Before I wasn’t a parent, I was the perfect parent.
Before I went through fertility treatment I was the perfect patient. I knew what was needed to succeed. I knew which boxes to tick & I bloody well ticked them. Twice for good measure.
Except of course that I wasn’t. I was suspicious of the world I was diving into. If I had been asked about fertility treatment before I thought I’d need it, I would have dismissed the notion. Not only would I not need it, I wouldn’t consider it even if I did.
God, the arrogance.
I ate my words. I injected myself with hormones & curious chemicals. I put my faith in the clinic. I bruised my own body with sharp needles. Just thinking about it brings tears. When I came to the last round of treatment, I remember crying to my womb – never again.
It’s a shitty place to be. Battered, bruised, no fucking baby…after the huge expense, the emotional & physical trauma, the tears. My God the tears. We could have gone on, but I chose not to. I chose to say enough & I don’t regret it. It’s still a shitty place to be. Envious of sleep deprived friends…feeling almost resentful of my lie in on a Saturday. It’s bonkers…
Tonight I signed up to some random weight loss programme I saw on Instagram. No idea if it’s a pile of shite. It probably is. They mostly are. Truth is, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to lose any weight. Maybe some part of me wants to hang onto it,as proof of what I’ve been through.
There’s a part of me that wants to hide. There’s a part of me that just wants to go to bed & hope that when I wake up things will be different. Not likely, eh?
My therapist has helped me to see those patterns. The ones I adopt, where I want to hide, be alone, when relationships are challenging. She’s held a mirror up to my own habits & beliefs about myself…about what I’m capable of.
(Side note: therapy is the best thing I’ve ever done.)
So, I am working on sitting with the endless discomfort. I am standing my ground. I am feeling the feelings & remembering to be kind to the 40 year old writing this blog & the little girl who still gets scared sometimes. We’re one and the same. Tomorrow I will start again. No inspirational quotes, no bloody memes. Don’t get me started…that’s a blog post for another day…