Crossroads

Saturday morning, I woke up early to help Grey stave off a headache. The stress and the grief from the news on Friday had brought on yet another potential migraine, so we both knew how important it was to tackle it early. Three cups of coffee and some tylenol later, we were sitting in bed talking about the events from the last 2.5 yrs. Together, we recapped everything that had happened, marveling at the journey so far.

I remember back before we decided to try for children imagining what it would be like to be childless. There was no better way to bring on the tears than to imagine everyone around me pregnant or cuddling their children while my arms were empty. Yet on Saturday, despite the fact that I was now living the thing I feared so deeply, I felt a sense of relief. Gone was the anxiety caused by this image of never being able to become pregnant. For the first time in almost 2 yrs, I felt peace.

The past few days, I feel myself waffling between moments of utter calm and moments of despair. On one hand, the jealousy I use to feel when seeing a pregnant women or couples with infants/small children is gone. On Sunday, I was able to watch a family play with their daughter while at a coffee shop, an activity that would have previously been a source of pain that was now something I could marvel at. At other moments, though, I find myself sobbing for what has been lost.

Something else has shifted, though.  Something that I never expected. With the decision to halt treatments and the reflection on Saturday came the realization that both Grey and I have been playing it safe these past few years. We've stopped taking risks, be it in our careers, our home life and even in our extra curricular activities all in the hopes of building a family. Yes, stability is important for children. But too much stability leads to stagnation. Stagnation leads to rot, decay and regret. Stagnation leads to "what ifs" and lost dreams. Stagnation is a poison. And we were slowly dying because of this stagnation.

So on Saturday, we decided to start taking some risks again. For both Grey and I, our careers are our tickets to adventure. Grey is nearing the end of his postdoc and I am in a place of transition, where I could easily settle into a comfortable position. Instead, we decided to pursue our contacts in Boston with me hoping to line up a much desired postdoc. The position would not be easy, with me having to learn many new skills in a very short period of time, but the work is fascinating and it will open so many doors for the future. The interview is at the end of July.

In addition to the career, I made a decision that it's time to focus on becoming healthy. And I'm not just talking about being physically healthy. With the help of David and Dee, I've began delving into my childhood, reliving some of the more painful memories of abuse and neglect. For the first time, I started talking about what I actually had lived through, sharing my insights with them and Grey in the hope that we could work together towards finding a resolution and breaking the cycle. These first few sessions have already been challenging and there are moments where all I want to do is crawl back into my cave and pretend that all of this is a nightmare. Yet, I know I can't. I can't because I need to be healthy for the road ahead. I can't because my children deserve someone better. After everything I've lived through, I deserve a better me too.

And finally, we've begun preparing ourselves for the next leg of this journey. With our upcoming seminars comes a list of required readings about open adoption. I've ordered the books and we've downloaded the questionares. In addition, I've begun hunting for blogs and additional resources about adoption, hoping to glean knowledge about this process from those who have walked this road ahead of us.

On Monday, Grey and I celebrated our 8 yr wedding anniversary be staring at the crossroads. While most couples spend their anniversaries at a celebratory dinner, we spent the night making plans for the journey ahead and patching our wounds. At one point, Grey held my hand and looked deep into my eyes. "At least I have you," he said before he wrapped his arms around me. All I could think of was how lucky I was at the moment. And clinging to him, I promised him that we would always have one another.

I promised him that somehow, some way, it would be okay.