Unresolved Infertility: "Healing" and the Holidays

(Photo taken by Michelle Reed of MishReed Photography)

I have remained pretty quiet lately. I wish I could say it is because I no longer think about our IVF loss and infertility daily. That is not the reason for my silence. Unfortunately, the reason is my constant fear of dismissal of my feelings and grief the farther away our failed cycles fall on our life timeline. The fact is, I have been openly criticized for still carrying the losses so heavily, so being vulnerable has been difficult.

If I am being honest, I also become frustrated with myself that I have not progressed further. This caused me to really, really think about why that may be. It also resulted in me wondering how others could be so assured about where I should be emotionally, especially on anniversaries of cycle losses or around big events like holidays, birthday parties, and baby showers. After a lot of contemplation, I finally had an epiphany.

This is so hard to overcome because we never overcame infertility. Infertility and endometriosis had the last word. I never got to experience the pregnancy or first-time motherhood milestones I dreamed about. I never saw a positive pregnancy test. I never got to see the look of excitement on my husband's face when I told him we would finally be having a baby. I never got to see an ultrasound photo. I never got to surprise my family with the news they would be a sister, grandparents, aunts, or uncles. I never got to hold my infant with my little family by my side. I never got to see "baby's first" anything. And, I never will.

Although I know my worth - and no one's worth - is contingent on the ability to have children, this reality still sucks. A lot. Every holiday is a reminder of those moments I will never get to experience. Every birthday party is a reminder of those birthday parties I will never get to plan for my own child. Every baby shower is a reminder of something I will never get to experience. And as much as I want those feelings to go away, as many therapy sessions doing EMDR as I have done, as much as I continue to process as my brain will allow, I think there is something to be said about the fact that our infertility journey has this word attached to it: unresolved.

This is not at all to diminish the feelings of other warriors who have gone on to have children. Infertility on all fronts is hard and even with "resolved" (I say that loosely...I don't think you ever truly resolve this) infertility. But, I think I also don't post as much as I think because I don't ever want to make women who have had babies at some point during their infertility journeys to feel "survivor's guilt". At the same time, remaining quiet does not do the community of women like me any favors. We exist. And it is lonely.

As Christmas approaches, this is your friendly reminder that it is never okay to ask a couple when they are going to have kids. This is your friendly reminder to please not judge those who may feel down during the holidays because of infertility. This is your friendly reminder that it is never our place to put a timeline one someone else's grief, no matter what that grief may be about.

Before you leave thinking I am just doom and gloom, I will say this...it DOES get "easier". The grief hits me less frequently than in years past, even if the intensity of that grief feels the same as it did year one. The time it takes to recover from those episodes of grief gets shorter. Or, at least it has for me. It is still a work in progress and I know I still have work I need to do in therapy, but brains only allow us to process so much before shutting down as a coping mechanism. I feel optimistic that despite the unresolved nature of my infertility, I will continue to have less "bad" days and more "good" days. I am grateful for each day I do not spend at a level six-to-seven pain because my endometriosis kept coming back so quickly. I know I made the right choice, but it does not make stomaching that decision any easier. I was forced to choose between my health and my dream of having children, and that is not a great feeling. It is definitely compounded by the fact that at one point, my infertility was maliciously thrown in my face. 

To my fellow warriors, this is my gentle reminder to you that you can feel more than one feeling and it be completely valid. You can feel excited and happy for the children you have while also grieving those you lost. You can feel happy for another couple for their exciting news while also feeling sad for yourself. You can appreciate the things you do have in life that others do not have while also feeling disappointment for what you do not have. There is space for all of those feelings and I am a firm believer that we would all be more emotionally healthy if we just accepted that our emotions are complicated and that nothing is black-and-white. If you have known me for even a couple of years, you probably know how huge it is that I am able to get out of a black-and-white-thinking pattern.

No matter where you are on your journey...and no matter what feelings may creep up on you...I want you to know this above all things: your feelings are valid and you are seen. My hope is that even if you are experiencing a high level of grief, you can still find some brightness in this holiday season, even if it is just in the smallest of ways.

Happy holidays, friends. And remember...no matter what, YOU are enough.

An Open Letter to My Fellow Warriors

I started this draft on 8/5/2017 and I never finished it. When I first went to write, this is all I had:

Dear Invisible Illness Sisters,

You may or may not know me personally.  But can we be completely honest?  It doesn't matter if we have met or not.  Because we already know each other.

We already understand the pain of our invisible illness.  And, because of that, together we are sisters.  

As I sit here on a Monday evening, I find my body and spirit exhausted but my mind wide awake. That is usually a sign for me that something is on my mind that I need to get off of my mind before I can rest. So, I logged on and began sifting through drafts. I noticed a theme, so clearly at the time I did not have the courage to write what I am ready to write.

I guess I now require a second preface to this post. My posts come from many different places: awareness and facts, how to help support loved ones, how I am currently feeling, encouraging hope, acknowledging feelings...

Sometimes those feelings are all. Negative. With those, I still try to put some sort of positive spin. The theme I noticed about the unpublished posts? They were all out of a place of raw anger and confusion with zero resolve and zero sunshine and rainbows.

So, here it is. Unfiltered. Completely my thoughts. Some you may find you relate to. Others you'll notice are very specific to my story and case. I hope that even despite the lack of sunny demeanor, you can relate and feel less alone for at least one moment. Without further ado, here is the entire letter to you.

Dear Invisible Illness Sisters,

You may or may not know me personally.  But can we be completely honest?  It doesn't matter if we have met or not.  Because we already know each other.

We already understand the pain of our invisible illness.  And, because of that, together we are sisters.

I wish today I were writing you out of a place of hope and encouragement that everything is going to be okay. That reassurance and positivity is so important throughout this process. But can I be honest with you? Sometimes, that is JUST. NOT. POSSIBLE. I wish it were, and maybe it is for some people. And I am so happy for those who it is possible for. 

But as someone who never got to live out my dream of having my own sweet baby, I know the stark reality of never realizing a dream you wanted so badly it physically hurts you. It physically hurts all the way from your heart. You feel it tightening your throat as your eyes begin to sting, all while feeling like your heart is being ripped to shreds inside your chest. Blinding anger but sheer defeat leaves you feeling both ready to fight and ready to just collapse onto the floor.

On my darkest days, I wonder...

What did I do wrong?

What did I do to deserve this?

What could I have done differently?

On my darkest days, I think to myself...

This is all my fault.

I am being punished.

I deserve this.

I did not do enough.

On my darkest days I tell myself...

It is probably best you did not have a baby because you have health issues and those health issues would be all your fault.

It is probably best you did not have a baby because there are challenges you would have faced with having a baby.

You have no biological connection to anyone you know and you never will...and shame on you for thinking biology means everything, even though you know that is not true.

You did not deserve a baby because you were not good enough.

This is your fault because you have endometriosis.

This is your fault because you did not listen to your gut instincts.

Friends, I know those statements are not true. Logically. But in the darkness, each of those feelings feels so real. It feels as real as those dreams I had for my sweet angels. It feels as heart-wrenching as those calls I got telling me we had nothing to transfer. I feel nothing but darkness and sorrow for what could have been. I feel nothing but contempt for myself because I feel like it is all my fault. After all, there is no such thing as coincidence, right? Or what do I know. I could not even have kids.

These places of darkness are so, so real. And they are lonely. And scary. So my plea to you tonight, my friends and fellow warriors is to please have someone you feel you can trust. Have someone you can be as brutally honest with as I was with you. I am also here. You can email me or message me on our Facebook page.

The darkness does lift. And the deeper into the darkness we are, the longer finding the light will take. But, the light will come, albeit dim. But even some light is better than none at all.

Love,

Your Infertility Sister