Mel has a great post this week busting a myth about infertility, about crossing the divide between those who have and those who have not yet resolved their infertility. It’s a brilliant post and she describes how we often can mark the moment at which our lives changed forever:
Because for many people, infertility doesn’t have an expiration date. It doesn’t have an end point. It is so huge, so emotional, so life-changing that it becomes an event — a divide in a life and the way we count years — the moment before the diagnosis and the moment after. BD and AD.
Mel’s post got me thinking and I blurted out the following on Twitter yesterday:
I really do believe this. There is a clear cut line in my life experience where before March 18, 2009 I was one version of Keiko and all the days since I am now a different version of myself. While initially I would not have considered myself a stronger person: the depression, the grief, the anger – over time, I’ve come to a place of strength. I think of lot of that has come from forcing myself to really confront the bevy of emotions, to own those emotions and to self-validate.
It’s okay if I’m having a tough time with this, I told myself. This is a pretty devastating ordeal so yeah, I have a right to be upset and grieve.
Infertility isn’t the singular experience that has changed me. It’s certainly a defining moment in my life, but I am not defined by it. In growing up to be the person I am, I have gone through multiple Before and After versions of myself. Before college I was a selfish spazzy teen with wild hormones who was convinced she’d be a high school music teacher by day, opera star by night. After college I had mellowed out and become highly self-aware and discovered a wealth of value to be found in the field of student affairs.
Before marriage I was a selfish partner who fought dirty and was pretty damn needy. After marriage, I made a commitment to consider my husband a true partner and equal, to agree to sit down and really talk instead of ignoring the issues, and to compromise.
Before infertility, I knew that I might have a hard time conceiving but that it would still happen and that a few years into our marriage, we’d have a little mini-version of Keiko and Larry running around. Before infertility, the idea of parenthood seemed so casual and natural. Before infertility, I thought I’d eventually be the Dean of a college.
After infertility, all of that changed. After infertility I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I am not able to create a genetic child that is both mine and Larry’s. Biologically it will be, but not genetically. After infertility, the pressure to build our family and do it soon is almost overwhelming. What once felt so casual now seems like a crazed mission. After infertility, I am committed to serving this patient community in any way I can and want to turn my passion into a career in this field.
Before infertility, I took advantage of my ability to cope, heal, and be strong. After infertility, I have no doubt in those abilities.
And that’s why I wouldn’t take my infertility back, no matter how devastating this experience has been. Like all these Before and After moments in my life, I have learned and grown from each experience. I’m still learning and growing, who am I kidding; I certainly don’t have all the answers and I’m hardly 100% after my infertility. We’re still in the middle of it all. But I’ve developed a level of pragmatic hope and optimism that I didn’t really have before I was diagosed. So yeah, if I could go back in time and wave a magic wand… I wouldn’t change or take away my experience with infertility.
That said, I know not everyone is in the same place, as Twitter follower Jen pointed out yesterday:
Jen’s right too. Infertility is a journey, a spectrum of experiences and emotions. Some days I feel great, like I can take on the world. Other days, I’d rather just stay in bed thankyouverymuch. I know some of you reading this, if you could, would make your infertility vanish from your life’s landscape. And I don’t blame you. Infertility sucks.
But I’d like to think that the experience teaches us things about ourselves we wouldn’t have otherwise learned: that we may be shocked at how jealous we could become, that we may be humbled to see how we’ve pulled through our darkest hours, that we may be comforted to know that hope lies within us after all.
If you're at all curious, my post about this goes live in the morning, as a wrap up.
I didn't need infertility to be strong. My life started out challenging and hasn't gotten easier. When my husband and I found out we would need extreme measures to conceive, my response was "Of course, why should we be able to have something easy for once." After 6 years of infertility, two operations, three months of Lupron, and one miscarriage we had twins…which led to months of debilitating PPD. Now our battle is with autism, and with the slow realization that one of our beautiful children may need help for the rest of his life. Easy is for the weak 🙂 And no, IF does NOT make me a better, patient, and thankful parent, it makes me a GUILTY parent when I have my impatient, selfish, and exasperated parent moments. IF didn't help me much, I have to say, IF can suck it 🙂
This is a very interesting post and really got me thinking. I can definitely understand where you are and there are things that changed me or that I've learned and gained because of my IF journey, that I value very much. But I'm not sure if it weighs up to the pain, the stress on my relationship etc. But then again, I wouldn't trade my son (conceived through IVF) for anything in the world… Thanks for keeping us all on our toes.
I can completely relate to this post. I was just talking with an attorney today that will be writing an article and gestational surrogacy and in the course of my conversation I told her that I wouldn't change a thing about my journey. Trust me when I say that is not how I always felt, but there was a definite turning point in my journey in which I realized that for some reason I was meant to have this journey. There are still days that are hard, but the joy comes on the days that I receive another reminder of why I was meant to have this journey. I have learned to have strength, hope, and patience. I also realize that it is ok to be sad or hurt some days. I am reaching out through other women going through infertility by getting involved with Pulling Down the Moon(www.pullingdownthemoon.com) and acting as their Fully Fertile Book Group Coordinator, helping women find support all across the US. I am also going to start volunteering for Resolve. I definitely know what you mean when you could have a career in this. Thanks for your blog. It is fun to follow. Mine is http://www.prayingforbabyobrien.blogspot.com
I can completely relate. I understand myself so much better now, I forgive myself for my mistakes, I am so much better to myself than I ever was before. And that makes it easier to be much better to others too. I know it sounds like a cliche, but I like myself now more too.
It's interesting to think about this. I have a long response, so I'll have to blog it, I don't want to bore you. I just think it's a fascinating question.
Beautiful post! I'm still not there yet. But I can imagine at a future time, when I know that my family is complete, I will look back and realize that I wouldn't change a thing. Believing that moment is coming is part of what keeps me going. Thank you for speaking out!
Lovely post. I am coming to understand this. I went to places so low after my hysterectomy that I never thought I'd get back up. But now that I am on the upswing, I can see how tough and resilient I really am. I actually just wrote about my infertility story in my blog today… thanks for sharing.
I'm just finding your blog today, after seeing your video on facebook. I don't know your story, and you don't know mine, but I applaud you for your strength to stand up and speak out about IF. I wouldn't take my years of IF back, either. I wouldn't take back the losses. Without that experience in my life, I wouldn't be who I am today or where I am today. May God bless you on this journey.
I completely understand your sentiment because, without the infertility, I wouldn't have my youngest. I wouldn't have the friends I have now. I wouldn't have the strength I have found.
I saw that tweet yesterday and the response by thisispersonal. I've been thinking a lot about both. I have to admit, your comment surprised me. I would have expected that NO ONE would not take their infertility back, especially someone who has little to no hope of having a biological child.
I've been trying to figure out what you're saying that means to me, in my life. Would I take away my struggles TTC and my loss if I could? I don't know. I really don't. My gut reaction would be, yes, I would erase it from my past and the pain that went with it. But if my loss had never happened then I wouldn't have joined this community and I wouldn't have many of my friends and I wouldn't be the person I am today. I guess that is the thing, I don't know how I'd be today if I hadn't gone through my struggles and my loss, so I can't say whether or not I'd rather be the person I'd be without it.
Still, your comment seems much more powerful than mine. Your loss is so much greater than my own. I believe that if I were you, I'd absolutely want it taken away. Then again, I don't consider myself as strong as you or as powerfully called to advocacy and action.
But all of this has given me tremendous food for thought. Thank you for that and for your strength and inspiration.
Thanks for posting this. I think you really look at how IF can change people. I know that I'm changing every day because of it.