Not UsefuL

Not Helpful.

I start to feel useless when people talk about being pregnant. I feel my shoulders shrug, my head lower, my eyes stare at nothing.

I don't feel needed.

While I love children more than anything, I feel completely incompetent around pregnant woman.  I long to understand. I like to give advice, encouragement, support. It's easier not to. I can't relate. I can imagine, but I cannot relate.

I lose confidence.

Pregnancy is something to be experienced.
Just as infertility is something to be tolerated.

Just as I struggle to hear advice from someone who has never gone through infertility, I feel useless to a good friend who is pregnant.

I don't understand.
Neither do they.

How are we to meet in the middle ?

- Heather

Not a mother.

Sometimes it stings.
Sometimes it nags.
Other times it lingers.
Mostly it remains.

I hold my head in my hands...waiting.

My heart is breaking slowly...constantly.

It seems like I am slipping......always.

My hope is apathetic....daily.

I imagined it differently. I imagined it to be easier. I imagined it to come naturally.
I didn't imagine this.

I wasn't prepared for this.

I feel selfish being sad. I'm not dying. I'm not physically ill. I'm not injured. I'm not starving. I find myself comparing my situation to the hardships of others, and it seems so minor and unimportant.

Unimportant. Misunderstood. Overlooked.


I'm not a million things, but I'm not a mother either.

- Heather

Years ago....

I'm struggling to depict what sort of emotion I'm feeling right now.

It's not hope, it's not despair, it's not avoidance, it just exists.

Infertility seems like that on most days.
Not hoping, not avoiding, not despairing, just the existence of your condition.

Some days I don't want to be uplifted. I don't want the advice, encouragement, and support friends and family can bring. I don't want to read uplifting quotes, read inspirational stories, hear about success rates, etc. 

Years ago, I heard all those stories, that support, that encouragement. Years ago.
Years ago, when I was able to take that support and encouragement and truly be inspired that some day, hopefully soon, I would be a mother.

Years ago.

Today, it seems repetitive, though I still long for comfort, advice, and encouragement from people, it impacts me less. I find myself often smiling and nodding, and responding with less emotion on the subject than I had in the past. 

I'm not trying to be brave.
I am not particularly optimistic.
I'm not filled with anger like I once was.

I. Just. Am.

-heather

Hopeful ?

It's hard to be hopeful.

I really really want to be hopeful. I want to be able to start imagining my life differently. I want to be able to start imagining myself as a mother.

It seems dangerous. If I hope, my dreams will unfortunately, undoubtedly, come crashing down. If I don't hope, I find myself sinking into a deep depression of reality and loss.

I'm struggling to decide what to feel. Is hope better than avoidance? Is hope better than a realistic approach?

I'm almost afraid to feel to happy. I don't know quite how to describe this, or why this happens, but I find myself holding back even though I intend not to.

I'm not purposefully trying to deprive myself of happiness.

I don't feel as though I'm trying to punish myself for not being a mother right now.

I'm cautious because I never know how long my hope will last. At times, I may feel hopeful for days, perhaps even weeks. Inevitably, this feeling passes as well.

I am consistently inconsistent.

-Heather. 

Not taken seriously.

Infertility is not taken seriously enough.

Infertility is brushed aside.
It seems small in comparison to what others are going through. It is not recognized by society as something that should be so debilitating. It is not recognized as a disease, an illness, a medical condition. If anything, it is recognized as a mental state of mind. 

It never feels real.
It feels like what I'm going through is made up.
I'm not in pain.
I function normally.
I am not hospitalized
How can I have such disease with such unrecognizable side effects.

It feels hidden. 
It feels like it should be kept secret.

If you physically feel pain, you know the pain exists.

What does it mean when you feel nothing? 

- Heather

Telling People

I'd rather keep things to myself.
I'd rather not share my personal struggles so openly.
I'd rather isolate.

When I do share, I tend to judge. I judge people's reactions (without wanting to). I judge how much they listen, what they reply, how sincere they sounded. I don't want to do this, but it happens every time.

It takes courage to admit something like infertility. It takes acknowledgement that it's actually happening. It makes you trust the person you are sharing this information with, you trust that they will actually know what to say.

Unfortunately, most people don't know what to say. 
It's worse to say nothing though.

It's worse to give generic advice.

Force me to talk about it. Force me to tell you details. Force me to not feel stupid when I finally do share. Force yourself to listen.

- Heather.

Taking Advice

Needing Help.

I'd rather not.

I don't take advice easily. Mostly, I listen and decide for myself whether or not it even seems plausible. 

I always think I am above other people's advice. I don't mean to feel this way, but it's part of my very essence; independently stubborn. 

It does not come naturally to me.
It DOES come naturally to give advice. 

Taking advice on infertility has been challenging. I find myself almost annoyed when someone tells me what I should be doing. When I should, in fact, be listening.

I am not the expert on infertility.

I know this. I admit this. I identify this. I cannot control it.

Which brings me to the root of needing help; lack of control. It's devastating to feel like despite your every want and intention, you ultimately have no control over the situation. 

Devastating does not even begin to describe it.

- Heather

Listening.

I enjoy listening to others, in fact, it's my job.

When it comes to infertility, I fall short on my ability to listen. 
It takes extreme patience, tolerance, will power, and strength to listen to someone talk about their pregnancy. Whether it be good things or bad things, I usually just nod, smile, and say as little as possible.

The problem is not that I don't care.
I care.
I care more than I am able to express.

The problem is my ability to objectively listen. I am not able to remove myself from my own situation, to have true understanding of what a pregnant person is going through. I long to be able to to do this, but I simply cannot.

It feels too close to my heart.

- Heather

It's not that I'm.........

It's not that I'm ungrateful.

I look around at my life, and truly honestly believe without a doubt that I am blessed.

I'm blessed with more than I could ever ask for.

It's not that I'm lacking.

I have many people who love me, care for me, and think highly of me, and know what a wonderful, honest, loving person I am.

It's not that I'm not trusting.

I trust that this will all work out. I honestly, somewhere in my heart, truly believe this. I trust that the plans I have for myself are small in comparison what my life will really be like.

It's that I can't forget.

I can't forget the longing, wants, and hope.

I can't forget the what if's, the uncertainty, and the sadness.

I cannot shake this thought.

Within a second, it comes crashing back into my life usually unexpected and unplanned.

Even the brightest days hold an eerie sense of darkness,

as though I am constantly waiting for something that may never come.

- Heather

Embarassing.

It feels embarrassing to talk about infertility.

Such an intimate, private, and delicate subject.

It feels embarrassing to share such personal details. Telling complete strangers things I myself would feel awkward even telling my closest friends. It's expected that we share these openly, freely, and without hesitation.

It's not normal.

It's embarrassing to try to explain myself. I find myself wanting to give excuses for why my body may be acting a certain way or self diagnosing.  You feel embarrassed and powerless. My independent, self assured, free spirit feels overtaken.  Despite all my positive efforts I've made in my life, you feel embarrassed because it seems like it's your fault. It's your own fault you can't have children. Whether this is true or not, doubt sets in.

It's embarrassing even writing about it. I don't even give any details, and it embarrasses me.

I dont' like needing help.

I don't like that my own body will not do what it's meant to do.

I don't like sharing my private life with public people.

It's embarrassing.

- Heather

'Let it go'

Let it go.

Such simple advice I often take.

Such simple advice I often give.

Let.

It.

Go.

It's simply impossible. Letting go would be my last option. Letting go feels like giving up. Letting go seems ignorant. 

Letting go is usually freeing. It's natural to want to let go of things that are weighing heavy on your heart. You feel a sense of freedom, of peace, of joy. 

This seems different.

This feeling is not like any I've ever experienced before.

Letting it go would feel like defeat.

I find myself grasping, chasing, and circling this feeling and want. If I was born to be a mother, which I believe I am, it is not so simple as 'letting it go'. 

Today

I will let it stay.

- Heather