Kicked Out Of The Club

I hurt someone I care about. A lot. Without meaning to. Without intending to. Obviously without thinking through my own actions or words at all. I hurt someone I care about. A lot. And I’m guessing she is not the only one.

All I can say now is, I’m sorry. For whatever it’s worth. For however far it can go. For whoever is reading these words now. I am so incredibly sorry. I feel like I have no excuse. No words that can really make it right. I was being true to myself; honest in this space here like I have always promised I would be. But I did it all wrong. I fucked it all up. And I am truly sorry. More sorry than I have probably been for anything in a very long time.

I held back on posting how my views on IVF have changed for months, because I was afraid of being kicked out of the club.

Being viewed as a traitor.

A quitter.

Someone who just didn’t want it enough.

When in reality, none of that is true. Or at least, I’ve never believed it to be?

The funny (or ironic) thing is that a year ago, if someone had even thought to suggest to me that perhaps endometriosis and my failed cycles were my bodies way of telling me that it just wasn’t equipped for this – I would have cut them. I’m not saying that to sound tough. I’m saying that because for real – I would have gotten violent. No lie. The entire thing would have ended in blood and handcuffs and tears. The result would have been much the same when I was first starting out on my IVF journey if someone had suggested to me that perhaps the risks involved didn’t line up with what was driving my desire to carry a child. Blood and handcuffs and tears.

I knew that this was right. I knew that it was what I was supposed to do. And I knew that I would go to the ends of the earth and sacrifice everything I had to get my baby. No matter what. I never would have believed that my feelings about IVF would change so drastically. I never would have believed that I would one day really be giving up. The truth, of course, is so much more complicated than that. I am not giving up. Not by a long shot. I am stepping back, but I am not giving up. There is still that very big part of my heart that hopes that maybe someday I will get my miracle. One way or another though, I know that I will one day be a mother. Still… I believed with everything inside of me that I would risk anything to achieve that dream exactly as I pictured it when I started down the IVF path. I believed I would fight to have that baby of mine growing beneath my heart, no matter what it was going to take to make that happen.

So what does it say about me now that I no longer feel the same?

Does it make me a traitor?

A quitter?

Someone who just didn’t want it enough?

I’ve convinced myself that all it says is that I am now a girl who has had her heart completely crushed into a thousand pieces by infertility. A girl who has been immersed in this world long enough to see others hurt even worse; worse than I ever would have believed possible. A girl who has seen too much, fallen too hard, and learned that all too often – the unthinkable can happen. I am a girl who is no longer blind to the pitfalls of this world. And I just… I can’t imagine ever putting myself through it again. I can’t see the risks as worth it for me anymore.

Over the last 6 months I can honestly say that anytime anyone has ever mentioned my trying again, I have cringed. For so many reasons, but mostly because I really and truly feel like if I was healthy enough and strong enough to sustain a pregnancy and provide for my baby from conception as I wanted so desperately to do – it would have worked. I honestly have reached a point where I do not believe that pushing harder would result in anything other than more heartbreak for me now.

But how do you explain that to people? How do you lay it all out there in a way that helps them to believe you’ve really thought this through?

I realized a while back that I needed to be honest with myself about what I believe to be true, even though it hurts. I have needed to examine my own personal reasons for wanting to pursue IVF, and really acknowledge how those reasons then lined up with the risks involved. All of the risks, extending far beyond failure or even birth defects. Because there are worse things than not being able to obtain your BFP. And I have needed to acknowledge that. But in doing so, I have been terrified of what that means. Afraid of how I could ever share the evolution of my thoughts without also making it seem like I believed everyone reading should in turn feel the same. Which isn’t the reality of the situation at all. Everything I said is true for me, but that does not mean I believe it to be the only truth available. I know that everyone has to come to their own truth, based on their own experiences. And that dear friend of mine who I managed to hurt without ever meaning to? She has a truth of her own. And she has every right to that truth. She has earned that truth.

Again, the funny (or ironic) thing is that I actually believe every single word she wrote. And everything she has verbalized to me personally on this subject. Which is what really makes me think that I missed the mark in trying to articulate my own thoughts and feelings and fears surrounding IVF. Because if those are the messages that were taken away, than something was seriously lost in translation between my head and my heart and my keyboard.

I don't for one second think that infertility makes any of us any less deserving. Not even kind of. And I do think that these medical advances are there for a reason. I absolutely believe that pursuing IVF can work out for the best. I have seen it. But I can't help that voice in my head that believes that maybe my cycles failed for a reason. NOT because I'm not deserving, but because my body just wasn't strong enough. For reasons I may not ever fully understand, I now have a nagging voice in my head that is constantly telling me that even if I could get pregnant – I would not be taking a baby home in the end.

I hit "publish" on that post with such apprehension. After months of searching for the right words to explain what I was feeling, I finally shared it despite the anxiety I had over being true to myself. I was almost immediately shocked by the messages of support I received though. Women telling me that they had felt the same way for so long, but hadn’t known how to verbalize their own changes of heart. Women detailing the awful outcomes of their own cycles, and the events that led to them stepping away from fertility treatments for good as well. Women thanking me for letting them know that they weren’t alone in feeling what they felt. When in reality, they had no idea how much their words meant to me. How I breathed a sigh of relief in knowing that I wasn’t alone either. That just because I no longer saw this as the best option for me, did not mean that I no longer belonged in the club.

But then came the words of those I had hurt. Those I had angered. Those I had turned away completely. I couldn’t help but notice that those forming on either side of the fence resembled each other in experience. And suddenly, I realized how differently my words came across to those in the midst of their happy endings compared to those who have long since stepped away in defeat.

Obviously, when you have a happy healthy baby in front of you (or growing inside of you) who was the result of IVF – the risks were absolutely worth it. Even for those in the midst of trying, there is a strong belief that it is going to work. A belief that powers you through. I understand that, because I had the same belief myself. But the ending isn’t always happy. In fact, according to the statistics – there is only a take home baby 50% of the time. And for that other 50%, there are varying degrees of heartbreak. From simply not being able to conceive at all, to being given everything you wanted only to have it taken away as soon as you let your guard down enough to believe you get to keep it. If you know the outcome was good, of course you can look back and know that it was worth it. But there is no guarantee of that. No guarantee that everyone who walks down this road will get their happy ending. Just the promise that some will, and some will not. And while I knew that going into it, I believed with everything I had in me that I would be one of the ones it would work for. And I was wrong.

So I guess I would simply ask those who have been hurt by my words to take a long hard look at the perspective. I didn’t get my happy ending. Not even close. And through circumstances beyond my control, I was forced to step back and regroup. Put the pieces back together on my own, with no supportive spouse there to hold my hand or build me back up. Even when that last cycle failed, I did not feel like I feel now. I was convinced I would one day try again. It was only with time and distance that I was able to gain a different perspective on what that would mean. Had I conceived, I can pretty much guarantee that I never would have stepped back and looked at IVF the way I do now. But I didn’t. There is no baby in my arms, and no more hope in my heart that IVF could give me the ending I so strongly desire. My perspective is different. And that doesn’t mean I think your baby (or babies) never should have been. It doesn’t mean I think you should stop trying now if you are still on this journey. It doesn’t mean anything even along those lines. It just means that my own experiences have led me to the conclusions that are right for me.

It is such a hard subject, and one that honestly breaks my heart to acknowledge. But the very real truth is that for me, I have had to come to terms with the fact that in this life, I will not always get my way. No matter how badly I want it. No matter how much I push. No matter how hard I fight. I can’t always win. And in this case, I really believe that trying to fight any harder would only lead to my own demise.

I just feel like there is a line, for everyone, as to how far we are willing to go. And my line has changed. Not because I didn't want it or because I don't feel like I deserved it, but because... I can't shake the feeling in my gut that if I pushed, I would be one of those bad outcomes. And then, for ignoring my gut, I would have no one but myself to blame for that devastation and heartbreak. My gut tells me that it won’t ever end well for me, so wouldn’t it be insane to even consider trying again? To ignore those risks and voices in my head that keep telling me it would be a bad idea?

I tried to explain that without making it seem like I believed the same to be true for everyone; attempting to be true to myself and my feelings without doing anything that would get me kicked out of the club or injure those I have come to care about along the way. I tried to outline some of my fears and where they come from without making it seem like I believe everyone who pursues this path is setting themselves up for heartbreak in the end. Because I don’t. Like I already said – I know it can work. I know there are happy endings to be found. I was just trying to explain why I don’t believe one is waiting for me along that path. But I failed. And for that - I can’t really express how badly I feel. How many tears I have shed in my own guilt over doing it so wrong.

But I am a good person. And I swear I am a good friend. I never intended to hurt anyone. I just wanted to be honest about what I believe to be true for me. About what my reality is now, even as I watch so many of those around me getting the dream I fought so hard for.

Because I am still that same girl who fought with everything she had for a baby. I am still that same girl who sacrificed so much and believed that it would all be worth it in the end. I am just now also a girl who realizes… that isn’t always the case. Fighting with everything you've got does not always mean a happy ending. Believing in your heart that you are meant to carry a child does not always mean you will. Even getting those two lines does not always mean you get to bring a baby home in the end. And sometimes, taking on all the risks in an attempt to reap the big rewards only lands you facing off with the worst case scenario. The one you thought would never actually happen to you.

And that is what I am afraid of. That is what has caused me to change my line. But now that my line has moved, where is it that I belong? My heart still aches over what's been lost, but I am not trying, and I am not of the belief that I will ever try again. I know that one way or another, I will be a mother. But even that endeavor is currently on hold as I attempt to wait (not-so) patiently for Mr. Right. Leaving me in limbo. Wondering where my place is now.

In attempting to rebuild my life, am I still allowed to acknowledge how much this hurts? In finding happiness in other ways, should I still be able to confess that this is not the life I would have chosen, had I been given a choice? In admitting that I am probably never going to try again, do I still have the right to mourn my infertility?

I think it’s common for the women who make it to the other side and wind up with a baby in their arms to wonder where they fit in once their happy ending has been realized. Those scars still remain, and their battle wounds are still very real – but in taking away the prize we’ve all fought so hard for, they question whether or not they really still belong. I’ve got to admit that over the last year, I have found myself feeling the same way. As my feelings about IVF have changed and I’ve come more to terms with the fact that I will likely never be trying again, I’ve wondered where my place was in this world. And if in being honest about how I was feeling, I would be publically revoking my own membership. Kicking myself out of a club that has provided me with so much support and guidance by admitting that I no longer fit the mold.

As if the fact that I have decided that this is no longer a path I am willing to take on my journey to being a mother, means that I no longer deserve to grieve over what has been lost. Because now I no longer belong, so I can’t possibly understand.

I am still the same girl who was so convinced she was pregnant that she toured a birthing center and didn’t tell a soul about it during her 2 week wait (yes, that happened). The same girl who prayed and sacrificed and risked everything that mattered to make this dream come true. I am still the same girl who continues to give advice on doctors and clinics and endometriosis and infertility and IVF and protocols to anyone who e-mails me with questions. That girl is still me. It's not as if I suddenly can't possibly understand what it's like to be on that journey. Because I was there, and I remember.

I wanted this. I wanted it more than anything I have ever wanted in my entire life. I still want it. And it still kills me that I will probably never have it. It tears me up that my cycles failed. It tears me up that I have never in my life been in a position to "try" with someone I love. It tears me up that I really do not believe I will ever carry a child myself. It tears me up that I have to watch everyone I care about get this amazing gift that I want so badly, and I have to find a way to be happy for them even in knowing that it will never be me. It tears me up that I actually am so happy for them, but that my happiness is now clouded by this mix of emotions it never before would have been.

It's not that I am over this or that it doesn't kill me inside, because I am not and it does. It's just... I have had to come to terms with a few things for my own mental health. For my own ability to move forward. But I am still infertile, and it still breaks my heart. I just can't keep pretending that one day I'm going to do it all again, because I really don't believe I will. I really don't believe that for me, it would be the right decision. And I don't know how else to be honest about that, without making it seem like I'm simply giving up. When really, there is nothing simple about that decision at all.

But I think in my desire to express those feelings as honestly as possible, I went too far. I crossed lines, and I hurt those I care about. Without meaning to. Without intending to. Obviously without thinking through my own actions or words at all. I just wanted to explain how I was feeling without coming off as a quitter. I wanted to be honest and I wanted to be real, without getting kicked out of the club.

I think I fucked it all up.

So here is what it comes down to: I am still infertile.

It’s just that I am having to come to terms with the fact that infertile is not all I am.

It is not the one defining adjective that holds weight above all else.

And it is not the factor that will contribute to my never being able to find happiness in any other facet of life.

I refuse to let it become that.

But I still don’t want to be kicked out of the club.

Or viewed as a traitor.

A quitter.

Or someone who just didn’t want it enough.

Because I did. I wanted it so badly it hurt. And I failed.

And when you know the ending isn’t good, it is suddenly a whole lot easier to look back on the journey and see it for what it was.

A path filled with land mines that only a select few will ever really navigate unscathed.

And for me, trying to navigate that path again just isn’t worth the risks. Not knowing what I know. Not seeing what I’ve seen. Not feeling what I feel.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not still here… praying with everything I’ve got that those of you still traveling that path make it through to the end victorious.

I want for you what I wanted for myself – to be happy.

To be mothers.

To be whole.

And to get your baby in the end.