Why is that? Why does a week of awareness, a week of educating others about this so-called disease, a week of acknowledging these trials feel like something harsh? Bringing awareness to certain issues is a great thing! As humans we should spend more time 1) creating awareness and 2) being open-minded and accepting of information we learn from others.
However, I still have this lingering dread about acknowledging this week. By acknowledging that I know this NIAW week exists (get AT me, acronyms!), I'm acknowledging that infertility is officially part of our lives. There. I said it. Freddie and I are dealing with unexplained infertility--that is what is written in Sharpie, forever marked on my life. Until recently, in my brain I've been able to separate our not conceiving by telling myself things like, Oh! It's just taking us awhile longer than most people. Or Life has a lot of stressors right now. Next month will be the month! But then the months keep passing by, and we keep seeing the same negative results. I don't think I started accepting that there might be more going on until we started working with a Reproductive Endocrinologist this past January, and it wasn't until our first unsuccessful IUI that the potential reality of this really started to sink in.
So I cried. A lot. A lot *more* I should say. I've already written a post on this here blog about how I've been crying a lot lately, but I started crying a lot more. I started trying to make sense of it all (rookie mistake! We as humans can't make sense or control basically anything). Of why couples around us can conceive fairly easily, yet Freddie and I can't (another rookie mistake! don't compare, Emily!). Of why couples who had been struggling along with us were starting to conceive and we still were not. Of what else we could do to make it happen. Of why our tests can keep coming back normal and healthy, but we keep seeing nothing. Of how yet another cycle could be unsuccessful through medication and insemination of millions of sperm (Yah, I just said sperm. You're welcome).
Of why my body was failing me.
Of why my body wasn't doing one of the most natural things it can do.
Of why our love wasn't good enough to make a child.
And you know what's crazy? Freddie and I are almost two years and a few "invasive" treatments into this, but two years is only a blip in time compared to a lot of couples dealing with infertility.
So...we're all on the same page, right? That all those past few sentences ^up^ there are ridiculous. On my good days I can very easily and logically say I know all of that up here is malarkey and this just happens, but on my bad days I spiral deep into this mental circus of negativity, sadness, and anxiety. To the max. Add on more xxx's (and I don't mean the baby making kind of x's. Wink).
Enter now. I've wanted to come back to this space and write something for a while. The two recent posts on which I've clicked "publish" have been therapeutic in a way, but when I pulled up this tab I just sat here watching the cursor blink blink blink. How do I start writing about our journey without making it sound like a woe-is-me party? (uhh we're about eight paragraphs too late on that...)
Because here's the thing--the biggest gift I feel like this journey is giving me is empathy. I don't share snippets of our story because I'm throwing a pity party (read that about three times more). I share snippets of our story because it is the BEST reminder that 1) I'm not alone, 2) You're not alone, and 3) Life is hard for everyone. On days when I am so far lost at sea, drowning in my own built-up sadness, I look around and realize there are a lot of other heads bobbing up and down around me in the water.
Let's say on a normal day in one of my Pilates classes there's an average of twelve clients. One is probably dealing with an aging, sick parent. One might have a special needs child at home. One might have a terrible boss who is constantly crossing lines of what is and isn't appropriate at work. More than one probably has some past trauma that still haunts them, and pretty much everyone is dealing with some kind of loss in their lives. Yet they show up. They come to move and better themselves. They practice self-care. Sometimes they might not show up and sometimes the self-care might fall short on their to-do lists so when I see them I want to connect. I want to share some light and positivity. I want them to know that they aren't alone so I can remind myself that I also am not alone. I want my gut instinct to always include kindness. I know not everyone can share their struggles, with infertility or any life event, but for me I have to share. I just have to. My head will most definitely go underwater if I don't share it, so I'm sharing it for you and for me. So I can maybe help your head stay above water, too.
I'm not okay. Not in the least. I'm still feeling so sad and still trying so hard to process whatever might come our way, no matter how long our journey is (or isn't!). I think about this 24/7 and feel like I can't escape it, even when I'm laughing or out with friends and family. But I know you might not be okay either. I know my life suck isn't any worse than your life suck. So how about we're more AWARE of others. We're AWARE of hardships. We're AWARE of our words and the power they have. We're AWARE that listening can speak louder than talking. We're AWARE of things we can do to help shine a little bit more light throughout this world. We can do this, and I'm AWARE of that.
How's that for an awareness week?
p.s.--I shared some of these screenshots on my Instagram stories (like, who ever are you if you aren't stalking me on Instagram?), and they are too good not to share again. A friend introduced me to the account @whatthefertility and they had some great responses about shining awareness on certain parts of this infertility journey.
