Attempting to live and breathe for an audience of one
I’m done having kids, especially for the sake of my mental health. If I were to have an accident, I would have to terminate the pregnancy. It really, mentally, is life or death for me, and I have to choose my life.
What a turnaround from being “pro-life”! What happened that I’m now pro-choice?
Continue reading “An about-face”My postpartum depression (PPD) was instant. The day my son was born—after my placenta was taken out—my pregnancy hormones plummeted and my emotions went off a cliff.
I cried nearly every day for the first 5 weeks of my son’s life. What should have been a happy, joyous time in my life was filled with overwhelming sadness and hopelessness. I felt guilty about everything:
The characteristics of PPD? You name it, I had it.
And very many other things.
People encouraged me to have confidence as a mother but I now recognize that confidence is something that develops over time. I’m more confident with my son 9 weeks postpartum but I’ll probably feel ever better 19 weeks postpartum.
I like to think I’m out of the woods with PPD. Feelings of intense sadness, hopelessness, and worthlessness have gone away. Scary thoughts have mostly disappeared. Panic attacks, which used to be frequent, have become rare. But I’m not out of the woods yet. I’m still adjusting to this motherhood thing. I’m still afraid of hurting my son. Sometimes I’m afraid that I made the biggest mistake of my life—one that I can never undo.
I frequently don’t feel up to the challenge of being a mother. Even though it requires very little from me (eg, changing diapers, bottle feeding), it feels as though I have to give the world.
I want to enjoy motherhood—fully and completely. Although I have glimmers and moments, I’m still very scared to be alone with my son. I am highly dependent upon others to help me take care of him.
In one sense, that’s great—I have a supportive and loving community. On the other hand, I feel like a complete and utter loser.
I’m still in the middle of my PPD journey. Nine weeks postpartum and I’ve made some progress. But I have a long way to go.
The majority of my pregnancy was difficult. Although I wasn’t on complete bed rest, a perinatologist (er, ultrasound doctor) evaluating my case recommended partial bed rest.
Where to begin? Continue reading “My Pregnancy Story: Difficulties and Challenges”
This post isn’t exactly fun to write, but I am making it public in the hopes that it might help someone who may feel similarly. I’ve been seeing posts written by other women about the topic of postpartum adjustments and it feels important to add my voice to the mix. Continue reading “Learning to Love My Son”
Hello all,
It’s been a while since I’ve written about anything on this blog, mainly because I haven’t had much to write about. But after Shady Grove Fertility, which I will henceforth refer to as SGF, highlighted the brief mention I gave them on my end-of-summer update, I decided that I want to write about my TTC (trying to conceive) experience and the incredible role SGF and its staff played in my fertility journey. (I will be using the pronouns “my” and “me,” but please recognize that this fertility journey is really an “us” and “we” experience that includes my spouse.) P.S. This post may be a bit on the long side, so settle in with a nice cup of coffee or tea. Continue reading “This Fertility Journey Is My Own”
It’s nearly the end of summer, and I haven’t blogged at all in the past 3 months.
I suppose the big news is that I am 4 months pregnant with our first child thanks to fertility treatments. (I highly recommend Shady Grove Fertility if you live in the mid-Atlantic states.) The first three months were a bit rough going as I was sick on and off, But I’m feeling much better now that I’m in my second trimester.
I submitted queries to agents for my completed novel, Getting Right with God, and was rejected by all of them. How disappointing. And after sending to an editor and having a few established writers review the opening pages of my work, I realize that I still have more work and more revision to do. I’m afraid that the book itself just isn’t marketable, but I’m not willing to self-publish. What a conundrum.
I am working on a novel idea for NaNoWriMo in which a black teenage girl from New York City relocates to the Philadelphia suburbs and attends a posh, primarily white private school. Conflict ensues!
Other than that, I’ve just been working like crazy at the library as a library assistant. I attended two book club meetings this week, which were actually quite enjoyable. We read Beauty Queens by Libba Bray for one and The Hunger Games trilogy (yes, that’s all three books) for another. On my own, I’m reading several books at once:
Quiet is the most intriguing book of all to me. I’m afraid A History of the World… is going to be rather dry reading.
I wish I had more interesting things to say. There are so many topics going on: President Obama’s second term, Syria, the Affordable Care Act, Egypt, Russia… but alas, I have no brainpower or opinions of my own on any of these things, So enjoy this brief update.
My expectations of fertility clinics has changed now that I’ve been through the ringer twice. I used to expect (naive little me) that fertility clinics would be warm, welcoming places for couples who were suffering through infertility. Now I know better. Now I know that it’s a business, and fertility clinics are only out to make money—helping people get pregnant is just a means to an end.
The first time around at the fertility clinic, the nurses were nice, but the doctors cool and impersonal. My husband and I were just another number, just another dollar sign. I still get upset when I think of my first and last IUI (intrauterine insemination) there. The doctor was so flippant about how he thought it wouldn’t work. It’s like he took a dump on our $800 before flushing it down the toilet.
But I’m going back to a fertility clinic—a different one this time. I’m not as naive as the first time around. I get it. I’m a huge dollar sign. The more advanced the treatment (see IVF), the better. But I’ve got limits. I will have these doctors, however impersonal they are, help me get pregnant. I’ll attempt IUIs but not much more than that (mostly because I can’t afford it).
I guess I should admit that I’m grateful that the nurses weren’t impersonal, but were even kind, warm, and caring. But there’s nothing caring about getting a cold internal ultrasound shoved in your uterus. But ovulation kits don’t work for me so I need to rely on the advanced, expensive stuff.
After almost 4 years of trying to get pregnant and not succeeding, I know we need medical intervention. At the new fertility clinic, we could have up to a 2-hour consultation with the doctor. I hope the detailed history and visit will prove beneficial to producing a child later this year.
Sigh.
I have the funny feeling if I get the privilege of being a mom, I’m going to have one high-maintenance kid (a lot like his mother).
Lots of baby announcements that are not yours.
Writing about infertility has actually been difficult for me lately. It leaves me with stilted language and incomplete thoughts. I have privately published posts with words here and there—words that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but convey the pain and sadness in my own heart.
The crappy thing about infertility is that it often leaves the sufferer with an unhealthy dose of envy. Suddenly one must battle covetousness in ways like never before.
I know someone who isn’t able to attend a baby shower because it is unlikely she will ever have kids of her own. I can only attend baby showers for very close friends, and even then, it is difficult for me to do so with complete and joyful abandon.
Infertility has brought the cream of my sinfulness to the top, and I really hope God skims it right off.
Happy is the woman (or man) who can joyously celebrate another couple’s announced pregnancy without feeling a twinge of envy or bitterness!
Preggomagnetism: The basic mechanism by which pregnancy announcements of others are drawn to infertile couples.
In the past 3 months, I’ve learned of 8 women who are pregnant. After 2 years of dealing with this, I should be used to it. I should start being happy for all of them and stop being bitter. I keep trying to tell myself that I’ll one day join that happy category but month after month goes by and I’m still childless.
I’ve finally made steps to join a local infertility support group. Why not? I can piss and moan about not having kids to other people who feel the same way.
A friend has kindly told me that I need to stop comparing myself to other people. This has made me realize my habit of “Keeping Tabs on the Joneses” rather than “Keeping up with the Jonses.” I have the ability to look at what everyone else has and think wistfully, Gee, I wish I could have that.
Perhaps it’s my friend’s maturity in age and longevity of infertility that allowed her to not experience that problem. I suppose there’s something to be said for the resiliency developed the longer one deals with the problem.
Infertility (when you don’t want it) is a curse. Of course, there are those well-meaning people who say, “Enjoy the time you and your husband have! You’ll never get it back!” or “Enjoy your child-free years! God is using this period to teach you something valuable!”
Bottom line: there is no blessing in dealing with pain, grief, and hurt month after month. It’s hard not to be angry with God because He chooses to bless some couples with kids and doesn’t allow others to have any. Because health insurance costs have become an issue, my husband and I will not be able to pursue infertilty treatments for the rest of the year. We’re praying for a miracle.
But not expecting one at all.
Two years ago, I began a journey to have a kid. I wrote about the implications of trying to conceive (TTC) and mental illness on my other blog, depression introspection, more than a year ago.
Now thousands of dollars and a few medical treatments later, I am still childless. Sure, I haven’t been on the infertility journey for as long as many other couples but to hear doctors already talking IVF (in vitro fertilization) doesn’t give me much hope.
I’ve been using my conception journey as a form of gauging how much God loves me. Yes, I know, it’s inaccurate. Yes, I know, being childless is not God’s way of punishing me and my husband. I know these things.
And then I see people conceive on the first try. “Fertile Myrtle.” I watch other women cry over brief pregnancies and think, “You’re still more of a mother than I’ve ever been.”
It’s interesting how there are different ranges of infertility. In the course of two years, most couples who have tried for that long have experienced at least one miscarriage. So far, we have no hope that we can ever conceive a child. And it makes me angry.
I’m angry because I thought God called us to be parents. I’m angry because I hated kids, didn’t want them, and now I’m sitting here grieving over what I don’t have and money I hoped would get me to where I wanted to be.
I’m sad because I watch parents take their children for granted and not realize what a blessing it is to have what so many others cannot.
And I’m angry with God. Because this is all under His control. At the end of the day, I play roulette with science and hope in God. And God consistently tells me “no.”
So what am I supposed to do? Where do I turn now? Where do I go?
I know that being pregnant won’t make things A-OK with God. I have a lot of issues to work through. My husband does too. But I just want to know that I’m not some woman filled with a delusion of being a mom. I want to know that God is somewhere saying, “Yeah, keep working at it, but not yet.” I want to know that He still cares about me and my husband.
And I was really hoping to give a big middle finger to the doctor who made us feel like we were wasting our money during the last cycle. I guess he knows what he’s talking about and we’re the fools who threw money into a long-shot gamble.
I’m just beside myself with grief and pain today.
I haven’t blogged about this topic often, and in retrospect, I’m not sure why. (It’s my blog; I can say whatever the hell I want.)
Millions of women go through the same thing I go through each month and they seem to be just fine in public. Sometimes I cannot go out in public because I’m so affected. Continue reading “Christian and Childless, Not By Choice”
What does it look like for God to be working in my life? What do I expect?
In August 2008, God flicked some kind of switch inside of me that made me desire to have children. I was absolutely distraught upon the realization of this. I’d never desired children of my own before then. In fact, my current husband and I nearly broke up over the issue when we were dating because I was so adamant about not wanting to give bear children.
But a lot can change in a few years.
That August, I cried my little heart out because I never, ever wanted to have kids of my own. I didn’t want to be pregnant and I didn’t want to go through labor. (I still don’t but it’s kind of necessary to have a baby biologically.) I was very angry with God. And in many ways, I still struggle with this because I simply didn’t think it was fair for Him to change my heart to something I never wanted. (Nevermind the fact that He controls the universe and other important miscellany.)
Before that fateful August, I could babysit kids or serve in the church nursery and think to myself, “Ah, this is the best form of birth control.” Now, my heart aches because every time I hold a child, I know I’ll have to give it back because it’s not my own. And it’s frustrating to feel this way when I know the happiness of not feeling that way.
I don’t like talking about my desire for children because I’m still not completely comfortable with it. But then again, I’m not completely comfortable with the fact that I’m a woman with an emotional pendulum now.
I need to accept that as a result of getting older, some things will change. My moods are like roller coasters and I cry more often. And boy, do I hate crying. In fact, I loathe it. I loathe it when women cry at the drop of a hat. And to become one of those women disturbs me.
So now I cry at least once a month when I am faced with the fact that it is yet another month that I am not with child. The crazy thing is, I don’t think I want a child that badly. But I do find myself a bit more sympathetic to women of the Bible like Sarah, Hannah, and Rachel who struggled with barrenness—especially since their worth was essentially based off of whether they could bear children and how many of them they had bore (namely sons).
And with a few pregnant friends, I find myself battling with envy. I want to be totally happy for them. What bothers me most is that two years ago, I was able to be genuinely happy. But now, I think to myself, “Why not me? What’s wrong with me? Am I meant to have a child? My cycle works just fine so why is it taking me so long?” I wouldn’t want to take away from the happiness of any of my friends but at the same time, I find that my envy prevents me from being happy for them as I’d normally be.
I tried to explain my puzzlement over my enviousness to my husband. I said, “I don’t think I’ve really struggled with this until I desired a kid of my own.” He countered, “Oh yes, you do.” He began listing a few moments in my life where envy reared its ugly head and I immediately found myself forced to agree with him.
“Remember how you felt when you saw what your college classmates were doing and where they worked?”
Oh yeah. They worked at the New York Times, the NY Daily News, the NY Post, Newsday. Ah yes, and Newsday, a place I could have worked at too. (Now, I’m glad I effectively slammed the door shut on the opportunity. It’s a sinking ship.)
I spoke to a friend recently telling her of my struggle with envy. She wisely encouraged me to repent of my sin.
An issue I struggle with is not coming to terms with my age. I recently turned 28 but am often told I look like I’m barely 21. (This agelessness runs in my family.) Since I don’t look 28 and don’t “feel” 28, I don’t consider myself to be 28. I still view my peers to be older than me. (In many instances, they are but not by much.)
So when I see so many of my friends getting pregnant and having children, I am baffled as to why there is this baby boom I’m stuck in the middle of. I’ve always looked at other pregnant women and thought, “I’m too young for that.” I tell my husband that I hate being part of trends so I’ll probably wait until all my friends are done having kids. Then he drops the bomb on me: if I wait, I’ll be 40 before I can have kids.
My husband proceeded to tell me in no uncertain terms that the reason many of my friends are pregnant is because we’re all at that age. While I’ve accepted that my friends are old enough to have steady jobs, get married, and have kids, I never lumped myself in that group. I’ve always thought “I’m too young to have kids” when I’ve grown into an age when it is acceptable for me to do so.
Having been brought up in the New York City (NYC) metro area, I grew up with the mindset that I’d graduate from college, become a career woman, get married between the ages of 25-30, and maybe (maybe) have or adopt children in my 30’s—if ever. In NYC, children are not something you seriously consider before the age of 30.
My mindset has been perpetually stuck at 21 despite the fact that I’ve graduated college. Factually, I know I’m an adult, I can drink alcohol legally, hold down a job responsibly, and get married. Factually, I understand this like 2 + 2 = 4. And for a long time, I was always the youngest in the family, looking up to older people so I still possess that “I’m a baby” mentality. And babies shouldn’t be having babies, right?
But I’m not a baby anymore. Someone needs to hammer into my head that I’m almost 30 and married. Someone needs to shake me and tell me I’m a responsible adult now and it’s okay for me to have children before the age of 33. Someone needs to tell me that I’m getting old and by the time I start to “feel” 30, it’ll be too late for me to have kids.
Readers already over 30 years of age will probably scoff and think, “Oh, whatever. You’re still young.” I’m not arguing the fact that I’m still young. What I am saying is that I’m not as young as I think. And it’s a problem I’m not sure how to rectify.
This Journey Is My Own 