and it did put an additional pressure on the whole thing that neither of us wanted. But every time we talked about putting an end to the sexual aspects of our relationship, it was only a matter of hours before we found ourselves naked again.
Neither one of us was very good about putting the brakes on something we had already started.
But over time, it was getting better. More “normal”. Less awkward and forced.
Over time, it started to feel more like he and I in bed, instead of he and I and... her.
Which brings us to a night about 5 weeks in when we had just finished what was arguably the best “encounter” of our relationship.
The weekend before we had made plans to have dinner with Mrs. King and her husband. Or rather, I had made plans which I had then invited him along for. I brought it up early on in the week, and waited patiently as he went back and forth on whether or not he would be coming along. I knew it was more pressure for him – to be introduced to my friends. Even though he had known Mrs. King's husband for years (the Alaska hockey world is a small one), and even though we had now spent a lot of time with his friends, I knew that spending time with mine would be taking things to a different level. And that at least to some extent, it would possibly make him feel more like the “boyfriend” than he had up to that point.
Which if we’re being honest, was silly. Especially given the amount of time we were spending together and talking. Neither one of us was entertaining the idea of seeing other people at all. But that really wasn’t the point. The point was – there was only so much he was ready for. And there were these invisible barriers marking off those areas pretty clearly to both of us.
I knew, without it ever needing to be said, that spending time as a couple with my friends would be pushing right up against one of those barriers.
So, I waited patiently. I didn’t push or pressure. I put the idea out there, made my plans for the evening clear, and then left the rest up to him.
The night before, it looked like he was actually going to come with me. We were curled up in bed and he was asking questions and sounding almost like he had actually made his decision.
But then the night of, he called me as he was leaving work and told me that he had decided to go to dinner with some of his friends instead. He invited me to drop my plans and join him, but I held firm. I wasn’t angry, and I didn’t make him feel bad. But I did make it clear that I would still be spending the night with my friends.
It was a Friday, and would mark the first weekend night we hadn’t been together (with the exception of one out of town fishing trip he had taken early on) since this had started.
I was actually fine with it though. Jack had started that day, and I was hurting. Certainly not feeling like myself. As much as I wanted to spend time with him, I figured now was as good a night as any for us not to see each other. I went over to Mrs. King's by myself, and let her feed and entertain me as she is so skilled in doing.
It didn’t take long before he was texting though. Out drinking with his friends and missing me. He kept in pretty steady contact throughout the evening, finally asking me to meet him for breakfast in the morning.
All was good. We had survived our night apart, and he had missed me.
The next night we wound up heading to a BBQ some friends of his were throwing, and it was almost as if our night of separation had made him appreciate me more. I could feel him that entire night, watching me. I would be across the yard talking to the girls, and look over to see him looking right back at me and smiling. When we were in near proximity of each other, he was touching me. Holding my hand. Making sure that even if we weren’t engaged in a conversation with each other, we were somehow connected.
It was incredibly sweet.
We wound up heading out with a group to a bar that night, and being that Jack was still bringing me down – I gleefully took on the role of designated driver since I knew it would mean no pressure for me to drink with everyone else. It was funny though, because while he had been affectionate earlier in the evening, that affection only grew as he started downing drinks with his buddies. We were talking at one point in the bar when all of a sudden he stopped me from saying whatever it was I was saying by leaning forward and kissing me.
It was the first time he had kissed me in public.
When he was done, he pulled away and with the biggest grin on his face said “There! Now that’s out of the way!” So the milestone hadn’t been lost on him either. Catching himself for almost ruining a sweetly simple moment though, he put his hand on my face right after and said “You look really pretty tonight.”
I knew he had been drinking, and that I shouldn’t take any of it to mean too much, but it made me melt to see him letting go of so many of his fears like that. It was one thing for him to be this way when it was just the two of us curled up together in my bed. It was another thing entirely for him to behave this way in front of his friends – in a public bar.
It was a really nice feeling.
That night, after spending an absurdly long time making out (let’s not forget that jack was in town – so there was no hanky panky to be had) we were cuddled up and headed off to sleep when he said it.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you this last month. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since the divorce.”
It was the first time he had told me this, but it wouldn’t be the last.
We both drifted off to sleep fairly easily, and spent the next several days in a pretty perfect place. Connected, and in tune, and just enjoying whatever it was we had.
Which brings us back to that night. The one I started telling you about, before I thought to backtrack to the weekend before.
Jack had finally left the building, and we had that near perfect “encounter” I mentioned. The boy had been there, with me, engaged and involved and connected rather than distant and distracted. And when it was over, we had laughed. And cuddled. And talked. It was past midnight when I decided I was ravenous from our earlier adventure and had gotten up to make myself a sandwich. Which he found hilarious. As I sat in bed facing him and eating, he relentlessly poked fun at me for needing to refuel so late on a weeknight – when we both had to work the next morning.
There we were though, laughing and talking and getting so much enjoyment out of each other’s company. Likely being more of a couple than we had been at any other time up to that point. Things had been good between us. He had been mentioning her less and less, and had grown more and more affectionate towards me. He had a close buddy from work who I had only met one other time (the night of that first BBQ), and we were planning a trip to his cabin the following weekend for Memorial Day – it would be just us and he and his wife for the entire weekend. The boy hadn’t even asked me if I wanted to come – he’d just assumed I would. Started planning for the two of us from the start. There had been daily e-mails between us and the other couple as we got all the details in order. We were all looking forward to the trip, and his friends seemed to have embraced me completely, despite the fact that they only knew me from that one night out by a fire and the breakfast the 4 of us had gone to together the next morning.
Everything felt like it was lining up so well.
We were in a good place.
We were happy.
And then, about 15 minutes after midnight on a Tuesday night, as I was eating my sandwich and he was relentlessly poking fun at me; his phone beeped.
And we both stopped. Stopped laughing, stopped talking, just… stopped.
It makes no sense that we both knew it was her. There had been very limited communication between the two of them over the previous months, and they hadn’t seen each other at all. It had all been strictly business between them. The divorce would be final in less than a month. She hadn’t once reached out to express remorse over her decisions.
There was no way we could both have known it was her texting.
But we did. And in that moment, I think we both knew everything was about to change.
He picked up his phone and looked at it before wordlessly handing it to me.
For part one of what is inevitably going to be a million part story, go here.
Things with the boy progressed pretty quickly in the beginning. Any rational person would say they progressed too quickly. In looking back on my old texts for reference, I’m realizing that there wasn’t a day after that first night spent together when we didn’t talk. Typical flirtations back and forth throughout the work day, and spending the evenings together more often than not during those early weeks.
We spent a lot of time just the two of us, and did a lot of talking. Mostly about his marriage. About how they had met, the details surrounding their wedding, and the events leading up to the end. I didn’t mind that she was so often a topic of our conversations – in fact, I encouraged it. I got the impression that he hadn’t been able to be quite so open about what he was feeling in regards to the demise of his relationship when discussing it with his guy friends. Guys just don’t tend to process things that way. But if the boy and I have one thing in common, it’s our need to examine the situations in life from every angle. To contemplate and over-think and reprocess the information again and again until it makes sense. As much of an over-sharer as I am in my quest to do that – I can say that the boy is pretty much on my level completely. In fact, I would even argue that he is more of an over-thinker and over-sharer than I am. And not just about this, but about everything.
I don’t want to give the impression that we never talked about me or my “stuff”, because that’s not true. We definitely had conversations about me and what was going on in my life. It was just that what was going on with him seemed so much more prominent – so much more there in our faces. There were plenty of nights when he and I analyzed the facts together, in his infinite quest to “get” what she had done to him.
In those early weeks, we got in the habit of spending multiple nights together in a row.
I think it was partially because he didn’t like being alone, and even more because he didn’t like being in his house. I found out after the fact that for weeks after she had left, he stayed with friends for this very reason. In some ways, I started to worry that I was simply a more acceptable substitution for his need to be away from the home he had shared with her.
But… we were having fun. Always talking, regularly laughing; just getting to know each other. It was good. And as unsure as I was of where he was – I was sure of us. Of how he felt about me, and of the future we could have together. For as many times in my past as I have formulated lists in my head of the undesirable qualities the man in my life possessed, with the boy – I couldn’t come up with one. Nothing about him that stuck out to me as something I wouldn’t want in a future partner. He was loyal, and funny, and intelligent. He was a good man. And I was pretty sure that as much as it scared him – he felt exactly for me what I felt for him.
There were times I would catch him looking at me, almost like he was trying to figure it all out. Wondering how he could be having as much fun with me when just weeks before he had been so miserable. Sometimes I think he felt guilty because of it. Or like it in some way diminished what she had done to him if he was able to move on so easily – like maybe he hadn’t really loved her as much as he thought he had. And I know he struggled with those conflicted feelings. With knowing he had loved her, and she had broken his heart, but he was also feeling something for me as well.
I didn’t personally think any of it needed to be as complicated as he sometimes tried to make it. I didn’t believe it was as cut and dry as he was trying to reconcile it in his head. I just… I didn’t think his feelings for me had anything to do with her. They were two separate subjects as far as I was concerned. Which is probably why I never got particularly jealous when she came up either. She was something he had to work through, and I understood that. I just figured that in the end, when he was past what she had done to him, I would still be there. We would still have something great.
We were about 3 weeks in before he first expressed a possible desire to put the brakes on. I’m not sure entirely what the trigger was, or if there even was a trigger. In some ways, I think he had entered into a relationship with me assuming that at some point something would happen causing it to simply be over. I think he had prepared himself for that – a nice distraction that would inevitably fizzle out on its own. But as he got to know me better and became more and more invested in having me in his life – I think that fear started to creep in.
Up to that point, I would say we had been fairly inseparable. If we were both in town – we were together. With only a few exceptions. This night had been one of those exceptions, and I remember it being one of the first nights when he hadn’t called me immediately after work. As much as I wanted to call him though, I took a deep breath and made myself wait to hear from him. That had been one of my rules for myself from the beginning – I would not pursue him. I would not push. I would not make demands upon this relationship without first being sure he was ready to meet them.
I had known from the start that I would let him guide us wherever it was we were going as he felt comfortable. But still, when I hadn’t heard from him by 10 I started to get anxious. We had texted that day – joking about a drug test he had been too dehydrated to take. I guess you had to be there, but it had been hysterical to picture him sitting at the clinic for a mandatory drug test through his company (a requirement for all employees), unable to go – likely causing everyone there to wonder if he was primed to fail (which he wasn’t). He had called me when he was finally leaving the clinic, regaling me with all the details about that happy little experience.
So maybe I shouldn’t have been worried, but… I had grown used to those post work phone calls. Used to him taking any excuse he could come up with to spend the night at my place. When I didn’t hear from him… it was weird.
Around 10:45 though, I got a text. Just asking if I was awake. When I responded that I was, he said he was going to call me. And as soon as I heard his voice, I knew he was having a rough night.
At first he was just talking about his day. Small talk that didn’t really amount to much of anything.
Then (kind of out of nowhere - like he was building up to it all along), he said that he wanted us to take things a little slower, and that he was just "really screwed up right now". He was actually incredibly sweet about it (listing all the things he liked about me, and saying over and over again how much he enjoyed spending time with me, and how much happier he’d been since I had come into his life), but he just kept saying how screwed up he was right now and that he wasn't ready to be in a relationship – even though in reality, we had never really clarified what we were. And even though at least on my end, there had never been any pressure. The time we spent together, and the conversations we had – it had all been initiated from him. So we had never been anything more than he himself had pushed for us to be.
He said he’d been thinking a lot about "us" though, and he was worried about hurting me. He told me that I had quickly become one of his closest friends, but he was completely unsure of wherever else this was going.
It wasn’t a bad conversation at all, and even though I maybe should have – I felt no dread going into it. In fact, I was pretty calm and rational as we spoke. I told him what I had already decided – that I was going to let him lead this as he saw fit. That I wouldn’t be pushing or enforcing my own agenda at all. That I liked him, but more than anything – I cared about him. And if he couldn’t do this, that would be fine. We could step back and just be friends. I would be happy with us just being friends. But I told him if he did want more – we could take it one day at a time. That I wasn’t looking for a big commitment on his part at this point, and as long as he continued to be honest with me – we would be fine. We would just figure it out as we went along.
It was at that point that I told him that in my gut I knew that no matter what, we would be friends. Because I trusted him to be careful with me and my feelings. I trusted him to move forward with honesty, and to put the brakes on things when and if he realized there was no hope for anything more for us. I told him that if it came down to it, I believed that we were meant to at the very least be friends, and that I could adjust to whatever it was he thought he wanted or needed from there.
Hearing all that seemed to calm him. He assured me that he didn’t wantus to be just friends, but that he wasn’t sure what it was he was capable of right now. Talking it out helped him to take a deep breath and stop worrying about what it was or wasn’t going to become though. By the time we got off the phone, we were making plans for a bonfire with his friends in just a few days – when I would be returning from a work trip I was leaving for the next morning.
So a few days went by without us seeing each other or talking (as I was located remotely and didn't have access to a phone). The timing was actually kind of perfect. An enforced breather, right when it seemed like he needed it the most. But when I returned, things were good. We drank and hung out by the fire with his friends, and cuddled up next to each other that night. Laughing and talking and catching up after our few days of separation.
The following morning we decided to go on a mini-camping trip with his best friend (the one I had originally been meant to be set up with) and his new girlfriend. It was going to be one of the first really couple-y things we had done. A night out in the woods with another couple – no denying at that point that we had become something to each other.
It would end up being the first such outing where he would have me by his side instead of her.
That fact had not been lost on me.
For the most part though, things went well. The guys set up the tents, and the new girlfriend and I got to know each other by the fire. When they were out of earshot, she told me how much the boy had talked about me - how clear it was that he really liked me. Before my plane had gotten in the night before, he had apparently been filling everyone at his house in. He had told them about how there for him I had been, and how funny I was, and how much he loved talking to me. And then he had said that I was really pretty - in a way that was totally different from anyone else he had ever met.
Which kind of made me melt.
We had hiked down a steep little trail to the creek, which was still not quite yet thawed. It was chilly, and it being my first real outdoorsy Alaskan adventure (hey – my idea of camping up to that point involved cabins and running water!), I was ill prepared.
And freezing.
My shoes were soaked (one of those outings where I should have opted for boots), and I didn’t bring nearly enough layers. But rather than be annoyed with me, the boy simply laughed and piled me on with all the extra layers he himself had packed. By night though, we were both freezing. Anxious to get into our tent and huddled into our sleeping bags.
I had harbored all sorts of romantic ideas of what our night out under the stars would entail, but in the end – we were both so cold we immediately crawled into our separate sleeping bags and didn’t touch at all.
Initially we were laughing. Joking about some thing or another and struggling to shut ourselves up and go to bed. The two in the other tent were making multiple cracks about our inability to stop talking and joking for even just a few minutes. The entire thing was just too comical. We were both wrapped up as tightly as we could manage, but still… freezing.
Eventually though, we quieted down and I was sure he had drifted off to sleep.
Except he hadn’t. And when I least expected it, he spoke again – saying only that suddenly, he had just gotten really sad.
He said it just like that. "I just got really sad." His voice cracking as he spit the words out - like maybe he was on the verge of tears.
And there was nothing I could do about it. Wrapped as tightly as I was – I couldn’t comfort him. I couldn’t reach out to touch him. And with his friends in a tent right next to ours, I knew he didn’t want to launch into one of our long conversations about what was going through his head.
For the first time since things had began with us, I felt trapped. Helpless. Unable to do anything to soothe his hurt.
And it had come on so quickly. Seemingly out of nowhere, we had gone from laughing and enjoying each other to – whatever it was this was.
I didn’t sleep well that night, and I know he didn't either. When the next morning came around I was stumped to find him still distant. Withdrawn. Barely looking me in the eye at all.
I felt rejected, and I couldn’t figure out why. I just knew that this wasn’t the same boy I had hiked down into this canyon with.
At some point I know I said something. Asking if there was anything I could do, and even expressing my concern that my presence on an outing she normally would have been by his side for had actually made things worse. I was sick to my stomach over it – feeling like he had needed me to live up to this memory he had of her, and had been sorely disappointed to discover that instead it was just me he was stuck in a tent with.
I couldn’t figure it out; how things had shifted so quickly. I just knew I felt responsible. And for the first time like I had been a contributer to his pain, rather than a salve for it.
The hike out was painful - in a million different ways. I still had on the wrong shoes, and my less than stellar athleticism was on display for all to see.
The drive back to his house was spent in silence, and I was sure he was done with me. I had never felt so incredibly disconnected from him. I couldn’t figure out what had happened or why, but when we got to his house I simply accepted defeat. Said a quick goodbye and got into my car to drive myself back home.
He didn't stop me, or ask me to stay.
I called Loo on the drive. Told her I was sure I had lost him. That my gut said it was over and I wouldn’t hear from him again. It was the first time he had ever been so silent with me. The first time I hadn’t known what he was thinking or what was going through his head. I was sure we were done.
That no matter what I had convinced myself he felt for me, he was over it.
And my brief romance with the boy had come to an abrupt and final end.
Before it had really even been given chance to start.
I want to let you in on a little secret: I buy a lot of supplements.
Like, a lot a lot.
It’s kind of par for the course with trying to treat endometriosis naturally, and for me – it’s worth it. Yes, Lupron and birth control and any other medications prescribed by my gynecologist for treatment would be covered by insurance, and no, my supplements are not. But let’s not forget that those treatments came with side effects I was less than pleased with, and in the end did nothing to relieve the pain I was in.
Whereas, On my current treatment plan I am now 10 months post surgery and feeling great.
So to me, keeping up with my supplements even though they aren’t covered by insurance is worth it.
(Disclaimer: Remember that this is all in addition to weekly acupuncture, myofascial release appointments, and regular follow-ups with a naturopath. There are a few supplements on that list I would definitely recommend to anyone with endometriosis, but in general if you want to come up with a natural treatment plan of your own - find yourself a naturopath! I truly believe it is an integrative approach that is working for me, rather than any 1 thing.)
Most of this I buy at the same clinic I see Dr. Naturopath and Teeny at. But I’ve got to admit – it adds up. In addition to the tinctures (Turska’s Formula and a hormone mix) and thyroid medication (both of which I really have to get at the clinic) – I spend about $250 on supplements a month.
As a girl trying to get her budget under control and work her way out of debt – that number hurts.
Over the last week or two I started wondering if I could possibly find my supplements online somewhere for cheaper than I was getting them at the clinic. At first though, I wasn’t having much luck. None of the vitamin sites I was going to had all of the supplements I take – and most only had one or two.
Until I by accident wound up on Amazon.
Amazon of all places! Of course I’ve bought plenty of things on Amazon in the past, but I never would have thought to go there for supplement purchases.
Long story short though – they had all but 2 of the supplements I take on a regular basis. And all were on average $10-$20 less than what I currently pay for them. Plus, if I order a few bottles at once – I’ll get free shipping.
Winning!
Just thought I would share that here, because I know I am not the only one out there pill popping supplements like a mad woman. I know that in the grand scheme of things it won’t save enough to make a huge difference, but I’m thinking I should be able to save at least $50/month. Which is huge for me!
Plus, I won’t have to worry about making special trips to the clinic if I run out of anything.
Am I the only weird person out there who literally cannot wait for the day when we buy everything we need online and never need to go shopping for anything ever again?
I promised to start telling you all a story today.
A story I’ve been holding back on telling for 8 months now.
But it’s time.
Time for me to get it out there, and time for me to put the pieces together in the only way I know how.
By writing it all down.
This was the first time I’ve ever held back on anything here, and there were reasons for that. Reasons that will hopefully become more clear as I go along. But it was necessary; for me to keep this piece to myself. It’s possible that at some point in the future, it will be necessary again. I can’t be sure. I reserve the right to change the rules. To pick and choose what pieces of my life are available to be put on display.
But with this, it’s time.
Although, I can pretty much guarantee you won’t get the whole story today.
Or even this week.
It’s going to take time. And pieces. And patience.
It might be choppy, and disorganized, and chaotic.
But hey – that’s life.
I will say first that we are still working on that little comment issue I mentioned on Friday. It kind of cracks me up that I finally gathered the courage to take the plunge and do what I had been contemplating doing here for months, only to discover it wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be.
Word to the wise, for those who use commenting systems or are considering using commenting systems – uninstalling those bastards is no easy feat. Once they have you, they pretty much intend on keeping you.
Kind of like a gang.
Or the mob.
So while I'm working on getting myself jumped out, comments will still be available here. But just be warned – they could disappear at any moment.
Hopefully I’ll post soon after they are, just so that you’ll know I’m still alive
I suppose we should get back to the story at hand though.
I never told you all this, but after mentioning our coffee date here, I received an e-mail from a friend. One who up to that point had only been an internet friend. We actually had plans to meet the following week for the first time, and most of you know this friend has now become one of my closest. But at the time, we only knew each other through e-mails and our blogs.
We had been communicating for about 6 months by then, but had only ever talked about our shared connection with endometriosis and infertility. We had exchanged information on doctors and treatment plans, but had never really jumped into the realm of the personal.
Which is why her e-mail caught me off guard. She was writing to tell me that based on the few details I had given about the boy, she was pretty sure she knew him. Not too personally, but through mutual friends. She and her husband had spent time with he and his wife on more than one occasion. She had heard his story through the grapevine; all about how he had been jilted. She knew just enough to have a pretty strong inkling that she knew exactly who I was talking about.
And it turned out - she was right.
This did two things for me of course: 1.) It totally freaked me out and forced me to face the fact that my blog is not as anonymous as I like to pretend it is. Especially in a town as small as Anchorage. 2.) It gave me someone to drill for information about him. Someone to use as a sounding board for all my decisions moving forward with the boy. Because she knew him, but was still distant enough to remain objective.
When everything she said about him was positive, and she was able to confirm my initial thoughts that he seemed to be a pretty good guy; it only locked me in even more.
You should know this wasn't the only coincidental tie we had between us. Another of his best friends is married to a woman I have mentioned here regularly now - a woman I have become extremely close to over the last 8 months. One of only 2 women in this state I know who has struggled with endometriosis and IVF. The three of us girls have formed a friendship that is as tight as any I have. We've all joked before that we would choose each other as friends, even if it wasn't for this one thing we are able to bond so closely over that no one else ever seems to get.
The fact that they both (these women I shared a bond with that I didn't share with anyone else in my real world) came into my life with connections first through him is not lost on me.
And it wasn't then either.
Everything moved so fast after that first night. After the BBQ, and meeting his friends and family. After realizing so quickly that I was in trouble when it came to this boy. It all just jumped right into... real. The night after the BBQ he came into town to take me to a movie, and then spent the night. The following night after work, we both fulfilled plans with other friends, and then he came over again. And over those days when we weren't really doing the greatest job of staying away from each other, we talked. We did a lot of talking.
He sat on my couch looking me in the eyes and told me that he had never expected to meet someone he felt as strongly about as he did me. Certainly not so quickly - when his divorce was filed, but not yet final. We sat there and discussed our actions, and the possible ramifications of our choices. I told him I felt pretty strongly that now was a time for him to be rebounding. Dating a plethora of women without ever really forming any real feelings for any of them. I was pretty adamant that I thought we should just be friends. That I wasn’t the girl who could be his rebound chick – no matter how much we joked about it. I would need more, and in truth – we had already crossed the boundary into more. So it was then that I told him I was willing to step back, be his friend, even his wingman, because I really believed that would be what was best for him, and us, in the long run.
I told him I wanted us to have a chance, and I really thought the best way to make that happen would be for him to cycle through a few meaningless relationships first until he got back on his feet.
But he assured me that wasn’t what he wanted. As lost, and hurt, and broken as he was – he seemed so strong on this. So sure. So convinced that I was who he wanted to be spending his time with. So reassuring that dating other girls and jumping into meaningless relationships wasn’t what he wanted.
He wasn’t sure where this was going, or what it could become. But he was adamant – I was what he wanted. And he was willing to take the risk if I was.
Thus began the battle between my heart and mind. Because even then, I wanted so badly to believe what he was saying.
But I knew better. Of course I knew better.
Something else happened that night though. I had made a decision to tell him my story. About my previous year, the pregnancy attempts, the blog – all of it. I figured this guy had been through enough betrayal, he didn’t need to find out months down the line that I had been keeping something so big from him. Especially not when he was being such an open book with me.
So that night, when the subject of kids somehow came up (deep soothing breaths – we were talking about the children of friends, not our own – I know this all seems like it was moving fast, but it wasn’t moving that fast!), I jumped into the truth about me as organically as I could muster.
Trying to make jokes about the whole situation like I always seem to do.
Even though there is nothing at all funny about any of it.
He stopped me though. By that point, we had engaged in a handful of pretty serious conversations. We had stayed up all night talking on at least one occasion. We had spent hours on the couch drinking and getting to know each other before we had come to this topic of conversation.
But, he stopped me.
And told me that he already knew.
Apparently, when we met on New Year’s Eve, I had unloaded my entire story upon his wife.
I remembered talking to her (shortly after hitting on him, only to have him turn around and say "let me introduce you to my wife"), but I had no recollection of barring my soul.
Which is why she had never called me to set me up with their friend like she had originally stated she wanted to.
It turns out, she had walked away and said to him “I think she was really cool, but that whole story is a bit much. And it’s really weird that she would unload the entire thing on a stranger like that.”
It was weird. I was horrified. And embarrassed. And turning about 18 different shades of red as he told me this.
I knew I had been drunk that night, but I couldn’t believe I had been that drunk.
Still, she had taken my number that night. Perhaps because she had already brought up the idea of a setup and hadn’t wanted to appear rude. Perhaps because she just didn’t know what to say. Perhaps because it was the only thing left to do that seemed like it would allow her to escape me and my over-sharing.
But she had taken my number.
Only, her phone was dead. So she had put it in his phone instead.
When I recovered from my shock and embarrassment, I looked at him as seriously as I could and said “Why? Why would you ever have called the crazy chick from New Years Eve who totally unloaded her sad story on your wife in a bar? I knew I was a mess that night, but I had no idea I was that ridiculous! Why did you ever call me?”
He kind of laughed, and then said “Why not?”
But then he got serious, and said that he just remembered being incredibly attracted to me on New Years. And feeling excited when he was around me. He said he had wanted to feel that again. And he thought maybe if he called me, he would.
Once he remembered having my number, he said calling me had been a no brainer. Something he just had to build the courage up to do, but not something he ever questioned actually doing.
So that was it.
He knew.
And he didn’t care.
It didn’t change anything.
He didn’t even think it was all that weird.
None of it.
He just knew he liked me. He liked being around me. And he wanted to get to know me more.
It didn’t take long before the stories came out. As I got to know his friends, and became privy to things he had said about me after that first phone call.
He had been staying with friends when he remembered me. Remembered my number in his old phone, and dug it out to see if it was still there. They had talked about his calling me drunk one night, but he had waited until the next afternoon, as they were driving somewhere out of town. He had repeated every text I sent in response that day – laughing over my replies. Getting excited in a way he hadn’t in weeks. And after we had met face to face, he went to dinner with those same friends and told them that I wasn’t the rebound chick. That I was the kind of girl he knew he would want a relationship with.
He just wasn’t sure if he was ready.
In fact, he was pretty sure he wasn’t.
But he had pursued it anyway. Taking the plunge, and moving forward.
Despite the hurt he was still in the middle of experiencing.
I still refuse to get into the details of his divorce here, because it truly is not my story to tell. But the nuts and bolts of it is that he thought he had a happy marriage. He thought he had said “I do” to the person he would spend the rest of his life with. He never cheated, or thought about straying. He never contemplated his life without her. He was committed - for keeps.
And then, she changed all the rules. Their parting was fast and furious, with very few warning signs to clue him in to the impending end. One day they were happy, and the next she wanted out. Obviously there are two sides to every story, and I am sure it was something she had been battling with for longer than it seemed. But knowing what I know now after getting accounts from many of the bystanders involved, I can say this for sure – he was blindsided. He never saw it coming.
And because of that alone, I knew better.
Which is when I decided to stop writing about it. About us. About whatever it may become. Because I knew one thing for sure: it was going to get messy. I believed in my heart that it would all work out in the end (after all, the entire story was too seeped in fate [community discussion: Do you believe in fate?] for it not to), but I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. And I knew that if I started writing about the roller coaster as it was happening, it would serve only to paint him in a horrific light. One I knew he didn’t deserve. Because this was a good man. One who had been hurt, and broken down, and fractured, but… a good man none-the-less.
I didn’t want to be writing about him and the state of our relationship when I knew that nothing about it would be easy. I wanted to protect him from the judgment that would surely come along the way, if only because I knew what I was getting into. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I knew it would take work.
But I believed that after everything was said and done, it would all be worth it.
I looked at my father; so broken and disenchanted, yet finding love again so soon after having his heart stomped on. Right at the same time I would otherwise have been questioning the sanity of any woman attempting to form a relationship with a man so soon after his heart had been broken; my dad was there. Showing me that it could happen. Acting as just one more sign in the universes plot to push me towards giving this boy a chance.
I knew it was possible. And I knew that if this boy felt for me even half of what I felt for him (even half of what he said he felt for me), we would make it work.
It would just take patience, and commitment, and sacrifice on my part.
I would have to be the calm, and cool, and collected one for once.
So why is it that Christmas has a way of bringing me down, even when I was otherwise feeling pretty good?
I can’t explain it. It’s just this loneliness that comes with the holidays, even though I’m not alone. Even though I’m surrounded by friends, and love, and offers to go here and there and would theoretically never have to be by myself for a single second over the holidays if I didn’t actually want to be.
How is it though, that you can be surrounded by people and still feel so very alone?
I don’t want to make it sound like I’m sinking into the depths of despair, because I’m not. I swear. And when I think about where I was this time last year and where I am now – the difference is incredible.
But the truth is, I’ve just been in a bit of a funk over the last few days. Surrounded by my friends, who all have loved ones of their own, and feeling like the holiday season is really good at exemplifying what you don’t have.
Or rather, who you don’t have.
And thus, I’m feeling a little blah. Wishing I had a someone special to curl up next to the fire with. Or a little one of my own to bake cookies and wrap presents for.
The truth is, Christmas has never been my favorite time of year. The last time I remember there being any real magic to this time of year, I’m pretty sure I was about 8. After that, there were just years of bad memories and impossibly high hopes destined only to be crushed.
I have a lot of sad holiday memories.
And as much as I like to think I’ve moved past that, and as honestly as I can say that I have found ways to enjoy this time of year as an adult – there is something about it that still makes me sad.
In a way I can’t really explain.
Except to say, that I’m feeling very alone this weekend.
Even though I’m not alone at all.
And I don’t like it.
Even if it is the most wonderful time of year.
As far as I’m concerned – New Years can hurry up and get here.
Because I am ready for a clean slate and a new year to start working towards getting what I really want.
So that maybe this time next year, I won’t feel quite so alone.
As someone who is not a photographer, but kind of wishes she was, even though she knows she never wants to invest the time or money into learning and becoming good.
Because I'm kind of non-committal like that!
Anyway, a few weeks ago I discovered the camera+ app on my iphone. It was 99 cents, but totally worth it. I love it! It helps me to over-edit the heck out of my otherwise bland and boring pictures to make them live up to what I'm actually seeing when out and about in the world.
And if a techno-idiot like me can figure out how to use all the fun filters, I can promise you that anyone could.
I know there are a lot of people who feel strongly about editing, but the truth is - I love it. I hate when I look at some gorgeous scene in Alaska and I see so many colors and so much depth in it, but then what comes across on my point and click is so... dull.
Unfortunately, I will probably never take the time to learn how to actually edit photos. Kind of leaving me stuck with whatever the dull outcome is once I push that little button on my camera.
Not with camera+ though. Finally, my pictures look as cool as I think they should. Without me having to put a ton of effort into it!
Yesterday the roommate and I went on a walk through all the new snow and got some gems.
Making this time of year officially my favorite time for taking photos ever.
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!
In other news, that choice I made to go comment free yesterday is not going to come to fruition until Monday, when my amazing blog designer can get a chance to help me out - because clearly I'm an idiot. I tried for hours yesterday to figure out the code, but it's just not going to happen. Barbara to the rescue though - seriously don't know what I would do without her!
Until then, I hope all those who celebrate have an amazing Christmas, and all those who don't have a fantastic time as well.
I'm heading out to see We Bought a Zoo with a friend this afternoon, and then a big Christmas dinner with friends tonight, and another tomorrow.
Kind of a ginormous shift from how I spent my Christmas holiday last year.
There’s something I've been thinking about doing for months.
Maybe even longer, if we’re being completely honest here.
It’s something that I suppose is a little unconventional though, in the blogging world.
Because the whole reason we’re here (at least, the whole reason I think most of us are here) is connection.
Right?
Except, the thing is… as much as I have gained from that connection, I know that’s not the whole reason I initially started blogging.
Mostly, I just needed a place to call mine. A spot I could go to and unload all the things going through my head that I struggled so much to avoid talking about in my day to day life.
Endometriosis, infertility, impending single motherhood - it all scared the crap out of me. But I couldn't talk about it. Not to anyone.
Because I have this thing. This need to always come across as calm, and rational, and strong and… normal.
I was hurting though, and I needed a place to explore that.
A safe place.
Thus, a blog was born.
And when the connection came along with it – I was thrilled. Seriously. The first time I got a comment from someone I didn’t actually know, I about peed myself. I couldn’t believe that someone out there in the world was reading what I was writing. Writing was one of the few things in this life I had ever been passionate about; to have people reading what I was putting out there, and appreciating it, and commenting upon it?
That was pretty amazing.
Which is why this move I’m about to make is likely even more unconventional. But here it is.
I’m turning my comments off.
I like comments as much as the next girl. Really, I do. Sometimes one of you will write something that will put everything into perspective for me, and I’ll just want to reach out and hug you. But there is a negative side to comments too. For one, as much I love to hear what people have to say, I don’t want to feel like I’m a slave to those comments. Staying up late nights to respond and reciprocate (or feeling guilty when I can't), judging my own worth or the worth of something I’ve written based on the comments that come in once I hit post, holding back on writing something I want to write simply because I’m afraid of what the reaction may be, and worst of all – allowing myself to be taken down by the negativity of those lovely little internet trolls I think we all have come to know to some extent.
It’s all happened. And I’m finding myself holding back more and more lately when it comes to what I write, because I’m all too aware that I’m no longer writing just for me.
And that I haven’t been for a long time.
But I want to be. I want this to be my safe place again. I want to be able to write about whatever I'm thinking/feeling/going through without overanalyzing what the reaction to that might be.
It just… it starts to take some of the fun out of it. And this was supposed to be my safe place. My space to share how and when I chose. My haven for healing. As much as I love and appreciate your comments, I’ve come to realize that I need to take this space back again. Reclaim it as my own. Allow it to be what it was always meant to be – my safe place. Without a whole lot of care or concern for what others may think of it.
The bad news is, the only way I can think to do that is stake my claim to it. Entirely. To make it a space that is mine and mine alone. Not open for interpretation, or judgment, or analyzing.
At least, not here.
I want this space to be mine.
That doesn’t mean that I am giving up entirely on the interaction though. On the connection. I'd still love it if you want to continue reading here; I’m just doing what I need to do to ensure that the words and thoughts written in this space are mine and mine alone. That what you read here is a complete reflection of me and who I am, rather than a filtered portrayal of the me I worry some out there may want me to be. I'm doing what I need to do to make it my safe place again. But if you have any deep burning thoughts of your own that you need to share as well (be they good, bad, or neutral), there’s still always Facebook. Or twitter. Or e-mailing me. Or even the community – where I plan on spending a lot more of my time now that I won’t be trying so hard to respond to everyone who comments in this space.
It’s not that I don’t want to hear what you think, or that I don’t care, it’s just that… I want to know that what I’m writing here is mine. Written for me. Composed by me. And truly reflective of who I am, and what I'm thinking and feeling and going through at any given moment in time.
I want it to be my safe place again.
And as a good friend of mine recently pointed out, the trolls who are bent on negativity are going to be a lot less likely to show up on Facebook (where they lose their anonymity), or on Twitter (where far fewer people will see the hatred they spew), and they surely won’t ever e-mail (because then how would they get that sick thrill they seem to get out of publically tearing a stranger down?) Going comment free almost completely weeds out the bad vibes.
Which is kind of cool if you think about it.
Just to show I’m serious about encouraging interaction in other ways, I’m going to start a conversation right now over on the community about comment free blogs. Feel free to share your thoughts there, or again – on Facebook or Twitter. Whenever I write about something that I know is going to result in some actual debate, I promise to have a conversation over there about it. And if I don’t, but you feel like it’s something that should be discussed – feel free to do the same.
It’s just that right here, the words and thoughts and adventures are going to be mine and only mine.
Because it’s my safe place after all.
It's not all bad news though. The truth is, I have a story to tell. A very long story to tell. But one that I need to get out none the less. In what will likely be a series of posts, I’m going to tell a story that I've probably needed to tell for a while, if only so that I can wrap my head around it. Because writing is how I digest everything in my life. Which I haven’t done with this yet. Because I've wanted to keep it safe. To protect him. To protect me. To keep from exposing all and appearing weak yet again.
But next week, it's all coming out.
Right here, in my safe place.
Because it's time.
For me to tell the story.
The one that starts, and ends, with...
The boy.
Now, there is just one issue to deal with first.
One that is mildly ironic of me to bring up here and request assistance with, given all that I've just said.
Does anyone know how in the hell I actually go about uninstalling Disqus?
Because after two hours of trying - I am nowhere near closer than when I started.
Although, I do think I deleted my profile on Disqus. Which means anyone who has ever gotten a comment from me - it's now likely anonymous.
Sorry about that?
But seriously - help. Techno friends out there with loads of time on their hands this beautiful Christmas weekend...
This was forwarded on to me earlier this week, and I thought it was too cute not to share. The first 4 all relating to sperm obviously mean very little to me (seeing as I had to purchase that liquid gold of mine - so there were no worries on my part about trying to mass produce it in the non-existent man in my life), but I especially liked number 10.
I wasn’t dwelling upon the lack-of-a-baby aspect of infertility.
No, I was dwelling on the money aspect of infertility.
And the fact that in my drive to beat infertility and bare a child unto this world, I spent so much money that now I’m forced to temper myself when it comes to doing things I otherwise never would have hesitated to do.
No, we’re not talking grocery shopping or even picking up a dress for New Years here. We’re talking Germany. I got upset, because I couldn’t afford to buy myself a ticket to Germany.
First world problems I tell you.
You see, I have this friend who is there now and will be for the next few months. I also have that travel bug I’ve spoken of here before. And a passport that has been pestering me for quite some time to add a new stamp to its folds. I’m pretty much a fan of going anywhere I’ve never been before, and with her there and a place to stay already lined up – the adventurous side of me wants to just pick up and go.
But the responsible side of me can’t help but look at that baby making debt I still have years of paying off to do and reason that spending $1000+ on a plane ticket for a trip that would be purely whimsical on my part simply wouldn’t be acceptable.
Here’s the thing though – if it weren’t for that baby making debt, my bags would already be packed. Heck, I would probably already be there. Taking pictures, eating cheese soup, and drinking myself lots and lots of beer.
And oh yeah – spending all kinds of quality time with that friend of mine who I miss so dearly!
Because the fact of the matter is, if it weren’t for that debt – I would be sitting pretty financially right now. I make good money, and outside of the baby making dream that never was – I don’t spend what I don’t have. So my expenses are pretty limited otherwise. If it weren’t for those various loans, I wouldn’t be hesitating to do much of anything right now. And I would have started accumulating a nice little nest egg to boot.
Instead, there is no egg to be seen because every last cent I pull in goes to paying off the use of those eggs of mine that never amounted to much of anything to begin with.
Which means, no Germany.
So, I got mad this weekend. Mad, and frustrated, and sad. Because I will be looking at having to temper my lifestyle as I pay off that debt for at least the next few years. There will be many more things I want to do and otherwise would have been able to, that I will now have to say “no” to because of that debt. A fact which is made even more frustrating when I’m forced to acknowledge that I really have nothing at all to show for that debt.
Piles of bills holding me back, and nothing concrete to point at and say “At least it was worth it.”
Yes, I needed to know. And yes, I needed to try.
But still. There are moments, like this weekend, when I can’t help but bristle at the money thrown at an endeavor that I by all accounts failed at.
And I know; wah wah wah, poor me. Time to suck it up, because there are others who have far greater problems than this. I get it, really I do. The truth of the matter is, the money aspect of things absolutely is the smallest hurt in all of this. It’s just the piece I can concentrate on a little more closely from time to time without feeling like the world is crumbling around me. I don’t spend much time dwelling on the baby part, because when I do I tend to collapse into a moment of suffocation. But the money – well, that’s something I can look at and feel anger and frustration about without feeling like I’m plunging into the deepest darkest depths of all that endometriosis has taken away.
I want something to show for it. Something concrete and real and mine. Something to point at and say “That’s what I got out of all those months of hoping, and trying, and praying, and… paying.”
Instead, I’ve got nothing.
Nothing but an un-purchased ticket to Germany that is.
And a pity party of my very own to jump into whenever the moment seems right.
She said it made her think of me. I’m sure for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being my obsession with words of inspiration as tattoos. In fact, the truth is I have been jonesing desperately for a new tattoo as of late, but that’s another story for another time. It was the message behind this one struck me.
Free Yourself
I realized that’s what I’ve been doing this last year. Or at least, what I’ve been trying to do. Free myself from the shackles of infertility. From the prison of endometriosis. From the heartache of loss and failure and the mourning of what never was.
I’ve been freeing myself. And no, it is not something that happens over night, or even a process that takes place in a linear fashion. Sometimes I move forward in leaps and bounds on this path to healing, only to be jilted backwards in one fell swoop when I least expect it. Sometimes I have moments of temporary insanity. Sometimes I question every move I’ve made since this all began. I move backwards and forwards and sideways and upside down on this journey of freeing myself, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still exactly what I’ve been doing.
Free Yourself.
Definitely one of the cooler tattoos I’ve seen in a while.
I feel like I led you all astray the other day without meaning to. Without intention or thought. I posted what I did on Tuesday for two reasons. One, because I’ve been suffering from a bit of writers block lately and found myself looking at things I’ve written in the past, and two, because happening upon that old post made me think.
Think, and laugh. Because as much as I yearn to be a mother, and as much as my heart still aches over what has been lost – I truly look at any moment where I contemplate walking down the path of IVF again as a moment of temporary insanity.
I wasn’t joking when I used that term. Or I was, but not entirely. Because the truth is – the idea of going down that road again absolutely seems insane to me. Especially right now.
IVF is not an easy fix. It is not a cure-all. It is a possibility, with 50/50 odds of working, and very real consequences no matter how you look at it. Consequences on the body, psyche, and finances. Consequences I am just not willing to take on again.
It’s so hard for me to say this, because there are people in my life who I love who are currently pregnant as a result of IVF. There are also people I care about deeply who have gone through tremendous losses after IVF. And because I’m not private about anything in my life – all of these people know about this space and read here from time to time. So this is one topic, more than any other, where I feel stifled lately. Wanting to share my thoughts, but at the same time – not wanting to hurt anyone in the process.
But the truth is, my opinions on IVF have changed tremendously over the last year. I no longer believe it to be a means worth the end. At least, not for me. More and more, I am convinced that perhaps I couldn’t get pregnant for a reason. I have a lot of reasons for thinking this, and maybe at some point I’ll delve into it more deeply (it would certainly cure my writers block – but it would also require a courage I seem to have lost as of late) but for the time being just know – using all medical means necessary to try to force my body into doing something it clearly doesn’t want to do seems… wrong to me. FOR me. At least for now. At the stage I am in my life today. It just seems wrong. And like a decision that could only ever bring me a heartache so much more difficult to overcome than the heartache that accompanies simply accepting this life I’ve been given for exactly what it is and doing my best to move forward.
I am not judging the choices of anyone else here, and I want to make that clear. Nor am I saying I regret the choices of my past - because I absolutely do not. But there is this voice in the back of my head (one that has been there for a while now) telling me that even if I could find the magic combination of treatments to get myself pregnant – the end result would not be the happy ending I’ve been imagining. Call it fear if you will, but to be fair - I feel like I’ve earned that fear.
I tried to force my will once before, and my stubbornness and drive to get exactly what I wanted when I wanted it did not end well. For everyone who tells me that they believe it would work for me now, there were at least 5 others saying the same exact thing to me then. And who knows, maybe one day it will work for me. I am not so pig headed that I would use the word “never” in this instance, because I have no idea what the future holds and perhaps at some point down the line my current aversions to IVF will be assuaged. But for now, I know too much. And everything I’ve come to know and believe about IVF and the drugs involved makes me feel strongly that it’s not a path I want to go down again. I don’t believe it is what is best for my body, or my mind, or my bank account. And no matter how much I yearn for a child growing beneath my heart – at some point along the way I realized that the one goal of carrying a child was not worth sacrificing all else.
At least, not for me. Not now. And not on my own.
If this last year has taught me anything, it’s that I am ready to be in love. I am ready to find my partner in this life – whoever he may be. Whether he be someone already in my life, or someone I have yet to meet. I am ready.
And I really (truly, deeply, positively) do not want to deal with the rest of this infertility stuff until I do.
Even in those moments of temporary insanity, the idea of going down that road again causes me to catch my breath in what I can only assume is a bit of residual PTSD.
I have walked that road alone. I have cried myself to sleep. I have crumbled to a ball on my closet floor when walking the 10 more feet to my bed just felt like too much. I have done it alone. And I have also witnessed 2 very close friends doing it with the men they loved. And you know what? They got the better deal. As much as I tried to put on a brave face last year and pretend that I was fine with doing this all on my own; as much as I tried to pretend that I didn’t need a partner in this struggle; as much as I proclaimed my strong, independent woman status: I was wrong. And doing it alone (facing that heartache by myself) was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to overcome. I won’t do it to myself again. Not without someone by my side to hold my hand on that roller coaster. I realized last year that if pursuing IVF on my own was as hard as it turned out to be, actually raising a child on my own would be 1000 times harder. I thought I was strong enough. I thought I was woman enough. I thought I could do it all on my own just as well as any couple I’ve ever met.
I was wrong.
And I won’t do it alone again. To be fair, I may not do it at all. Partner or no partner. But I’m logical enough to admit that that part still remains to be seen.
When Mr. Right get’s his act together and shows up on my door, I suppose we’ll revisit the options and pro’s and con’s then. As a pair.
But I won’t do it alone.
So I’m sorry for leading you all astray. Really, I am. But for those of you still following this story in the hopes of one more dramatic Hail Mary pass – it’s not coming. I’m too content now. I’ve found my way back to a happy place. Every day I remember who I was. The more I focus on finding peace and happiness in the life I have today, the more I rediscover the pieces of myself I once lost on a journey to fulfill my own will at all costs.
There is beauty in walking away.
Peace in accepting the hand you have been dealt.
And happiness to be found when you stop trying to force your own will on the world.
Which is where I am now. Working every day to accept the life I’ve been given, and become a stronger person because of it. Some days are easier than others. Some days I find myself back in an angry place. But I know that where I am today is better than where I was a year ago. Better than where I was two years ago. Better than anywhere I have been along any point in this journey.
There is beauty in walking away.
And for now anyway, my focus is on finding the man first.
I've got to say, I honestly cannot ever see myself moving back to Arizona. I just get so much of my pleasure out of life from living somewhere that I truly think is beautiful, and in all reality - I don't find a whole lot beautiful in AZ. But... I am definitely finding myself missing my family more and more lately. Especially now that we finally feel so complete. I love being around them, I love spending time with them, and I kind of sort of miss them now that I'm back in the swing of things 3000 miles away.
I'm starting to think that only one holiday trip home a year just isn't going to cut it anymore...
