I have never been good at keeping a regular blog. I may never be. But I want to start blogging about my infertility issues. I am going to try to loosely follow Brene Brown’s guidelines of not posting anything potentially shame triggering that I haven’t processed yet with Jasper and close friends, so things on here might be time delayed. But I think this is important to talk about it.
I am trying to be honest about my journey. I want to be honest for a few reasons. One of which is, in some ways I still feel like we are living in the 1950s when it comes to sweeping certain emotions and journeys under the rug. Infertility is a surprisingly common struggle, but it still gets swept under a lot. Another reason I am wanting to do this is just as a way to process and vent to get through it.
Infertility is a struggle that brings up a lot of shame. I for one was really surprised at how much shame I felt and struggled with in response to my infertility problems. In the media and in society being a woman is so synonymous with being the one who brings life into the world (either that or being a sex object but that is a whole different rant), that a part of me felt less than a woman and less than a person as I was dealing with the initial shocks of hearing the news. I would never in my life think that of someone else, but I often treat myself much worse than I treat others. That is an issue that has come to a head through this emotional struggle, and I am truly thankful for it. I am learning self-compassion because my lack of it became so glaringly obvious it was impossible to ignore.
Not only does it bring up personal issues of shame, but it brings a lot of shaming from others (mostly accidental… at least I hope). When people see you in a struggle they feel they can’t relate to, they often say hurtful things. They are often trying to help by fixing the problem. But here’s the deal: I can’t fix this, you can’t fix this, and that has to be okay. You can sit with me in this grief, but please don’t try to fix it. If you are not my God or my reproductive endocrinologist, I am not looking for that from you. Advice, as well meaning as can be, can feel really blaming or condescending. I know you may not hear it when you say it, but that is honestly part of the reason I want to be a part of the open dialogue about this. If you are afraid of a misstep, feel free to make it with me. The more we talk about this the more likely we are to make some mistakes in the dialogue, but I am making a promise right now to address it (if I think it is helpful to do so) and to forgive you if I get hurt. There is no real way to learn how to talk about this other than talking about it.
I want this process to be easier for others starting this journey 10 or 20 years from now. I know it is still going to hurt. I am not a medical doctor so I can’t help on that end, but I am comfortable being open about it. My hope is the more people know about the prevalence of infertility issues and understand what that journey looks and feels like and what we need in the midst of this journey, the better we as a society can respond this over time. Infertility, like any issue that involves grieving or like any medical problem, can look different for different people. And a lot of people that chose to go through infertility treatments will likely be a lot less whiny than me. I am not a stiff upper lip kinda gal. I will rant and rail, but I will get through it.
Feel free to read this or not read it as much as you want. But I am putting this out here and hoping for the best.
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