Larry worked from home yesterday morning. Checking our shared Google calendars, he saw I had written in something for today.
“What’s D-Day?” he asked me, genuinely confused that perhaps he’s forgotten something important.
“Diagnosis Day,” I said, casually, taking a bite of my Fuji apple chicken salad while Judah let out a small wail upstairs. “He’s up,” I said, with full mouth. Judah has an uncanny knack for waking up just as I’m taking my first bite of a meal.
* * *
Five years ago, I was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure. Shortly after I was diagnosed, I turned to IPOFA: the International Premature Ovarian Failure Association. Recently, several sections of their website are no longer active, including a whole host of reference materials that I found invaluable to me as a newly diagnosed patient. When they announced back in November last year that these parts of their website were going away, I downloaded and saved everything before they disappeared. I wrote to them and expressed just how grateful I was for their organization and materials, and that I wanted to help.
I offered to host everything from IPOFA here, for free. Last month, after discussing it with their Board, they agreed.
In the next few weeks, I’ll be transcribing IPOFA’s many PDF info sheets and FAQ docs into individual premature ovarian failure resource pages here at The Infertility Voice, with handy PDFs for downloading as well. I’m honored to keep IPOFA’s legacy of informed patient empowerment regarding POF.
* * *
A lot has changed and happened in five years. I think on a global scale and then I even bring it down to the four walls of my own home, to the brain-space between my own two ears.
I am a very, very different woman than I was five years ago.
* * *
In years past, I’ve done something to acknowledge D-Day. One year I got a massage. Another year I went for a walk and a shopping trip to Target. Last year? Last year I completely forgot it. I was a touch preoccupied.
The pain that was once so palpable – reading the email from my doctor – my memory has numbed, become calloused-over with five years of learning to swim with the pain instead of being overwhelmed by it. Of learning how to find another itch to scratch instead of picking at the scab. For a very long time, I was very vocal about not letting my infertility define me and yet, it was an intrinsic part of my identity.
It still is, but in very different ways now. And to be candid, as much as I’ve changed, the ALI blogosphere has really, really changed in the last five years, too. I don’t know who anybody is anymore.
I’ve talked at length with Esperanza about how we both agree that the death of Google Reader last July really was the nail in the coffin on blog commenting. Kym and I agree that the rise of microblogging has eroded at the authenticity of The Blog with a Capital B. And even Brian Gardner, superstar social media and web design guru has recently rejected the web metrics rat race for simplicity, minimalism and authenticity.
With a 10-month old infant of my own now (I know, I know that stung and I’m sorry. A thousand times sorry and it’s so stupid and fucked up that almost 2 years later, I’m still apologizing) I can appreciate minimalism, cutting out the (digital) clutter. I can appreciate mindfulness, of being present in the moment. I can appreciate authenticity.
I can appreciate the need to step back. Case in point: resigning from RNE at the end of last year. Probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, to walk away from something that I love, that I care for, that I believe in (note: none of those are in past tense, either) because I just couldn’t keep that many balls in the air anymore.
* * *
I do not like to hear the word “no.”
(Just ask my husband.)
I don’t handle change well; although, I must say, in five years, I’ve gotten a lot better at it.
I hate quitting. I’ve struggled with a lifetime of self-doubt, that others see me as “fickle.” I have a $200 ukulele – a Hanukkah gift from 2012 – sitting in our living room that is a constant reminder of how I feel that others perceive me to be fickle and that they are justified in thinking that about me.
From the moment my clinic called me to tell me the good news, everything changed. Everything changed in my life and especially here, in this virtual space. To be honest, I’ve been a plane just circling the runway since October 2012, in this identity-crisis holding pattern of doubt: afraid to land, to disembark, to stamp my passport onto my next destination.
* * *
D-Day: Diagnosis Day. In years past, this is what today has always been. But this year?
This year it’s Decision Day.
I need to stop dicking around, playing coy about who I am, about what I want this space to be, about who this space is really for anymore. Is it for me anymore?
Decide, Keiko. Make up your fucking mind already.
Did I mention that I’m a rather indecisive individual?
* * *
Expect a complete site redesign in the next few weeks. When I get indecisive, I start tinkering with WordPress again. It’s a distraction, a coping mechanism so I don’t have to face the tough decisions. I can get all angst-y about font imports and HEX color codes and stylesheet tweaks instead of really focusing on the fact that I have a crushing amount of survivor’s guilt that makes me feel like I’m not even welcome back at my own blog anymore, there – I said it. And trust me, it’s through no fault of anyone here but my own.
I’ll say this, too: how can I be The Infertility Voice (capital T, I, V) when I barely know what I should be saying here anymore?
I have no idea what’s happened to this woman from four years ago, but she’s not here anymore. She’s just not. It’s not for lack of caring – far from it. Like I said, a lot has happened and changed since then.
I miss that she’s changed. I know a lot you miss her, too. But I fucking love this new gal and I don’t want to be ashamed and guilty of her anymore. She is a part of me, too. She IS me. This is me.
This is who I am now: I’m a mom.
Christ, it’s taken me over a thousand words just to name the elephant in the room. I like to write about all the things that five years ago would have sent me into hyperventilating crying jags wondering if I’d ever become a parent. I finally finished writing Judah’s birth story (a five-part affair, no less) this morning and telling it, reliving it all – I was so proud of how far our journey had come in five years.
* * *
Last year, last D-Day, I asked folks what they wanted from this space. For a year, I’ve been held captive (by my own emotional hangups more than what anyone has written or said here) by what I thought others wanted and needed from this space.
But it’s not just “this” space, it’s my space. Not like, failed social media platform MySpace, but truly, deeply, authentically: this is my space. It’s not your space, it’s not our space, it’s not even THE space. It’s mine all mine.
And I need to decide what belongs here. I need to decide if it’s time to pack it up and go home. I need to decide where I fit into my space and where my space here fits into my life. I need to decide: am I a blog or a blogger? Is this site just a blog or a website or will it morph into something more because, let me tell you: I’ve always had aspirations of making this space something much bigger – which is it? Team Zoll or The Infertility Voice? Mom or infertility advocate? Can I really and truly be both?
Do I keep going out of some weird, misplaced sense of obligation to people who probably aren’t even reading this blog anymore or do I do it because it really and truly matters to me?
Decide, Keiko. It’s D-Day. Make a decision already.
* * *
“I think some get into blogging as a project. A project has a beginning and and end. You realize you’re gonna have trouble becoming a parent (the start of the project), you find a Tribe who gets your journey, and ultimately you resolve your trouble one way or another (the end of the project). When the project ends, the blog is at risk of ending, too.”
Oh Lori. You are so fucking wise.
* * *
Decision: we’re gonna keep going around here, but I’ve got to make a lot of changes. Some cosmetic, but mostly editorial. I can’t keep operating a space around a woman who’s just not here anymore. If she’s changed, this space has to change, too.
I welcome any and all feedback.
Lori Lavender Luz says
Love this: “I can’t keep operating a space around a woman who’s just not here anymore. If she’s changed, this space has to change, too.”
And I suspect that anyone who is living life, evolving and changing in response to years and events passing, anyone doing all that is bound to keep morphing her online space, too.
Excited to see what’s coming here, reflections of who you already are.
Heather says
I hope you’ll figure out what you want to do with this space, but in any event, I think your voice is important. just because we become parents does not take away from our ability to feel like an infertile – especially when we have to deal with ttc#2. I also wrote about infertility’s survivor guilt and gathered other blog voices from around the internet too: http://onestepatatime.co.za/bloggers/infertilitys-survivor-guilt/
Please keep writing. I think you have a lot to share!
Esperanza says
I, for one, am really glad that you are writing again (but would totally support your need to walk away, if it came to that). I have missed your voice in the community–without your voice the community feels very unfamiliar, almost unrecognizable. I know it’s hard to figure out where you fit in the ALI community once you have a child, but it’s important for people who are passionate to blaze that trail so that others coming after have an idea of how to navigate the sometimes tumultuous waters. Thank you for being that beacon for people. This community really needs it.
Kathy says
Tried to leave this comment here last night and apparently it didn’t go through… Hmmm?!
Trying again…
Joining the chorus of those who love and appreciate you for your voice, regardless of the status of your fertility and/or family building efforts. I too have been allowing my approach to writing, blogging and sharing evolve this year.
As you know, being my friend (outside of the blogosphere), there are things in my personal life that I am not ready to share about on my blog, which at times have diverted me or at least left me with less motivation and inspiration to blog. But as I wrote in my post tonight, I am learning to be more accepting of others and myself and thus not be so strict with how I think things and people are (and I am) supposed to be.
There are no rules for our own blogs and as Mel says, when we are true to ourselves in our writing, our tribe will read and follow us (and hopefully comment now and then) wherever we go. So glad to read this today and be able to give you some love, support and validation.
I am grateful for you and your voice. Keep writing and sharing here, please (whenever and however it works for you)! xoxo
Maria says
I, too, wrestled with the same issue. Had I not been forced to shut my IF blog down due to clients finding me, I probably would have done so eventually. After becoming a mom, the need for that space (indeed, my space) did not exist anymore. I’ve subsequently used my experience and expertise to begin a new blog to help others dealing with all infertility/adoption issues (including post-IF-parenting guilt…you can call anytime for a session. lol!). I’m confident you are going to find what feels right to you. Haven’t you always?
Jjiraffe says
I am glad that you have realized that this is, in fact, your space. And it’s your voice that everyone has gathered to hear here at this space. Even while you have been an advocate on a high level, you are and were still you: a kick butt, funny writer capable of great common good. I doubt that will ever change, and I will follow your voice to any space you inhabit.
Sara Cohen says
Hi Keiko,
Over the past few years, you have definitely been one of my favourite writers about fertility issues. Your voice has been so important to many, and often you have been the first, or at least the most vocal, to say things that have needed to be said.
I think you now are in the process of charting new territory. And I think that story is just as valuable as the story of infertility. Now we have the story of what happens after. How does being a mom after infertility affect your parenting? What do you think about talking to your child about the use of third party reproduction? Or, does your journey to get here not play into your parenting at all?
I see this as growing pains for the infertility community, and hopefully many of your previous readers will be on the other side of that bridge sometime soon, if not already, where they too are no longer struggling with infertility, but struggling with parenthood.
Thanks for lending such a great, informed, and unique voice.
Best,
Sara
Mel says
I think you hit on a very important point of why we read blogs. With the exception of sites such as HuffPo or BlogHer, big sites with lots of voices, I read blogs for the person; not their specific story. With individual blogs, I either connect with the voice or I don’t. It’s rarely the subject matter that hooks me.
Justine says
Keiko, YOU are so wise. I’ve been in a similar holding pattern since I started work again. I’m not infertile, I’m not seeking my work home, I’m not depressed, I’m not miscarrying or worrying about pregnancies. I don’t even make new food every week any more. All those things are the backdrop for what I do now, which is a crazy commuting balance with a job I love. I worry that no one will want to read about that, that it’s not deep enough, that I’ll be writing for nothing, sounding like the bloggers I hate to read, whose blogs are shallow navel-gazing and reviews for fabulous products that will make my life easier. But maybe I need to rethink that hesitation, and just suck it up and write, without pictures if I need to, without deep things if I need to. It’s the distance between the writer I was and the writer I think I am and the writer I want to be.
Maybe I should pay you to redesign my site, too, and migrate me to WordPress. 😉
xoxo