MY LAST BLOG POST
In January 2017, I wrote a blog post announcing our infertility. At the time, I had been struggling silently for a year and it seemed important to be open. I didn’t know how this would help or what the results would be, but it just felt right. For quite some time, it continued to be therapeutic and empowering. Now, after sharing our journey for a year and a half, I’ve decided that this will be my last blog post.
I want to say that my experience being vulnerable has been a mixture of both joy and grief. Opening myself up to the world has connected me with a community that I never knew existed. For both Jk and myself, friendships blossomed when others reached out to tell us they had been in our shoes. I found and shared comfort with strangers and close friends.
But with that openness, my life opened up for scrutiny. Perhaps because I was publicly honest about my feelings, others felt they had could be blunt with me. Eventually, I developed a fear of unsolicited advice and criticism, which carried over into other aspects of my personal life.
Recently, I thought I might be pregnant. I won’t share all of the details, but I will say that it became very clear to me that I care too much about judgement from other people. Among thoughts of “You probably aren’t pregnant” and “What if you really are?” were thoughts that haunted me. Things like, “I don’t want people to belittle my years of pain with infertility” and “How will we justify this to our friends and family who contributed to our adoption fund?”
I’m not pregnant. And there is no progress with adoption. And we haven’t tried IVF. And we aren’t looking into foster care. And every single day for the last 930 days, I have thought about the possibility of never having children. Often, I feel an overwhelming sense of internal pressure that I’m not doing enough or I’m not pursuing the right method. What I’m saying is that I put enough stress on myself and I don’t need it from the outside, too. When the time eventually comes to have a child, no matter how they are brought to us, I want every thought in my head to be positive, every bone in my body to feel relief, and every fiber of my heart to be filled with joy.
I appreciate the opportunity I’ve had to share our infertility journey through my blog. I am grateful for those who have followed our story from the beginning as well as those who joined us somewhere along the way. Whether you’ve read one post or all, thank you. Overall, it has been a positive experience and I don’t regret a thing. It’s just time to move on. Infertility has become a part of my identity, which I have chosen to embrace. However, my life is about so much more than this. It’s about learning and growing and laughing and struggling, all while being in love.
“Sharing the things that we’re afraid will make us appear less in others’ eyes makes us stronger” (Chrissy Metz, This Is Me).
I want to say that my experience being vulnerable has been a mixture of both joy and grief. Opening myself up to the world has connected me with a community that I never knew existed. For both Jk and myself, friendships blossomed when others reached out to tell us they had been in our shoes. I found and shared comfort with strangers and close friends.
But with that openness, my life opened up for scrutiny. Perhaps because I was publicly honest about my feelings, others felt they had could be blunt with me. Eventually, I developed a fear of unsolicited advice and criticism, which carried over into other aspects of my personal life.
“There is only the medicine of believing each other’s pain, and being present for it” (Jonathan Safran Foer, Here I Am).
I’m not pregnant. And there is no progress with adoption. And we haven’t tried IVF. And we aren’t looking into foster care. And every single day for the last 930 days, I have thought about the possibility of never having children. Often, I feel an overwhelming sense of internal pressure that I’m not doing enough or I’m not pursuing the right method. What I’m saying is that I put enough stress on myself and I don’t need it from the outside, too. When the time eventually comes to have a child, no matter how they are brought to us, I want every thought in my head to be positive, every bone in my body to feel relief, and every fiber of my heart to be filled with joy.
“To thine own self be true” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet).
I appreciate the opportunity I’ve had to share our infertility journey through my blog. I am grateful for those who have followed our story from the beginning as well as those who joined us somewhere along the way. Whether you’ve read one post or all, thank you. Overall, it has been a positive experience and I don’t regret a thing. It’s just time to move on. Infertility has become a part of my identity, which I have chosen to embrace. However, my life is about so much more than this. It’s about learning and growing and laughing and struggling, all while being in love.
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Afterword:
For my own peace of mind, I want to acknowledge everyone who contributed to our adoption fund one last time. THANK YOU! Thank you again & thank you to infinity—I can never say it enough. The money that you contributed has helped pay for all of our adoption expenses to this point: an education course, a consultation with an adoption lawyer, a home study & associated fees (fingerprinting cards, lab fees for physical exam, etc.). Adoption is still our plan. But regardless of whether it works out for us or not, I hope you feel that we are doing our best to be honest. We are forever grateful for your love and support. Your help is a debt we can never repay but hope to pay forward.
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