Infertility

I have always, always wanted children, and I have been actively trying to become a parent since at least 2008. I had an international adoption fall through, I unsuccessfully attempted the domestic adoption route, I tried to do some kind of contrived superdating where I was on a quest to hurry up and find my soul mate so I could have a kid (not recommended), I tried using donor sperm, with and without a doctor’s assistance, and I looked into the foster care system.  Technically, I don’t know if I have fertility issues—the doctors never found anything “wrong” with me. I have, however, been trying to become a parent—the thing I want most in the world—for five years with no success. And now I’m suddenly happily and healthfully pregnant, which leaves me so, so, so happy, yet not knowing what I believe in anymore. 

I really thought as soon as I learned the right lesson or thought the right powerful, positive thought, or got the right coach, or ate the right food, I would miraculously understand the thing that had kept me from getting pregnant and I could share it with the world. What I learned, instead, is that I have no idea why things happened the way they happened, and I probably never will. I do know all these trials led me to a near perfect parenting situation, but that’s not a good enough explanation for me—that everything happens perfectly and for a reason—because I know there are people out there who want children as desperately as I do who won’t have them. I know there are people who have lost children, and no reason is ever perfect enough for that. I know I could lose my pregnancy tomorrow or my child in five years. I shudder to even type those words, but I need to, because typing them doesn’t do a thing. I am simply not in control of this whole thing.

Given that lack of control…advice on this issue is very rarely helpful. If you are a friend or family member, please don’t give advice on infertility. Just be there. I can’t tell you how much unhelpful advice I got. Let me say that I know the advice was almost always coming from a loving place. Let me also say that I was damn near ready to strangle the next person who told me that the only thing I needed to do was relax, because they had this friend who couldn’t get pregnant and then they decided to adopt and because they stopped forcing the whole pregnancy thing…YAY, they got pregnant!! NOT HELPFUL. At 40 years old, there was not a thing in the world that was ever going to make me relax or take a break or not want kids or stop trying. (And while we’re at it, please also refrain from saying things like, “Whoa, 40, you need to get with it!”  Um, yes, I might be vaguely aware of that). I couldn’t relax about it—it consumed everything. And I had to start my grieving process over again every. single. fucking. month.  It’s like telling a grieving person she would feel better if she’d stop being so sad. Ridiculous. Grief is uncomfortable. Let it be uncomfortable. Allow people to be sad, mad, hopeless, broken, devastated. You can’t erase it. You can’t make it better.

I guess that makes me the anti-advice-giver. I am here to tell anyone who is trying to get pregnant that you don’t have to get it right to earn a pregnancy. What will be will be. I did it all wrong. I did not relax. I did not discover the magic thing I needed to learn on this journey. I ate too much sugar. I tried to be positive, but was negative and very angry most of the time. I yelled at God and told him I’m never forgiving this. I came close to suicide. What I did do, in my very flawed way, was get support and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I tried to do better each day. I practiced gratitude—some days. I exercised more. I was in the game.  But let’s be clear:  those aren’t the reasons I got pregnant.  And I didn’t NOT get pregnant because I wasn’t grateful enough or I ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s for dessert. I didn’t get pregnant because I didn’t pregnant. And I got pregnant because I got pregnant.  And that’s it. 

The answers and wisdom I obtained are simply that I have no answers. I can’t even tell you to be gentle with yourself because I know you can’t always hear it and sometimes it just sounds like one more thing you should be doing better. I can’t tell you it will all work out for the best because I don’t know that it will. I can’t tell you the Universe works perfectly because, even though at my core I believe that it does, nothing about this experience felt perfect. The only thing I can tell you is that I stand with you. I send you so much love and compassion. You’re entitled to want what you want. Infertility is HARD. So hard. It’s a grieving process and you’re entitled to handle it however you want. You deserve children. And you don’t have to relax.