First off, we're back from our mini-vacation!! I've been drafting a post and will update you all very soon about our adventure (and for those who are wondering, yes there are photos of orcas). Thanks to everyone for the virtual swift kick in the bum to book the trip. It was very much needed.
Today, Grey and I had our first appointment with the marriage counselor. This past week, both of Grey and I have been reflecting on everything that has happened during the last couple of years. Infertility and the miscarriages, though a big part, hasn't been the only stressor. There's been work stress, home stress and stress caused by family. On certain days, I really wonder if I've been blowing all of this out of proportion, creating my own drama. That maybe I just needed suck it up and all would be okay.
Within the first few minutes of meeting David, both Grey and I were reassured that we were not drama queens. That indeed, we were dealing with a lot of external stress. That miscarriage isn't something one just "gets over." In short, he gave us hope by reassuring us that what we were feeling was completely normal considering the circumstances and he believes that we already have the foundation to emerge from this stronger, not only as individuals but as a couple. Our work is just beginning, but both Grey and I walked out of David's office feeling lighter and hopeful. We haven't fucked up our marriage beyond repair.
Some of David's observations made me reflect on loss. Not just whether something qualifies as a loss, but also how we as society respond to loss. Many people in my day-to-day life look at me in horror when Grey or I tell them everything we've been through. Mo recently wrote a very raw post talking about the train-wreak everyone wants to pity and how debasing pity is. I can relate a lot to what she wrote, as my losses are not simply restricted to my inability to conceive/ stay pregnant. I lost my entire family last year, with my mother making it very clear how worthless I am to her. I lost the safety of a home, being surrounded by neighbors with questionable character. I somehow managed to graduate only to be put into a holding pattern about my career due the economy and fertility treatments. And then I lost my embies due to not one, but two miscarriages. And, even now, I grief for my babies that I will never hold.
The problem with living as the train-wreak is two-fold: first is the pity. I'm completely with Mo on this one; I would much rather people actively hate me than pity me. Being the center of a pity party is such a debasing thing for anyone, but the added pain comes when people use you as a barometer for their own lives. It's the opposite of the pain olympics knowing that people are using you to lift their spirits.
There's another level, though. People usually fail to see the beauty outside of the train-wreak. In May, I learned of another blogger, CGD. Over the past couple of months, I've followed her journey as she is navigating a divorce on top of infertility and an uncertain future. Her journey is a hard one, but the thing that continually shines through is her grace and strength. When I read her posts, I don't walk away thinking "wow, I'm so lucky," I walk away thinking "Cristy, you can do better."
Today as I was commuting to work, I muled over the thought that maybe, just maybe, something good could come out of all of this. I've talked before about the creation of villians, wondering if all of this would break me leaving behind a haggard witch. And then I was broken, shattered into a million pieces. But, in place of the villain, I find that I'm slowly emerging just like the mythical Phoenix from the ashes. Somehow, I'm finding strength daily to move forward and a lot of that has come from finding others who understand, who write openly and honestly about their journeys. Not because I can feel better about myself, but because I learn from them that I can do this; I can do better.
On Friday I meet with Dee. We will continue to tackle my demons, but following the events from this past week, with new purpose. At 33 yrs of age, I have experienced more loss than I wish on any human being, yet I'm still standing. Still, this is not enough. I need to find joy again in life, despite the fear and the pain. If not for myself, then for Grey and our children, both the ones we lost and the ones we will find.
