New beginnings

First off, as you probably have noticed, there's been some changes. Thank you Fran from Small Bird Studios for this lovely new blog design! And thank you to Dandelion Breeze for making it possible!

This past week has been one of new beginnings. Early in the week, Grey and I began collecting signatures for release of medical information and background checks. We also had a fun time at the police station getting fingerprinted (the ladies told us that they wished most of the people they saw had half our humor and cheer). After my meeting with Dee on Friday, Grey and I began looking into private adoption more. Grey's conversation with Patience (aka P) resulted in her referring us to an agency that does national searches. So, after much debate, we sat down on Sunday morning and submitted an application. Tonight is an informational meeting with the original agency to determine if all the information we were given is accurate, allowing us to determine if we will continue with them or not.

But probably most importantly, this weekend marked the beginning of me actively dealing with my personal hang-ups, trying to acutely make changes vs. running away from them.

I have a long history of running. As a child, whenever I encountered someone or some situation that was making me feel minimized or worthless, my default was to become quiet and hide. I spent a lot of Friday evenings holed up in my room as a teenager and tolerated far more bullying than was healthy, all because I believed I was the problem for feeling like an outcast. This was promoted by my family, with "don't judge" being a quick answer when I voiced the pain of feeling excluded in favor of family supporting the offending party. Being the outcast is damaging, especially when it goes on for years. The problem is you can only silence an outcast for so long before they begin lashing out. Granted, my lash-outs haven't been overly spectacular (nor news worthy for that matter), but they've been bad enough to give people cause for labeling me "crazy."

One of the things I have learned from these past 2.5 yrs, though, is that I'm not crazy. Infertility is a soul-sucking, energy-draining, grief-inducing disease. Miscarriage/infant loss adds to the crazy, as so many people ignore the pain of losing a child, rationalizing that "it wasn't meant to be." Take this and layer it on top of any insecurities/rejection issues your average person has and you've got the perfect recipe for a socially defined lunatic. What I've been learning over the past few months is that my grief is real, just inconvenient for many. Though my pregnancies were brief, those potential children did exist. I've also learned that anyone who tells me otherwise is actually the crazy one. Toxic in fact. And as I've worked through my grief and pain, I began to wonder what other "truths" about myself were actually false. What lies I had accepted because it benefitted someone else.

Basically, I've decided to stop running and hiding. As strange as it may sound, losing my children has given me the courage to confront the abuse I lived through and to make decisions to end the cycle. It hasn't been easy as there's a lot of programming that needs to be undone, but I'm working on it. I trying to become the mother I want to be to my future children.


The current exercise in this involves me dealing with Grey's family. At the end of the month, we are traveling to the Boston area for the wedding of one of Grey's cousins. Since our second miscarriage and the news that BIL and his wife were expecting again, I've dreaded this event. Initially my response was not to go, with Grey traveling alone. Then we moved to a plan where I would attend the ceremony and skip out on the reception. Problem with both options is two-fold: 1) I'm hiding and 2) I'm isolating myself further from his family, making myself an utter stranger. The problem has been that I've been having a very difficult time expressing to Grey why I feel the way I do; why I've been so hurt by their silence and isolation. Each conversation about this has frustrated him, ending with him accusing me a of being jealous or acting like a child because he feels that I'm attacking them. What became obvious was that we needed someone to help us better dissect the situation.


Today David helped us with this. Replaying our concerns and worries, he helped us dissect the root of the problem and began to help us work towards a common goal: a united front. As we talked, David was able to communicate how important it was that we validate one another and gave us tools to undo the damage of past behaviors. Basically, he told us that we need to get rid of our assumptions about one another regarding this issue. That instead, we needed to start fresh, focusing on being a support to one another vs. looking at the other person as a child. We have homework and a follow-up meeting in a week. 


The point of all of this: I'm trying to admit that I have stripes instead of spots. I'm trying to rebuild. Though the decision to stop treatment was a painful one, I've been surprised to feel a weight that's been lifted from it. The worst has happened, with all the things I assumed being torn from me. Now it's just a matter of removing the debris and beginning anew.