How villans are created

Many years ago, Grey brought home a copy of Joseph Campbell's "The Hero with a Thousand Faces." This book is considered a seminal work, which explores the theory that important myths from around the world which have survived for thousands of years all share a fundamental structure, focused around the journey of an archetypal hero. 

A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.

Though I've never read this work (shame on me, I know), Grey and I had multiple discussions based on the different passages, particularly those focusing on the hero's time in the supernatural world, facing trials and seeking to obtain the end goal or the boon.

The key to the hero, though, is that somehow, he or she is victorious in the end. Yes, there may be loss along the way. Great loss, but the hero always obtains the boon at the end of the story, be it treasure, rescuing the maiden in distress, or peace and freedom.

But what happens when the hero fails? Instead of emerging victorious, the hero is beaten?

I've been thinking about this a lot as we've progressed on this journey. Especially in light of this FET cycle. After 2+ yrs of actively trying for a baby, 3 failed IUIs and an IVF cycle that ended in miscarriage, we're still without a child in our arms. And though our journey has not been as long as others, it's been very hard to continue fighting after each of these failed trials.

Equally hard has been trying to be part of life when you feel like an outsider. Unlike most women, pregnancy is not a given for me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to become pregnant again and, even if I'm that lucky, if I'll be able to carry that child to term. Because of this, I've found I can no longer react to other people's news with joy and excitement. It's never been about me not being happy for them; but to me pregnancy is no longer a guarantee and I'm no longer naive.

So, for many in life, I'm now viewed as the villan. I'm the villan when someone surprises me with news that they are expecting again and I excuse myself after mumbling a quiet congratulations. I'm the villan when someone goes on and on complaining about how difficult it is to raise a child after starting the conversation with "you don't know how lucky you are."

What's change recently is my recognition for how villans are created. That most people rarely start out life this way but instead are created over time due to years of abuse and neglect. The funny thing about all of this is how few people are willing to acknowledge the process of this creation, instead throwing blame at the direction of the villan for making choices to take the path they are on. Rarely do we step back and acknowledge that though there are choices, sometimes those choices were made as a form of protection, of self-preservation.

That maybe the only really difference between heros and villans is success.

On Wednesday, Grey and I begin this hard journey again. The past few weeks of being on medication has really been more like a dream state, with us being pretty unaffected outside of the drug-induced mood-swings. The thing is, I'm preparing myself for another failure, for the pain that will come in the aftermath. Despite everyone telling me that this can work, I'm finding it difficult to believe that it will. Because after 2+yrs, what will be different this time? And I hate myself for feeling this way, because it's really not about me on Wednesday. It's about our snowbabies. And I already feeling like I'm failing them.

Three more days of being in limbo. Desperately searching for hope.