The Tale of The Naked Pictures

I have never been one to “sext”. The practice has always seemed a little uncomfortable to me, and in the past when the men in my life have asked for naughty pictures – I have all but laughed directly at them. In this internet era where nothing is ever private, I knew better than that. My father raised me to know better than that!

(In all fairness, I say a silent “thank you” almost every single day that Facebook and photo texts were not possibilities available to me when I was a teenager… I’m pretty sure I would have gotten myself in a lot of trouble then if they had been!)

But the point is, I have never texted anyone a naked photo of myself in my life.

Ever.

Until this week…

Before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, let me just clear one thing up – I wasn’t completely naked. No areola’s or lady bits to be seen, I promise. I was practically wearing a bathing suit, just in the form of a bra and panties instead.

I suppose I should probably still explain myself though...

In June, when I go to Texas for Loo’s wedding, I will also be spending some time with another friend of mine after the fact who is an incredible photographer. Seriously, check her out. Studio Eleven Photography – she’s wonderful! We talked about her taking some photos for me that I could use for a new website design, as well as for the potential marketing of the book (at the very least, I am going to need a rocking "about the author" shot!) The last time I had professional photos taken (those same ones you see in the header of this blog) it was about 5 years ago. I was donating my eggs, and the agency wanted a professional portfolio to be able to show potential recipients. They sent me to LA to meet up with a photographer, paid for the whole thing, and then gave me copies of all the shots that resulted. It was a very cool experience and I had a lot of fun doing it. But now, I was hoping for something more up to date as I get closer to having a finished book. And besides, everyone else I know gets beautiful professional photos taken for their weddings and their babies... since it seems as though I won't be doing either of those any time soon, I thought it was fair that I get some nice pictures to commemorate where I am in my life now too!

While she and I were discussing what exactly I want from those photos though, we somehow shifted gears and started talking about boudoir photo shoots. I have a close friend who did one years ago and the pictures came out amazing. Ever since then, it has been something I’ve always kind of wanted to do. There was just something about having those kind of tasteful (yet still revealing) photos of yourself that always appealed to me. I love the idea of having something like that to look back on one day when I'm old and fat. (For those of you currently cringing at this idea – I am also one of those nutjobs who loves partially nude maternity shots, and if I had gotten pregnant you better believe my bare belly would have been in front of someone’s camera at some point in time). The more we talked about it though (and the more her ideas began to flow regarding utilizing a pinup theme to show off my curves), the more excited I got.

(discussion on the community now: Would you ever do a boudoir photo shoot?

I have been working so hard lately to get into shape, and I’ve got to admit – there is something amazing about watching my body change. It has been one of the more healing things I have done for myself in the post-infertile haze; regaining control of my body and realizing that I can still get it to do what I want it to do, even if I can’t get it to do the one thing I really want it to do. I had a lot of anger towards my body. It let me down, and hurt me, and broke my heart. When I looked in the mirror, for a while there all I could see was a body that had failed me. In so many ways. I was hurting, both physically and mentally, and I felt like I couldn’t escape that pain. And at the very route of it, I really felt like my body was to blame for that pain.

I would be lying if I said there aren’t still times I feel that way. When I think about how easily other people get pregnant, I remember the ways in which my body has let me down. When I cave and eat cheese and immediately my joints swell, I struggle to not focus on the fact that other people can eat all the dairy they want without their joints going so haywire. And when I am forced to acknowledge that my core muscles are still not as strong as I would like them to be (after 3 abdominal surgeries, 2 years of constant endo destruction, and 2 failed IVF cycles), I can’t help but feel a little bitter at a body that seems intent on hanging on to some lingering reminders of the past.

But then I get up in the morning and I get on my treadmill and I find myself surpassing goals that even a year ago would have been unimaginable to me. I look in the mirror and I see a definition in my legs that I’ve never before seen. I am captivated by the way my body is changing and growing stronger each and every day, and in that – I am finding faith again in this body of mine to do what I need it to do as I move forward with my life. Even more, I am finding a desire to be kind to my body. To treat it right and take care of it, rather than to sabotage it in some of the ways I did over the last 2 years. I haven't even had so much as a single glass of wine since New Years. I've been too focused on being healthy and taking care of me to want to do anything counter-productive to that.

I don’t mean to be so body focused lately. If I’ve been coming across as a gym snob, or someone with lingering body issues from her childhood, that’s not how I mean to sound. But setting this goal to run a half marathon this summer turned out to be one of the best things I ever could have done for myself. For the last 3 months, I have been focused on working out. I haven’t let myself falter or give up, because I’ve known I need this training if I want to meet that goal. And in working towards reaching that goal, I am regaining a confidence in myself and my body I wasn’t even fully aware I had lost. Something about that feels pretty amazing.

The DV has been listening to me talk about this transformation my body has been making for the last few months, and he’s been pestering me for a while to send him photographic proof of the leaner and more toned version of myself I have been bragging about. I have, of course, laughed him off – just as I have any other guy in the past who has ever asked me for similar shots. But this week, after talking to that photographer friend of mine about her vision for these shots (and seeing pictures of the vintage cars she is hoping to use for a real pinup feel), I found myself standing in my living room in nothing but panties, a bra, and heels, snapping shots of myself with my phone that I never in a million years would have thought I would be snapping.

I’m not even sure how it started, but suddenly I was intent on captivating this strong state my body is in now. I wanted to show off my muscles and the way they are lending themselves now to my curves. I wanted to brag about my shape. I wanted to document where I am now, if only so that I can be that much more excited about where I am in 2 months. Because by the time we actually take the professional shots, I am hoping that my abs (the last piece still yet to fully kick in) will have gotten in on the action themselves and will be showing a bit of definition as well.

I’m not sure I can fully explain why it’s so important for me to have these pictures. They will certainly not be something I post here, nor will they ever find their way to my personal Facebook account. As far as I’m concerned, these pictures will be for me. Well... me, and those I trust enough to share them with. But they are my opportunity to regain some of the confidence that has been lost. My chance to take pride in this body of mine once more. Because regardless of how it has let me down in the past – it is the only body I get. It is important for me to love it. To take pride in it. And yeah, maybe even for me to prance around half naked in it a little.

Like I said months ago – if everyone else around me gets to get knocked up, I at least get to be a knock-out.

Which brings us back to me, in front of my mirror, half naked, taking shoddy pics on my cell.

I don’t know what I thought I was going to do with them initially, but once I was done and realized they weren’t half bad – I sent a few off to that photographer friend of mine with some cheeky text asking if she thought she would be able to work with that.

Then I figured I would throw the DV a bone, because let’s face it – that boy has seen me way more naked than I was in those pics anyway.

But I didn’t stop there. No, at least 5 more of my nearest and dearest were in for a bit of a text surprise. I was just so proud of the muscles I was displaying in these pics, that I couldn’t help myself. I wanted everyone I loved to see where I am now, compared to where I was post-surgery around this same time last year. There was a pride in my body I haven’t felt in a very long time, and before I knew it – There I was, sexting like I never before would have believed.

Only, not really sexting, obviously, since the only guy to lay his eyes on those pictures was the DV, and I’m not entirely sure he counts. But still, my nearest and dearest were definitely in for a bit of surprise when they opened up their phones this week.

However... that’s nothing compared to the surprise my roommate was in for when she walked in the door one night as I was taking these pics.

Now that, was awkward.

Diva... With a Gun

We all know I'm a diva. I have been proudly using my cup for almost a year now - after learning about all the scary chemicals that tampons were packed with, and the theories linking tampons and endometriosis. I love my Diva cup. I will never go back.

But especially after hearing about this - I will really never go back. Tampons freak me out anyway, but mold? That's disgusting! I strongly encourage all women reading to run out and get themselves a cup. Trust me - your vagina will thank you!

Now, on to the part about the gun. I mentioned the other day that I've been thinking a lot lately about getting a gun to use as bear protection in the summer. Every year I get more and more confident with the woods and find myself going deeper into the middle of nowhere as I hike and explore Alaska. I love it. What I don't love, is being out there in the middle of nowhere (at least occasionally by myself) where I really would make a fantastic meal for any bear that found me. I started this conversation on the community earlier in the week, and then today I posed the topic with my avid hunter and proud gun-toting father who had me target shooting in the desert all the time as a kid. You really would have thought he would be all for this idea, right? This is how that conversation went down:

Me: When you get up here this summer, I want you to take me to buy my first gun.

Dad: Nope. That's not going to happen.

Me: But dad, I NEED a gun! I saw 3 bears while I was out hiking last summer... and who knows how many rapists I saw!

Dad: Nope. No way. YOU do not need a gun. I know you. You're likely to get pissed off at some guy and shoot without thinking.

Me: Only if he's a rapist dad... or an asshole.

Needless to say, I think it's going to end up being bear spray for me.

Those assholes better watch out!

May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor

It may have been a date.

Kind of.

But not really.

For all my kicking and fighting and screaming about not wanting to date right now, I got set-up.

And we all know how much I love set-ups, right?

It was a double date, to see The Hunger Games.

Needless to say, the poor guy never stood a chance. But because I wanted to see the movie so badly, I was easily convinced to go along with it.

He was sweet, and smart, and polite, and I probably should have given him at least a bit more consideration, but… That’s not going to happen.

I’ve already explained that I don’t have time for boys right now, right?

But the movie? That was great! I loved it. I was mesmerized. Completely and totally enthralled.

Even as I kept my arms crossed the entire time hoping that my body language would send the signal not to touch me.

(that poor, poor guy)

As I was sitting there watching though (and flinching at the dramatic parts, even when I knew darn well they were coming), I was wondering how far I could make it if I were thrown into the games.

Please tell me I’m not the only crazy person who can’t help but think along those same morbid lines when fully engrossed in this story?

I think it’s fair to say, I wouldn’t make it far. I’ve been thinking long and hard about getting a gun this year, wanting something to take along with me on my summer hiking adventures to protect me from the inevitable bear run-ins. The hold up? I honestly don’t know if I could shoot a bear. Even if it was coming right at me, I don’t know if I could do it. And I think this inability to kill even a charging bear, would likely come into play for me if I was fighting for my life against other people.

Then I think about the physical aspects, and I’m not so sure I could hang there either. I am definitely in better shape right now than I have been in 10 years. I am more active and fit and toned than I remember ever being in my life. I love it. But, I’ve also hit a wall. I can’t seem to run for longer than 2 miles straight right now without needing to stop and walk. If you consider the fact that just 3 months ago I was struggling to run more than 2 minutes straight, this is actually a great improvement. But I haven’t been able to stack on distance in about 2 weeks. I’m getting a little frustrated with myself, wondering if I will ever surpass this plateau and knowing that I really need to surpass this plateau, because in just under 2 months I am racing in my first triathlon and in just under 3 I am running my first half marathon – I have a lot of improvement I need to be making before those dates come around.

So I would love to hear from you runners out there – how do you surpass a plateau when your body just doesn’t seem to want to push through? I know (or I hope) that this will be the kind of thing where once I do it, everything from there will be that much easier. But I’m definitely struggling to convince myself to keep on running after that 2 mile mark – any tips or advice? I’m going to start a discussion for runners over on the community. I would also love to hear your thoughts on GPS watches vs. the apps on phones and the best energy boost packs out there. Anything you can share would be so very appreciated right now!

Because it’s not the hunger games, but it is my own little arena. I want to be able to come out the other side of this knowing that while I probably wasn't the strongest competitor in these races, I was able to hold my own and push all the way through.

Let’s face it; I would stand about as much of a chance making it in the hunger games as that poor guy last night stood of getting a second date.

But these races? I want to be able to hang.

I just need a little push getting past this mental block first.

And once I do?

Then maybe I'll be ready to think about boys again.

AGAIN

It happened AGAIN this morning. I'm not even kidding. There he was. With his stupid face and the stupid white hat he wears every single day on the same stupid one block stretch of road I keep seeing him on.

One block. One freaking block of road that we both happen to drive down. That is the only shared part of the drive. One block. And yet, we keep driving past each other right there. It doesn't matter if I am on time, early, or (more frequently) running late. It keeps happening.

And again I ask - what are the odds?

It is clear I'm going to have to move. Sell my house and move. To a different side of town. Or a different town. Or maybe even just to another state.

I've talked about Oregon before, right?

If I see his stupid face one more time this week though, I swear I am going to throw something at it.

Which is why it's probably a good thing that I am leaving bright and early tomorrow morning for my first work trip of the season.

To remote Alaska, where my cell phone won't work and there will be no movie theaters in sight (on the very day The Hunger Games comes out... so I may need to build a movie theater), but there will also be no stupid boys in stupid white caps with stupid looks on their stupid faces as they drive their stupid trucks to work on the same stupid one block stretch of road I drive every single stupid morning.

Huh. When I put it like that, it almost seems like it will be worth getting up and going to the airport at 5am.

If it weren't for that silly movie theater thing, I might just never come back.

Palace of Toil

I saw the boy on the way to work again this morning.

After seeing him on my lunch break yesterday.

I swear he is everywhere. It’s like the universe is completely toying with me at this point. Not allowing me to forget or move on.

Because I mean, seriously, regardless of the proximity of his work and my home – what are the chances that we would be crossing paths this many times in such a short time span?

I may have left out a teensy tiny bit of information when I mentioned seeing him a few weeks ago. I don’t actually drive past his work in the morning. It is right next door to my place, but my work is in the opposite direction. I drive out of my condo unit and turn the other way. And if he were coming from his home, we would never cross paths at all because he would be coming from the other side of his office. When I’ve been seeing him in the morning, the only reason we’re driving past each other is because he is coming from the same direction as my work. Down a street he would never be driving if he was coming from his own home.

Which means that the mornings of these run-ins, he is actually coming from his new girlfriend’s house.

I put two and two together and realized that was the case the first time I saw him. I swear it didn’t bother me then. I don’t sit around being jealous of their relationship. I don’t think about it much at all. I don’t know anything about this girl, and I don’t really have any desperate desire to find out more. At least in my head, she’s the rebound he needed all along. I can’t fathom her being anything truly special, and as such – I just don’t spend a lot of time worrying about it. Or her.

But this morning, seeing him coming from that direction once more, I grew angry. This hatred boiled up inside of me that was unlike anything I have felt in a very long time. It took over, and to be honest – it ruined my day.

Because seeing him come from that direction is just a reminder that he is sleeping with someone, after going so back and forth with me and playing so many games regarding whether or not he was attracted to me. I look back on it now, and I am angry at myself for ever allowing someone to say some of the things he did to me and still remain in my life at all. I know in the moment I was really good at making excuses for him, but it truly infuriates me now – I never would have thought myself to be that girl. But I would be lying if I said that it hasn't all continued to linger with me even now. “You don’t really want to know what I have to think about to sleep with you.” It has stayed with me. It weighs on me. It is the voice in the back of my head telling me that I just wasn’t good enough. Not for him, and not for anyone else. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not funny enough… not enough.

You don’t really want to know what I have to think about to sleep with you.

Who says that to someone? What kind of a person tears someone who cares about them down to the quick like that?

And what kind of a person allows it to happen?

I hated him today. I really hated him. Just seeing his face and knowing that he has clearly found someone to sleep with that he doesn’t have to force himself to be attracted to had me loathing him at his very core. I hate what he did to me. I hate how he made me feel. And I hate that even now, he still has me questioning myself and feeling as though it was me who wasn’t enough.

Let’s face it… it’s not like I didn’t have abandonment issues before, but man did he play into that. And I let him. So I guess today, I was hating me a little too.

This anger boiled up, and I couldn’t keep it from boiling over. And then I was angry at myself for being angry at him. It has been 7 months. 7 months. When do I get over this? I am not 18 years old. It is ridiculous for me to be holding on to this hurt for so long. Just as ridiculous as it was for me to allow him to do it to me in the first place. I am not a teenager though. He shouldn’t still have this power over me. He shouldn’t still be able to make me question myself like this.

I hated him today. And I hated  myself for still deep down inside ignoring all logic and feeling as though it was something about me that just wasn’t deserving of being treated with even the most basic level of human decency and compassion. I know it wasn’t me. Logically, I really do know that.

But mentally and emotionally… I look in the mirror and wonder what it was about me he found so repulsive. I wonder what it was about me that wasn’t enough.

How’s that for heavy?

So today was a bad day. One of those sinkingly painful days where I hated him and felt awful about myself. Or I hated him for making me feel awful about myself. It doesn’t matter, it was just painful. And infuriating, because 7 months after the fact I just do not feel like I should be continuing to have days like today. No matter who he is screwing, or how much he likes it.  

I tried to make jokes about it. I knew this level of anger was not like me, and neither was the self-loathing. I’ve been in a pretty good place lately, following my dreams and chasing my bliss. I have been taking care of me, and finding so much pride in that. So I tried to count today off as just being an exceptionally crazy day.

We all have those, right? Days when our brains choose to ignore logic and instead send us in a tail spin of crazy?

Some days I’m crazier than others.

Today I was feeling downright psychotic.

But hey, at least I’m self-aware.

I was grateful when 3 rolled around and I had an appointment with Teeny. Seeing her today couldn’t have been more perfectly timed. I walked into her office and began to let it all out. She asked how I was doing, and I told her that physically I was doing fine, but mentally – I was having a crazy day. I then unloaded upon her everything I had been thinking and feeling since seeing him this morning. She listened calmly as I undressed and crawled on the table, and then she asked

“Are you feeling bitter?”

Yes.

'How about rejected?”

Yep.

“Would you say those are the two overwhelming feelings right now?”

Well those, and hatred.

“Hate is good.” She said. “You are really bad at letting yourself feel anger, but you’ve been needing to feel it for a while. Let’s focus on the other two first.”

She flipped my hands over, found a spot in my palm that immediately had me wincing, and then she told me to take a deep breath and a big cough. She plunged a needle into my palm that had me growling back at her.

“What was that?” I said, in my low that-just-really-hurt-you-kooky-bitch voice.

“It’s the Palace of Toil.” She said.

“What is that for?” I asked, my voice rising to more regular octaves as the pain decreased and the tingling grew.

“Mental instability.” She said.

I laughed out loud. It was a strong point. I could feel the energy rushing to my hand, and I could see the needle as it bounced back and forth. It continued pulling for our entire session, working harder than any other needle that was placed. Even now, as I type this, that spot is still raised in my hand.

She then went to work on other points. Points that were meant to calm my heart, and points meant to help me let go of past hurts. She focused on points relating to rejection and self-worth, and points designed to help me rebuild compassion.

As the session wore on, the manic mood I had entered in dissipated. The tears that had been fighting to be released shrunk back, and my ability to discuss this situation rationally once more returned. Teeny said she thought the universe was arranging these sightings for a reason. She said he needed to see me, rather than being able to simply escape how he had treated me, and she said I needed to see him, rather than continuing to pretend as though what happened didn’t hurt me as much as it did.

“But I just want to be over it.” I said. “It’s been 7 months. I shouldn’t still be reacting like this just because I see his face. He shouldn’t still be able to make me feel like this just by driving by.”

“If you hadn’t seen him today” she reminded me, “you wouldn’t be feeling like this now. It’s not lingering, and you’re not going through your day to day life being torn down by what he did. You’ve been moving on really well and taking care of yourself in healthy ways. If you hadn’t seen him, this anger wouldn’t have come up. So maybe the fact that you did see him, and that it did come, means that it needed to. If you don’t let yourself ever feel that hate, you may not ever be able to let it go. But I promise you that if you were to go see your therapist tomorrow, she would tell you that everything you are thinking and feeling is normal. You just should have let yourself think and feel it 6 months ago is all.”

By the time I left, I was laughing and smiling. Feeling like I could breathe again, and thanking both Teeny and the Palace of Toil. I don’t handle anger well. It is an emotion I worked hard to suppress a lifetime ago it seems. I used to be a very angry girl, and I will always regret the way in which I spent some of those angry years. And all that anger was borne even then from rejection. There were so many people in my life who had told they loved me, only to let me down or walk away. It hung with me, and by 18 I was pissed at the world. The boy tapped into a lot of that for me. Sometimes, I even feel like he knew he was tapping into that. I go so back and forth when it comes to him, sometimes feeling compassion for the place in life he was, and other times (like today) feeling nothing but hatred for the damage he carelessly caused. The ways in which he has left me even still feeling like I’m not enough. Like it was me, instead of him.

Logically I know this not to be true, and mentally I even understand that he isn’t deserving of my full and boiling rage. Hate is a strong emotion, and it is not one I have any intention of hanging onto for long.

But today, I hated him. Almost as much as I hated myself. And had it not been for Teeny and her magic needles, I would probably still be boiling now.

Instead, I’m just tired.

This too shall pass and time will heal all wounds.

But in the meantime, I’ve got to figure out how to not be so bothered when I see him.

Either that, or I’ve got to start learning how to stick myself in the Palace of Toil.

On Celibacy...

It is possible that I have been counting the milestones as they pass. Paying attention to the days, weeks, and months that are adding up since the last time I have been with a man.

April will have us coming up on 7 months now.

The funny thing is that in my head, it doesn’t seem like it’s been that long. I’ve been busy and distracted and doing my own thing, not really paying a whole lot of attention to the lack of male affection in my life. I’ve gone similar spans in the past (when I was in the middle of my IVF cycles) but even then there was always the ex lurking around in the background. I think this is the longest in my adult life I’ve ever really gone without at least the promise of someone to keep me sustained. But I'm actually doing pretty alright on my own.

I made the decision months ago that I would remain “off the cock” until I finished my book and ran my half marathon this summer. That was my deal with myself. I have always been a pretty independent girl, and I have always done just fine being on my own, so it isn't like I really needed to put this restriction on myself but… men have a way of being distractions. I swear, when I look at my laptop and see the unfinished novels I’ve started in the past, I can point to each and every one and tell you which man it was that derailed me from that particular project. The sad part is, most of those guys were nothing special. Certainly not anything worth walking away from on my own dreams for. They were just... distractions.

As I explained to my roommate this weekend, even if I was only seeing someone casually right now – they would distract me from the things I am trying to do. If there was a man in my life, I wouldn’t have spent most of this weekend in my room editing 150 pages. If there were a man in my bed, I wouldn’t be getting up at 5:30 every morning to hop on the treadmill in an effort to train for this half marathon. And if a man was around offering me attention, I would be offering it right back to him in return. Which would mean that I wouldn't be giving myself the attention I need right now to accomplish the goals I have in mind.

So celibacy works, even though it’s starting to feel as though it has gone on for far too long. I will admit that there is part of me starting to worry that I may be well on my way to spinsterhood. Even though I am looking and feeling better than I have in years, once you go a certain amount of time without a man in your life it becomes easy to start thinking that there may never be another one again. I would be lying if I said that I haven’t caught myself wondering if I am now destined to be alone in this life. Will I ever feel those butterflies again?

The roommate thinks I need to find myself a fling. The devirginator believes I need to clean out the pipes. And most of my friends are rallying for a good old fashioned night out where I could catch myself a random boy to kiss.

I am remaining adamant that even the most casual of catches would distract from what I am trying to do right now, and therefore – they wouldn’t be worth it.

And the truth of the matter is, I don’t want the most casual of catches. I kind of feel like that point in my life has passed, and I’m sort of willing to hold out for something with a little more substance.

Even if it means a few more months spent celibate, because right now… I just don’t have time for substance. I am too busy taking care of me and focusing on nurturing the friendships I have with those who have always been there for me to spend any time trying to build up something new now.

And let’s face it… I got my heart a little broken by the boy last year. After getting my heart a lot broken by life the year before. I needed some time. Trying to date again right away just would not have turned out well, for anyone involved.

I do feel like I am ready now though. Like I have healed to the point of being ready for whoever comes along next. I just don’t know where I would make them fit at this precise moment in time, so for now… it’s going to be at least a few more months before I really open myself up to dating again.

I told my roommate that I’m going to shoot for a year, just to say that I did it. She looked at me like I was crazy, and that was probably fair. This is me we’re talking about after all. I have been boy crazy since I was 5 years old, getting called into the principal’s office for chasing boys on the playground and kissing them, and writing epic entry’s in my diary (even then) about how one day, I was going to marry Jonathon Lange (wonder what ever happened to that kid?)

It’s getting a little amusing too, because you see, I’ve been having these…. dreams lately. Pretty intense dreams. Usually about the same guy.

(Courtesy of filmous.com)

I don’t really know why him. It’s funny, because when he started dating Violet on Private Practice, I didn’t think much of it. He was cute, but I wasn’t exactly mesmerized. Now though, I’m pretty sure we’re night dating he’s been showing up in my dreams so much. He’s got that look I tend to go for, with the dark hair and light eyes, but these dreams I’m having aren’t even just of the dirty variety (although, there is absolutely some of that too!) No, in these dreams, I am usually actually dating this guy. And we’re doing totally normal couple things together, like renting movies and getting takeout. We go on hikes and camp out under the stars and traipse around Alaska like a couple of tourists. We laugh and talk and cuddle and hold hands. It’s a little ridiculous. I’ve never really had recurring dreams like this, but in the last few weeks I can honestly say that I’ve dreamt about him and our imaginary relationship at least 10 times. That can’t be normal, can it?

I definitely miss making out. I miss cuddling and I miss holding hands.

And yeah, I miss sex too.

But for now at least, I am determined to remain off men. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll make it (although, these dreams are helping to bridge the gap), because I can honestly say that it was easier a few months ago than it is now. I definitely had my head in the sand a bit before, and now I can’t help but notice that it’s coming out and looking around. I am checking guys out again, and taking swift peeks at ring fingers when I get a chance. I am definitely getting back to a place where I am ready.

But I’m going to keep waiting. At least a few more months. I’ve got things to do, and goals to accomplish.

Boys can wait.

And maybe one day, it will at least be a good story to tell.

The time I went celibate to write a book.

I’ll leave the part about healing a broken heart out when I do the retelling then.

It’s far more interesting to say I took a dating hiatus to hone my craft.

At least, it will be if the end result is actually something worth reading.

If it’s not? Well then, I better kick ass at that half marathon.

Because otherwise, I will have just wasted almost an entire year celibate for nothing.

And that just wouldn’t be cool.

Hope...

I was having a little post baby shower sadness last night, after hijacking a friend's two month old to cuddle up with for the entire party - which made the actual party easier for me to get through. I am going to need to request infants be available for me to pretend are my own at all baby showers from here on out (because that's totally normal and not creepy at all). Once I got home and there was no baby to cuddle though, the sadness set in. Not unbearable or overwhelming, just that emptiness in my heart I get when I allow myself to wonder "why not me?"

At this shower, there were 2 babies under 5 months and 4 women currently pregnant in total. The "why not me's" were bound to creep in. But last night, while I was trying to get some writing done, I kept getting distracted by them. The questions creeping into my head about my future, and when it would be my turn to be a mommy.

It was as that sadness was starting to take over, that my random itunes playlist served me up with this:

You've got to love the timing of that...

Dairy-Licious

I finished up that elimination and reintroduction diet a few weeks ago, and was surprised at the strong reaction I really did end up having to certain foods. Gluten I was totally fine with (hooray!), but yeast caused an eczema-type rash to erupt on my face (not horray). Rice was fine, but garlic had my entire mouth swelling with tiny little fever blisters (attractive, and also disheartening – I love garlic!) Nuts were no problem, but soy found me gaining 3 pounds of water weight and fighting off cold symptoms for days (no big deal there – soy is bad for endo anyway).

It was funny though, watching these different reactions evolve in the days following adding in a new food. Most of these are foods I had never had a problem with before (or so I thought), but eliminating them and allowing my body to cleanse before adding them back in helped me to realize which foods had likely been causing issues all along to a lesser degree.

The whole point of doing this was to determine which foods were giving me inflammatory reactions, since a lot of the pain I have continued to experience with endometriosis (even since surgery) is inflammatory (mostly in my hips and low back). I went into it truly believing that I didn’t have these kinds of reactions to anything, but was sorely disappointed to see very real proof that I was wrong.

It should be noted that the best visit from jack I have experienced in the last 4 years came during the month I was off every single one of those allergen triggers. This last one was pretty easy as well, but there was definitely more inflammation and pain than there had been in the month before.

Which brings us to dairy. Within 3 days of adding dairy back in, I gained 4 pounds of water weight and was experiencing increased pain in my left hip. There was no denying the fact that it was an inflammatory reaction, but of course – I wanted to deny! After almost 2 months of no dairy at all, I might have gone a little crazy in the week leading up to that visit from Jack. And when I said a “little” crazy… I mean I was eating cheese with at least 2 meals a day.

And it was yummy!

The inflammation only got worse though, and by the time Jack arrived I had gained 8 pounds total (in the time frame of about a week) and not only were my hips and back hurting, but my knees now were as well – something that hasn’t been true at all since I started running again. There were practically zero cramps (regular cardio has made a huge difference there!) but my joints had me pretty miserable. And I knew it was my own fault. I had been eating way too much cheese, and had only myself to blame for the increased pain I was in.

So when Jack made his exit, so did the dairy. I had my week of living on the wild side, and was determined to get back on the straight and narrow (and dairy free) path now. I’ve done pretty well since then. I dropped 6 pounds within a few days (I really hate how obvious the inflammatory reaction is for me and cheese – I can’t even pretend I didn’t notice a difference, because the scale is right there to call me a liar!), and my knees eased up on the pain. I’ve only slipped once in that time, with a sandwich last weekend that I just had to have a slice of Havarti on. My willpower completely abandoned me in that moment, but other than that – I’ve been good.

The healer is adamant that cow’s milk is the actual problem for me and that I will be fine with goat and sheep’s cheeses. I plan on giving that a try here in the next week or so once I’m sure the inflammatory reaction from my previous dairy bender has completely dissipated. I’m hopeful and can’t help but believe her because… this woman is crazy. She is always spot on with what she tells me about my body, simply by placing her hands on me and “listening”. I saw her at some point during my reintroduction phase, and the only thing I had added back in that week was eggs. I hadn’t talked to her about what I added in though, and we had never even really discussed the fact that eggs were on the list of possible allergens. But as she was massaging me (with her hands, and only her hands – need to make that clear, because this is about to get a little unbelievable!) she stopped all of a sudden and started making that sound you make when you’ve tasted something you aren’t sure you like; that smacking of the tongue up against the roof of your mouth. Then she said “We need to talk about eggs. I’m getting a sulfur taste while I’m working on you. Your body is definitely telling me that it does not like eggs. Did you have any this week?”

I about died. And again, just for the record – she was not licking me. But apparently while she was working on me she tasted sulfur and that indicated to her I shouldn’t be having eggs any more. I actually did have a bit of a reaction to eggs that week and had already decided to keep them limited, but this was nuts. This woman is nuts. And I kind of love her for it.

So if she says goat and sheep’s cheeses will be fine, I’m choosing to believe her on that. But I would like to make it a full 2 weeks without any other dairy before I try, just so that I can be sure any previous reaction is completely gone first.

Which is why I had to laugh when a friend asked me this week if I could make a cheese platter for Mrs. King’s baby shower this weekend. I had been offering to help all along, but she seemed to have everything under control – I truthfully think she was just being conscious of my baby shower feelings, which I appreciate more than she probably even knows. But a few days ago, she asked me to make a cheese plate. Since it’s the only thing she has asked me to do, and because of the fact that I have been offering to help from the start (because I’m a glutton for punishment, but also because Mrs. King was one of the most supportive friends I had while I was going through my cycles, and I swear she’s been planning my book launch party for a year. It is incredibly important to me to be as good a friend to her as she has always been to me.) – I felt like I couldn’t say “no”. Most of my friends know I kind of have a gift for cheeseplatters. I take it pretty seriously, and always manage to find new and enticing cheeses that no one has ever tried before. I’m not near the amazing cook some of those close to me are (I blame it on being single and having no one to cook for), but this is one thing I do get asked to make for get-togethers a lot. Well, this and my summer pasta – a crowd pleaser to be sure that is also completely overwhelmed by mozzarella. Still, it is the first time I have been asked to put together a cheese platter since beginning my quest to be dairy free, and I had to laugh at the irony of it as I am trying so hard to keep cheese out of my life. But I couldn’t say “no” either…

Last night I went shopping, and I picked up 5 fancy cheeses that I am sure are going to be amazing. I am sure of it, because you had better believe I already did some tasting.

And as of this morning, I am up 2 extra pounds already. After only a few bites of each. Stupid stupid scale. Stupid stupid cheese.

Stupid stupid cows.

I’m going to put it all together tonight, and I am sure that I will slip some more. Then tomorrow we can pretty much guarantee that I won’t be able to resist either. Not with it looking so pretty and everyone else digging in. Can I really even accept any of the blame at that point?

If you’ve been tuning in to the Fertility Focus Telesummit, you know that my interview is airing tomorrow. I am warning you all now that I talked too fast and too much – but that shouldn’t surprise anyone, should it?

While you’re all listening to me talk about infertility though, I will be at baby shower number 3; steadfastly attempting to avoid the beautiful cheese plate I have made while simultaneously trying to keep my infertile jealousy at bay.

I’m guessing I am going to fail at both.

But hey, at least when the sad feelings start to come up, the cheese will be there for me to gorge on like the true emotional eater that I am.

That sounds healthy, right?

One Day (and why I'm fairly sure I'm owed royalties)

From the very first time I saw the previews for One Day, I knew immediately that it was going to remind me of the devirginator. The premise is a friendship between a man and a woman over the span of something like 20 years, just stopping in on them for the same day every year to see where they are in their lives and relationship at that point.
 

Just so that we’re clear, I’m about to spoil the heck out of this movie. So if you have any interest at all in seeing One Day with Anne Hathaway and you don’t want to know how it ends – turn away now!

Like I said, just based on the previews I knew that this movie was going to remind me of the DV and I. But when the roommate and I finally rented it to watch last week, I couldn’t believe how much it actually paralleled not only our friendship, but some of our basic personality traits as well. The movie starts with the first day they ever spent together, an event that takes place mostly as the result of his trying to get into her pants. But from what they show you then, it seems as though these two decided simply to be friends after a few awkward hits and misses, and the movie goes on from there.

They each have big dreams, but he goes off and pursues his more diligently than she does. He wants to make a life for himself in show business, and she wants to write novels for a living (I’ve told you all before that the DV is an aspiring actor in LA, right?) He goes off and fights to make his own dreams come true, while she chooses the safer route and gets a job she isn’t passionate about, but one that pays the bills. They keep up their friendship mostly over the phone, getting together only when they can manage to be in the same place at the same time. Years go by with him pounding the pavement, and her resigning herself to the life she has. But he is her biggest supporter, always encouraging her (and even pushing her) to follow her dreams and write a book… which she eventually does, almost as a result of his constant nagging.

The way these two related to each other struck me even more. She wanted a quiet and settled life (with babies, love, and happily ever after), while he wanted fame and fortune (bedding as many young blonds as he could in the process). They really have nothing in common at all beyond a shared wit and a clear affection for each other. He is constantly regaling her with stories of his latest conquests, and she is forever giving him shit about his inability to keep it in his pants. I can tell you that these conversations happen between the DV and I on the regular – one of the funniest e-mails I have ever received came from him not too long ago as he typed away wondering how long he should have to wait before waking the girl sleeping next to him and asking her to leave. I love the man, he makes me laugh more than anyone I have ever met, but never would I ever recommend him as a suitable partner for anyone I actually liked.

Which was maybe the point of this movie. These two have built a friendship that is likely the most pure relationship either of them has. It isn’t about sex or happily ever after or judgment or personal demands. It’s just about a mutual love and respect for the other, and an ability to laugh and talk and fight in the way you can only really do with the people who truly know you at your core.

I kind of loved that portrayal of it, and was more than a little bummed when the movie took the Hollywood way out and found these two coming together as a couple about 15 years into their relationship. You see it coming all along I suppose, but it doesn’t happen until he decides to put an end to his sleazy ways and realizes that she is the only person he ever really wanted to settle down with. He practically transforms into a different person before the viewer’s very eyes, and you see these two go on to live a happy life with the marriage, the baby, and the whole shebang.

Oh wait… I guess no baby, because get this: she can't get knocked up! But he is unbelievably warm and caring towards her in their quest to conceive, and as you see it tearing her apart you see him only wrapping her up tighter; finally being the anchor she has needed all along.

OK, so I am a hopeless romantic and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t actually kind of sweet. That is until…

SHE DIED.

Seriously, it was traumatic. She gets hit by a bus and thrown across the road and clearly is gone upon impact. It was quick and unexpected and left me a mess of tears… The roommate and I were both sitting there looking at each other at this point thinking “What the hell just happened?!?” In a burst of anger she said “They could have ended this movie so well! Why did they just do that?”

So now you see this poor guy wallowing in his grief and it is just about the saddest thing ever. The only person who has ever truly loved him exactly as who he is, was now gone.

Tragic I tell you.

But then, it gets better. Or worse? Or just a bigger rip-off of my life up to this point? Whatever - this whole movie you’ve been going along thinking that they didn’t get together for the first time until 15 years into it, but then they flash back. To the day after that very first day. A day you never before see until this point.

And you know what? They totally did it way back then. Sex. It happened. And then they decided they were better off just being friends.

I’m telling you, someone in Hollywood has been observing my relationship with the DV for over a decade, and decided to simply rewrite the ending how they saw fit.

It’s possible that I immediately picked up the phone and sent him a text explaining that even though neither one of us has any interest in changing our relationship now or in the future, we can’t ever let anyone or anything convince us that we should. Ever.

Because if we get together, apparently I die.

And that would just suck.

No matter what kind of royalties we're owed.  

Starting Today!

I just wanted to remind you all that the Fertility Focus Telesummit is starting TODAY!

My interview won't be airing until Saturday, (along with Jessica and Keiko), but between now and then there are still a lot of speakers from a variety of disciplines to listen in on. Don't forget that it's completely free to sign up and select the speakers you are most interested in learning from - so get over there and do it now before you miss out on any more of the action!

P.S. My new laptop is also supposed to finally arrive today, so hopefully - I will be back to business as usual in no time! Which is good, because I am now a week behind on the book (not to mention responding to e-mails) and I have some catch-up to play. But in yet another weekend spent with limited battery life, I found myself once more getting outside and enjoying one of the absolutely beautiful winter days in Alaska we have been blessed with lately. I thought some of you might want to enjoy it too:

This really has been an incredible winter, and I have enjoyed (almost) every minute of it.

But I do just feel the need to point out that I will be totally cool with summer starting any day now. Winter has been great, but it's time for summer to get its turn!

Because Nobody Understands...

There is something about infertility that has a powerful way of making you feel incredibly isolated. I’m not sure what it is exactly, or how it is different from any other painful thing that may happen to you in your life, but… I just know that it is.

The thing I have found most interesting about all of this recent disturbance in the ALI community is the common theme of wanting to belong and be understood that was expressed by almost every single person who has been hurt in this – no matter what side they were on. It’s as if there is a void that has been created by infertility in each of us. One that remains, no matter where in this journey we currently are.

I know I’ve felt it. From day one, I remember feeling as though no one in my life could possibly understand what I was going through. No matter how hard they tried, no matter how there for me they were, and no matter what they said – I couldn’t help but feel unbelievably alone in this.

I don’t remember ever feeling that before. Not really anyway. Not to the same extreme. And it’s not that I had never gone through anything painful before this, because I had. I really had. But something about infertility made me feel more isolated than I had ever felt in my entire life. There were days it truly was excruciating. And even now, I can have conversations with those I love about just about anything that has happened to me in my life with ease, but discussing the wounds that infertility has left in me is almost impossible. And I’m not entirely sure why that is. I can’t quite pinpoint what it was about infertility that made it different from all the other hurts I’ve experienced in my life.

But when I discovered the ALI community, it was like I was finally able to breathe again. I had amazing friends and family standing behind me. I had incredible support. I had all the love a single woman on this journey could ever hope for. But within this community – I found true understanding. I found women who had felt my same hurts and faced my same fears. I found something to eradicate that loneliness and isolation I had been feeling through infertility.

The sad truth is though; even here I suppose there has always been a part of me that has felt a little… separated? First because I was single on this journey, then because I wasn’t able to get pregnant (even in trying everything there was to try), and finally because I have chosen to stop treatments; leaving me in this state of limbo where I honestly have no idea what comes next. I just know that I am not a mommy, even though I still desperately want to be. And I know that at least for the foreseeable future, I am not doing anything to change that status. I am not seeking treatments, I am not pursuing adoption, and I have not chosen to live out my life without children. I have simply pressed the pause button, waiting for something (or someone) to come along and help me to make the next choice. Because to be perfectly honest – I had grown exhausted with making these decisions on my own. And even more than that, I had grown exhausted with facing the sad outcomes on my own. I just didn’t have it in me to push any further without someone who loved me by my side holding my hand the rest of the way. So until he gets his shit together and turns up, I’m in limbo. And I can’t tell you how many times that has made me wonder where my place in this community is as well. I am not a mother, and for the time being I am not trying to be one either. But I am also not choosing to live my life child free. I’m just… stuck. So, where does that leave me? Except lost and alone in limbo.

I am sure we could all paint similar pictures. Stories we have built up in our own heads that reflect why we don’t belong. Why even here, we are in a sense alone – believing that no one could possibly understand. The comments on Mel's recent posts reflect that. Over and over again, women simply expressing a need to find a community where they fit in. Because for many, it seems as though what has been built here still leaves them feeling on the outside. Maybe it’s because no matter how similar some of our stories are, they are still not the same. We are each individuals, with our own histories, our own hurts, our own limitations, and our own capacities for healing and moving forward. No matter how much we may all connect over the shared (and unwanted) bond of infertility – we all still have our own stories to tell that are shaded a million different ways from the stories of everyone else. Sometimes I think that maybe we forget that, believing that infertility has us bonded so tightly that surely we must all be thinking exactly alike. Which only makes it all the more painful when we step back and realize that there really is no one who understands exactly where it is we are coming from, no matter how similar our stories may be.

But the truth of the matter is, the women here in this community understand better than anyone else. No matter where they are in this journey, they still get where you are better than anyone else could. And there is something to that. Something that should be preserved and nurtured. Yes, we have our differences. And it is possible (even probable) that everyone within this community may not be someone you would choose to be friends with in real life. But we are bound by something that no one else in our lives could ever possibly understand. And in that, there lie relationships that I think we all need to some extent.

Because we all just want to be understood.

In working towards healing this divide, Mel has proposed some healing salons be hosted to begin a dialogue. I love this idea, mostly because I see it as a way we can all begin discussing the pros and cons of this community and the ways we can all work to make it a resource for comfort and support rather than just one more set of relationships in our lives where we are left feeling as though no one could possibly understand. I’ve volunteered to host one of these salons, and for the purpose of doing so – I am opening up comments on this post to facilitate the discussion.

If you are curious what the purpose of these healing salons really is – check out Mel’s post describing her thoughts behind it. As of tomorrow, she will have a post listing out all the salons that have been started so that you can go from one to the other participating in the various discussions if you would like.

My thoughts on this situation were posted earlier this week, and you can read that here. There has also been a conversation going on over on the community that has been dedicated to discussing the issues that have come up this week, and I definitely think it is worth checking out and participating in if you have something to add.

But for the purpose of the healing salon, Mel has asked each of the hosts to come up with a set of questions they would like to see the conversation focused on. These are the ones I came up with:

1. What was it about infertility that left you feeling the most alone?
2. What was it about the ALI community that helped to fill that void?
3. In what ways do you still feel alone within the ALI Community?
4. And finally – is there someone (or perhaps a group of someone’s?) within this community who has supported you along your own journey that you would like to give a shout out to and thank now?

I wanted to add the last one, because sometimes I think it is really easy to focus on the ways in which we have felt left behind, while forgetting all the ways in which we have been embraced. I know I personally have many within this community to thank. Mel was one of the first I connected to and learned from. Alissa, Megan, Keely, Maranda, and Elizabeth were the women who transcended the blog connection to show up in person for a much needed girls night in Seattle during my second cycle. Kim and her quest for natural treatments has left me feeling not so alone in my own quest for the same. Lindsey has been my real life friend and cheerleader on my road to recovery in this last year. Holly and Sarah were rooting me on and reaching out frequently during my cycles and my failures (Holly once mailed me homemade brownies after I chastised her for announcing publically she had made them [because it made me want brownies] - I laughed so hard when I got that package!) Elle and I have exchanged exhaustive e-mails about our frustrations over being "extreme" cases. Angie and Ali have always been there with words of support. Michaela and Shannon were the single women on this journey I found myself relating to the most. And Adoptive Momma of Three has been a safe and encouraging ear for me to go to with my fears and reservations about adoption as I have come to terms with the realities of that as my future.

In making this list, I think it is interesting to note (in light of some of the current discussions surrounding a loss of support once reaching certain milestones) that all of these women are in very different stages now of their own infertility journeys. Some are still trying, some have walked away, some are pregnant, and some are now parenting. Yet, our differences in where we are now has never once made me want to step away from the relationships I've formed with any of them. These women are still huge sources of support to me, and I hope that in my own way - I am to them as well.

I know that there are more. I am sure that there are more! And I hope that in leaving anyone out, I am not making you feel any less appreciated than you are. I am grateful every single day for the support I have received in this world. And for all the times I have felt alone or as if no one could possibly understand, one of you has always been there to remind me how wrong I am. So thank you. To each and every one of you who have been there for me along this journey – thank you.

Now it’s your turn. Comments are open, and I am looking forward to your answers to the questions above – hopeful that they will lead to thoughtful discussions about what we each have gained from this community, and what we each could be doing more of to continue making it a space of support and understanding.

Let the healing begin…

Don’t They Get Cold?

That was the question I had last weekend, as I watched team after team of dog mushers trot by.

It was the start of the 2012 Iditarod, and the first time I’ve ever driven out to the valley to watch the teams take off. Over 60 teams that have now been racing since Sunday, on their way from Wasilla, AK to Nome, AK.

It’s a long race, and kind of a big deal in Alaska. But all I could think about as I watched these teams race by was how freaking cold they must get, night after night, camping outside with their dogs.

And then day after day mushing the team.

I was kind of fascinated by the whole thing. Let’s just say that for me – this is not something I would ever choose to do. But some of the teams seemed so enthusiastic and excited. It was definitely a cool thing to witness.

And we couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day to witness it.

The sun was out, there was plenty of snow machining to be had, we kept the fire going on the ice, and we had a blast all day long.

In other news, I got registered for my first ever triathlon today. On May 20th, I will be swimming 500 yards, biking 10 miles, and then running 4.1 miles. I am beyond excited. Probably even more excited for this than the half marathon I will be running in June.

It’s not the Iditarod, but… it’s my own Everest.

And at least I won’t have to sleep outside in the cold to do it!