Telling People Is Exhausting

Well, I ripped off the Facebook band-aid as well, on Wednesday. I have to say that I had absolutely no assvice, and people were so supportive and lovely. People came out of the woodwork who I don't know that well but knew marginally in high school, and were just amazing. People I just met in the past few years were also amazing. I feel the need to reply to every comment, which takes time and, because of the community we have around us, is extensive. I have received some private messages that are just beautiful, and some righteous fury on our behalf, fist-shaking at the universe. I am looking forward to the trickle of responses slowing to a drip and then nothing, and recouping from this. It's strangely (not so strangely) exhausting to have such an outpouring of support, to be in this loop of "this is where we are" and thanking people for their sadness, their anger, their thoughts of love and hope for the future.

I did make it pretty darn explicit about what would be helpful to say. One of my smartass friends who I love basically made her comment all of them, and then personalized. (It made me chuckle.)

Here it is, different in some ways from the school one, and longer, but with some things the same. I think mentioning the donation of our nursery really helps too with the assvice, because it makes it clear that this is irreversible, not a fluke, not a phase, but definitively: we are DONE.

I have always prided myself on putting everything out there on Facebook, of having an authentic presence that speaks to the joys and painful parts of life alike. I must confess though that when faced with one of the most difficult years of my life, I simply wasn't in a place to share my reality here. I continued being honest and raw on my blog, but filled my Facebook persona with flowers, family birthdays, teaching stuff, octopus pillows, and at times, absences. 

I am ready to share our reality publicly now, despite fears of judgment or comments that are often meant well but frankly hurt (which thankfully have been very few and far between in private sharing.) If you're searching for something to say, "I'm so sorry," "This sucks," "I'm here for you," and "I don't understand why these things happen" are all good options. 

We are no longer pursuing adoption. After nearly 8 years of trying for a baby, first medically and then through adoption, we hit our point of ENOUGH at great personal cost. After tremendous thought, conversation, and consideration we are resolving our journey childfree. We never imagined that our quest for parenthood would end without a child, but that is how this crappy cookie crumbled. 

We have so appreciated your love & support, and we ask you to abide with us as we venture out as a family of two -- our future different than we originally envisioned but so full of possibility, love, and happiness -- which helps us face this huge loss that we grieve deeply. 

Thank you to all who contributed to our nursery -- it was such a special, beautiful place of hope while it lasted. We donated everything to an organization that helps women who don't have support for unintended pregnancies -- our loss will be someone else's blessing and help another new family get a head start. 

Thank you so much and much love to you all. 

There. Done. Explicit, but not too explain-y. I stole words from you and your amazing advice. I am exhausted from living in this space so completely for a couple of days. Band-aids are ripped, I am oozy, but maybe getting this out there to almost everyone (may the grapevine do the rest until our holiday card comes out... heh heh heh what do with this one...) will start the turn from traumatized and raw to the beginnings of some scabbing over, the formulation of some wings in my gooey little chrysalis.