It’s the most de-press-ing time of the year.
I hate January. I’ll admit it: I’m a sucker for the joy, excitement, happiness, pure distraction of the holiday season. But when it ends, it sucks.
I anticipated this would happen. Christmas would end, New Year’s—a sorry excuse for another celebration—would end. Although, I must say: This New Year’s was awesome, actually, as we spent it with our close friends. Anyway, my holiday season ended with two pregnancy dreams, heart-aching wake-ups and a pinch of depression—just a li’l. Today, I’m feeling a bit better, though. And tomorrow I visit the doctor (again) to discuss that my Clomid dosage does, in fact, need to be doubled. Looking forward to that one.
I know I sound a bit sarcastic. Perhaps I’m in the anger stage of grief. I feel like I experience a different stage of grief every other week … okay, day. I read an article today for “those who know someone dealing with infertility.” It was so right. As it spoke to an audience of family and friends of “the infertile,” it thoroughly discussed the unfortunate circumstances of those of us who suffer from it. One thing that really stuck out to me was this: Infertility feels like a loss. It feels like the death of a dream; letting go of that pregnancy, biological child that may or may not be conceived. And through the grieving of this loss, there is still hope—month after month—only to be shot down on day 28 (or whatever). That is so true. When I find myself in a depressive state—and I do not toss out that word lightly, for I have been diagnosed with depression in the past—I feel as if I am grieving a loss. But, I feel selfish and ungrateful concerning my emotions. I didn’t understand the concept (although I felt it) that it is a loss … and it’s okay to be sad. It doesn’t mean I’m acting selfish. Although I do have a selfish nature, my sadness and tears and never-ending fear, anticipation, sadness, over all ever-consuming emotions concerning my infertility are valid. God has given me many blessings: my husband, my job, etc. I couldn’t breathe without my husband. If ever he were to leave, my heart would … stop. And on the mornings when I just want to sleep the day away because, “What’s the point?” I am so grateful that my job is awesome. It’s a peaceful, encouraging environment. And, of course, there are many, many more blessings God has bestowed upon me—not to mention our ever-growing “prayer group” of friends and family who are praying and anticipating a happily ever after ending to this infertility journey. And yet—it still hurts. And while it still hurts, I’m so lucky to say that I am satisfied with my everyday life—if only. And then I begin to wonder if I’ve taken it too far—the want, the need for a baby. Are my desires just my own? God created me; He made me a woman. I don’t know how or why a child is so, very necessary, but God created me to have that desire. So I can’t undermine my own emotions. It’s not that I want to be miserable; it’s that I will be until we’ve completed this journey.
Thanks for “listening.”