I posted a journal entry this morning. A reader commented that it was pathetic and that *** this excerpt was very hurtful toward fellow TTC sisters. I am somewhat of a people-pleaser, and I take criticism to heart. I certainly don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I decided to remove my post because I am not emotionally strong enough right now to be that vulnerable.
Well, I am going to re-post it.
Some of my loved ones caught a glimpse of this post before it was removed; I feel confident that I won’t piss off every reader. I feel confident that I will continue to be loved and not judged by my family and close friends.
I am angry. I am bitter. This is part of my story.
Caveat: *** Regarding the apparent controversial excerpt below, I will be the first to admit that I was (and still am at times) extremely bitter toward and jealous of other TTC sisters. Is that the right attitude to have? Probably not. I can admit that. But I will advocate for myself: There is not a How To guide on surviving this road I’ve traveled. And, honestly, I cannot expect a fellow TTC sister who is now pregnant after six IUIs to understand the magnitude of my loss.
Love is messy. Man, life is messy.
Against my wishes, there is a lot of drama in my life. Certainly I know people who would welcome my drama into their own lives. Those who romanticize struggle and heartache. They’d like a little slice to keep life interesting; just enough to gain sympathy and recognition.
You want a little taste, but if you envy what I have, guess what? You can have the whole E-N-C-H-I-L-A-D-A. Because I’ll tell you what: I don’t want it. I didn’t ask for it. I dare you to walk an inch in my shoes.
I’m pissed off, yes. I strive to keep it simple. I’m a simple girl with simple yet rewarding goals in life. I’m not asking for the moon, people. I’m a minimalist by nature, yet my life is a fucking shit show—a soap opera. I would like a streamlined path in life, thank you very much. But—no—I get to hurt and watch the ones I love the most hurt.
I get to wonder what she would have looked like at Rowan’s age. I get to watch others have twins. She’s alive in our hearts. God bless you my dear loved ones who aren’t afraid to talk about her. I love talking about her. And I love crying about her because that’s what she deserves.
*** I’m so glad some of my TTC sisters are able to acknowledge my “success” now that they’re gestating and no longer enraged. I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to watch my pregnancy progress—a pregnancy that required twice as much of everything you’ve been through to achieve yours. I literally smirk when I think about it. I smirk like a bitter little bitch. You’re such a delight now, dear sister. Why were you so bitter toward me? Why were you so jealous? Would you have liked to experience five failed IVF cycles; the loss of yourself in the creation of your child; the actual loss of your child; and 11.5 weeks in the NICU?
There I go again—smirking.
Oh, but nothing beats Facebook. Sifting through others’ lives just to run across a photo of that acquaintance from years ago whom you were never quite perfect enough for. She gets to have a streamlined path in life. Congratulations, you’re pregnant after—what?—six months of marriage … How incredibly easy. No, darling, your life is not hard.
No doubt, if I weren’t pumping/breastfeeding, one would think I’m on my period. But—no. I’m not. This is just my heart right now. I haven’t had a real period since last February; my fake, birth control-induced period was in March prior to the transfer of my beloved embryos. Ah, yes. My two perfect blastocysts; my baby girls. My Emmanuelle. She was built; Mary and Daddy’s gifts created her on April 11. Nine months ago my baby’s life began, only to be burned to ashes six months later. And there’s no answer. No explanation. They found nothing wrong.
And so, I suppose I will begin my period again someday. After all, I am only 27, and I won’t lactate forever. I will bleed, and it will be meaningless. I will not have ovulated; my periods won’t be normal. The shedding of my uterus will be in vain because I cannot conceive children naturally with my husband. My ovaries will float in the abyss of my infertile body, carrying an abundance of follicles that only create shitty eggs. So I’ll bleed for no fucking reason. It will be just as it were …
And would you like to know the question many people ask me? The question that hurts the most?
They ask if I want more babies.
And my answer is yes.
And it breaks my heart.