The Eternal Guest Room

Sometimes I feel like a big baby (no pun intended (that one’s for you, AJ)). Shouldn’t I just get over it, suck it up, be happy, and tell myself that when the time is right, it will happen? I’m sure that’s what some people think (probably not most people who read this, or they wouldn’t bother reading it). Compared to other things though – terminal illness, the death of someone close, etc. – it probably doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.

But I recently came across this, from Harvard Medical School, and thought it was interesting:

“One study of 200 couples seen consecutively at a fertility clinic, for example, found that half of the women and 15% of the men said that infertility was the most upsetting experience of their lives. Another study of 488 American women who filled out a standard psychological questionnaire before undergoing a stress reduction program concluded that women with infertility felt as anxious or depressed as those diagnosed with cancer, hypertension, or recovering from a heart attack.”

“Individuals who learn they are infertile often experience the normal but nevertheless distressing emotions common to those who are grieving any significant loss — in this case the ability to procreate. Typical reactions include shock, grief, depression, anger, and frustration, as well as loss of self-esteem, self-confidence, and a sense of control over one’s destiny.”

“Relationships may suffer — not only the primary relationship with a spouse or partner, but also those with friends and family members who may inadvertently cause pain by offering well-meaning but misguided opinions and advice. Couples dealing with infertility may avoid social interaction with friends who are pregnant and families who have children.”

It turns out my feelings are completely normal. I’ve learned a lot over the last couple of months through therapy and from reading several books. I’ve felt guilty or petty for a lot of the feelings I’ve had, but I know I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.

I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for avoiding people who are pregnant. I shouldn’t feel bad about not wanting to go to baby showers, yet, at the same time, it’s acceptable for me to be upset if I’ve not invited to them. It’s not stupid that I’m still upset that, as the oldest, I didn’t have the first grandchild – that’s a grievable loss that I have permission to mourn. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty if I’m not up to looking at the most recent pictures of my neice on Thanksgiving Day. It’s OK if I avoid people or situations that really hurt to be around or a part of, because I have to take care of myself first. I shouldn’t feel the need to always protect other peoples’ feelings at the cost of my own.

I’m not saying that any of this gives me the right to be flat-out rude or anything, but I don’t have to beat myself up for feeling the way I do.

I carry a lot of burdens and self-imposed guilt. I’m learning that my feelings are justified, and normal, and some of the load gets lifted off my shoulders.

I realized yesterday that we hadn’t updated in awhile. Nothing’s really going on right now – we’re still in the 3 month “waiting period.”

Honestly, I feel like I’m just saying the same thing over and over again; I worry that people will get tired of me whining.

Time is passing, quickly and slowly at the same time, and the days go on.

That’s about it.

Today we did something we haven’t done in a really long time: we went to church. We pretty much stopped going a year ago, after 2 years of sporadic attendance. We’ve been back one time since then, and it was a disaster.

It’s so hard to be in the midst of all of the young couples at church – they are all in the process of starting or building their families. Being surrounded by them makes all the positivity I struggle to maintain melt away. I think “why is it so easy for them, and so hard for us?” We don’t fit in. The longer this goes on, the less we get invited to. We’re the odd ones. I would come home and be depressed for the rest of the day. Eventually it wasn’t worth the pain.

But we want to start going to church again, so we went today. It took a week to psych ourselves up. I spent the morning mentally preparing.

Within 5 minutes of being in the building, we saw 3 very pregnant women – like 8 months pregnant. They all looked very happy. The service opened with a baby dedication for a couple my age who have just had their third kid. I didn’t look up. I didn’t trust myself to watch. I spent several minutes writing our names in the attendance book. When I was finished, it looked like a 5-year old had written it. I concentrated on breathing. I repeated a mantra to myself. I did not cry.

The baby dedication was followed by a boy scouts thing. Then the guy who did communion gave a shout-out to his grandson. The service ended with the announcement of the “parents’ lunch” after church.

I continued my concentrated breathing.

Going to church is painful. Where other people may feel peace and comfort, I feel exactly the opposite. It brings into sharper focus what we don’t have. It reminds me that we are being left behind. People always say that things will happen when they are meant to happen. But people who say this already have children. So it doesn’t make us feel better; it feels more like our pain isn’t being taken seriously.

I have more to say on that subject, but I’ll save it for another post.

We’ve told a few people at church what we’re going through, and they’ve all been very supportive. No one pressured us to go back to church; they actually said “That’s tough; that’s understandable. We will pray for you.” And that was comforting. No one minimized our feelings. That’s the only reason we’re giving it another try.

I came across a quote the other day that is very true and fairly relevant:

“When someone having a great day says, ‘Trust God,’ to someone in pain, it sounds like a heartless accusation. It also robs the suffering believer of the opportunity to testify about God’s grace. It’s the comforter’s job to weep; it’s the hurting person’s job, when he or she is ready, to tell others about God’s sufficiency.  Too often it happens the other way around. Would-be comforters leave people weeping after ‘bearing witness’ to them that God is sufficient.”
-from The Infertility Companion

So.

I’m not doing so good.

Or well. Or whatever.

For awhile I was on something of a high – “yay, we found the problem, we fixed the problem, we’re solving the problem, we get a fresh start and a clean slate, now we just wait for babies!” But then reality kicked in, we had an unbelievably crappy month, and my optimism sank. It sank quickly, and it sank dramatically.

More confessions: I started going to therapy about a week before Christmas. I finally reached my breaking point, and I knew it. It was something I had debated about for a long time, and I finally decided it was time. It’s not something I’m particularly excited about, and it’s not really even something that we can afford, but we feel that it’s something absolutely worth trying.

I’ve debated about posting about this, because it’s something that is so, so personal to me. But the truth is, that after nearly 3 years, this is something that I just can’t handle on my own. Darek is awesome, but he can’t bear the burden alone. I don’t have any friends or family members who really understand what I’m going through. So it seems relevant to post here.

I don’t really have anything interesting to say, I guess. I just thought maybe…I don’t know. It’s hard to say. We tend to post the more positive things here (I’m sure that seems hard to believe, but trust me, it’s true) and keep the more negative to ourselves. But the truth is that it is so hard. And some days, I just don’t know what to do.