Sunday, April 1, 2018

The Difficulty of Acceptance

I am creeping up on the one year anniversary of our decision to end our parenthood journey (and all the awfulness that led up to and immediately followed that time). I am grateful that I have this week off, as Thursday-Saturday are the strange anniversaries of the crisis, physical and mental, that led to the end.

I am good. I have accepted where we are. Acceptance is not the same as as never being sad about it, it's just knowing that this is our life, and we are going to live the shit out of it as it is now. We are not looking to change anything about our status. We have accepted that this is the life we have, and frankly I am grateful for all of the wonderful things that we are capable of doing and can pursue.

And I am grateful that we are no longer chasing something that flitted frustratingly out of reach every single time. My forehead has healed from all of the wall-banging that never led to a secret door to "the other side." There is an incredible lightness in letting that go.

I know that I've gotten to an acceptance point because I had this really weird dream about a month ago, one where Bryce came home and was like, "Hey, there's this baby boy, and we can adopt him, I've worked it all out and I think we can do this, it just sort of fell into place." I was in shock, because I can't see Bryce coming home and nonchalantly being like, "hey, let's go pick up a baby sometime later today," EVER, even in the dream world. It was weird. And what was weirder was I wasn't excited. I was like, "um, that's great and all, but where will we put this magical baby?" And then I thought, Oh man, I REALLY don't want to lose my office. I LOVE my office. And then I woke up.

I woke up feeling kind of guilty, but also...settled. When I told Bryce about the dream, his reaction was, "that's awesome!" Which at first seems odd, but the reason why is that it means that I am in a headspace where our home is no longer a place where we wait for something lifechanging to happen that just...doesn't. Our home isn't a depot of stunted dreams, not anymore. Our home is just what we want it to be (for the most part), and it is getting cozier and more efficient and useful and filled with spaces that just bring us joy. I felt guilty because it was like, "oh man, here I was in my dream with the baby that finally arrived, and I wanted my office instead!" But then I realized...NO. The baby isn't my dream anymore. That wasn't something that happened for us, and trying to make it happen for years and years through multiple processes didn't bring us closer, it actually almost destroyed me. So, yeah -- I love my office.

The clean half of my office, ha ha ha. So important for me to leave those decals up.

My office is a new space that's about me and my dreams and my life, NOW. Something I can enjoy in the present and not strive and push for things I want but aren't something I can make happen. So that makes sense.

Ever so slightly more cluttered side, but a joyful mess.

What doesn't make sense to me is that others seem to have a difficult time accepting. Not close friends and family, because they know fairly intimately what it was like for us during those years, especially the last one, and how torturous and exhausting and dangerous the quest for a baby became. But when I see the odd person who hasn't been aware that our quest for parenthood is done, there is an incredible sadness. And then a need to offer up alternatives to our sad childless fate, to ask if we're sure, or if we should just take a break, or if we've considered fostering. Or the "well, you never know! Crazy things can happen!"

Look! A real dining room!
New furniture seems to be symbolic of our moving forward. 
Um, THE WHOLE POINT of us ending our journey was to END THE JOURNEY. I would really love for people to be able to hear that we're done, express sadness that we won't be parents after all, and then congratulate us on our new life. Because I try to frame it in a way where we can live the life we have and not keep waiting for the one we wanted, and that we are so so fortunate, but all I see is the sadness clouding everything over and this sense of "poor Jess." But I don't want to be "Poor Jess." I want to be "that sucked, but good for you, moving on! Good for you, figuring out what to do next! Good for you, reworking your home for your new reality!" It's like parenting is so woven into our fabric and so valued as an institution that the thought of anyone NOT having that, especially people who clearly wanted it, is an unspeakable tragedy.

I get it, I mean, when I was lying facedown on the floor a lot last year it definitely felt tragic. So I guess it's unfair to expect people to get to my point in acceptance in the 15 minutes after they find out that our journey is over. And it is nice to have acknowledgement of the loss, because...yeah. It is a HUGE loss.

Somehow though I want it also acknowledged that it's wonderful to have this new life, to end that sad chapter and move towards a life we build without pushing and pushing for something we just couldn't make come to fruition. That this new life is beautiful, and peaceful, and SO MUCH HEALTHIER than the end of our journey where I was willing to sacrifice my physical and mental health to the cumulative stress and grief of trying and failing to have a child. I feel sometimes like the mantra of "never never give up" makes it seem like our decision in the end was a failure, was a lack of perseverance, when in fact I see it as a victory -- taking control of our destiny in a way we simply weren't able to no matter how we tried when it came to family building. There comes a time when continuing stubbornly on with no results and more and more collateral damage is just insanity. That "one more try" isn't going to be the magic sauce for you. That "one more year" just isn't feasible if you want to still be homestudy eligible, which is highly ironic. We chose the life we have. We chose to move forward into a future that seems a hell of a lot brighter now that we've let things go that for whatever reason (and I don't believe there is one) just weren't ours to clutch.

I think about my office and the way that we've reworked our home as very similar to when I had my uterine surgery and removed my lining -- there is ABSOLUTELY NO WAY I can get pregnant now. I don't have to think about it, or worry about it, because I shut and locked that door. And with our nursery becoming my office, there is no way that we could change our minds -- we shut and locked the door on bringing a child into this house. We don't have the space for it anymore. We donated all of the things. I didn't feel that we had truly committed until Memorial Day Weekend, when everything got packed up and picked up and there were scant few baby related things left in the house. It was like a cleanse. And it made it so that the decision WAS THE DECISION. No room for waffling.

It is good. Living in limbo was godawful. I can mourn what didn't happen, what can never be, but it is SO MUCH EASIER to mourn that knowing that it can never happen than to hold my grief and my hope together, not being sure at any given moment which has the stronger pull and which is more damaging. So I am grateful for an end. I am grateful to my new space, my new childfree home.

Acceptance is finally not difficult, for me.

17 comments:

  1. You know the saying “it’s not you, it’s me.” Well, I think it applies very well to those who don’t know your story and try to reason their way to what they consider an alternative. It is about them and their inability to face something so hard and see the joy that can come out of make the decision to end the pain. Those who know you have struggled with you, knowing that the life you are living after coming out the other side is pretty amazing (because you make it so). But those who don’t are being triggered by a deep seated fear where they have to make things end the way they see as happy. Honestly, it’s so sad because many of those same people are actually pretty unhappy with their circumstances.

    For what it’s worth, I admire what you and Bryce have built together. It’s truly a beautiful and wonderful life. With sadness allowed, because there will always be those moments of sadness for what was lost. But Jess, you should be proud of all you’ve built.

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    1. Thank you so much -- I am proud, and I am so grateful to people like you who have been supportive the whole way, who know the whole story, and who offer me perspectives to think on.

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  2. I am inspired by the way you have reclaimed your life so wholly. Love the meaning of the dream -- that you have reclaimed your life so wholly.

    I also love that you have documented your difficult journey through hardship to contentment. How many people never get there? You did, and now you can show the way.

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    1. Thank you so much, yes -- reclaimed is a great word for it. I feel like I couldn't have gotten to where I am (which is a pretty good place but still hard in a way I hope will lessen over time) without people like Mali, and Loribeth, and BentNotBroken, and Infertile Phoenix, etc. Especially those who showed the way before I was through that door. I hope I can be a lamplight for others, too.

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    2. I know it's been painful for you to be blogging about the end of your dream of parenthood, and the beginning of your journey toward acceptance, all in real time as it happened. But like Lori above, I am glad you did, and thank you for it. :) I didn't start blogging until almost 10 years after the loss of our daughter, and 6-7 years after we stopped infertility treatments. I know Mali didn't start blogging about childlessness until some years later either. It seems like there are infertility bloggers who simply vanish when they run out of parenthood options, or people like Mali & me who start blogging after we've made that decision and are grappling with the after effects. So I'm really glad your voice & your example is out there for others to read & learn from!

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  3. You've really made me think with this post. I realize that, outside of this blogging community, nobody has congratulated me on moving on either. Most people see my situation as I have "given up, " instead of what I have done, which is reclaim my life and start to live again. Maybe people like you and me will start to show the rest of the world that there is life without children after infertility. What I hate most about people's sad reactions is that, if I don't comfort them, the sadness just sorta hangs in the air. But I am tired of comforting OTHER people about MY problem that I've worked through, so now I just let the awkwardness be there. I feel like this is kind of a rambly comment. I have several different threads of thought pinging around in my brain and I will continue to think about this post throughout the week. Thank you for writing this and congratulations on being a badass, for being willing to face what you didn't want and for being able to end being in limbo. As you know, being in limbo for years about such a primal desire is AWFUL to say the least. I wish you lots of rest, happiness, and content moments this week!

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    1. Yes! This: "I am tired of comforting OTHER people about MY problem that I've worked through." I have to say though, I did have a couple people outside the blogging community say "Congratulations," among them the teacher I work with. It was said with a question mark, like he thought maybe it was callous, but it was PERFECT. So much better than when people bring up other alternatives, like we didn't know about them. And then somehow I feel guilty, just a little bit, but then I remember that I should ABSOLUTELY not feel guilty for not becoming foster parents, and that it's a choice that none of these other people made, either. Sigh. Oooh, and I love that you called me a badass! You too, lady. Here's to infertile, childfree badassery. :)

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  4. I love you Jess. You and Bryce have such a beautiful marriage & a more and more beautiful and cozier Home every time I see it. I’m so proud of you for taking the best care of yourself and each other, and making an impossibly hard (and clearly correct for you) decision and embracing your beautiful life together. Here’s to no more limbo and living the hell out of life! (And that officer of yours, total
    Swwwwwoooooon!)

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    1. Love you too, Beth! Thank you so much. Definitely impossibly hard, but incredibly right. I am goo no more! And love my office. Glad it's swoon-worthy!

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  5. I’m so glad you are in this good place (mentally and physically). And I can see how frustrating it would be when people are sad for you but not also happy. They are only seeing half the story. The truth is BOTH the sad and the happy parts. Ironically it’s probably hard to understand how happy you are to move on because they don’t understand how awful it was before. So...I dunno. Just keep living your awesome life.

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    1. Yes, absolutely -- it's the lack of the dichotomy that bothers me, exactly like you said -- the truth is BOTH parts. I get the sad, really I do, but the happy exists too and it's okay. People who were there when I fell utterly apart definitely see the congratulatory bit, for sure. :) Not everyone is going to understand, of course, and I really did not make it clear to a lot of people just how terrible it was, even though that sounds silly when I have this space. But yes, huzzah for the good place! Thank you.

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  6. You and Bryce are very wise. It’s fantastic that you have each other, that you are such a strong team. Yes, embrace your lives together! This life is all we get here on Earth. Every day we have a choice to live it to the fullest. I rejoice that you are victorious in overcoming all that you have been through. And yes - it’s great that you have moved on. You are strong, my dear. Full of life and full of strength. I love you.

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    1. Thank you! We are totally a strong team, and I am so very grateful for that. I definitely prefer "moved forward" to "moved on" -- one makes it seem like things are in the past and over, and the other acknowledges that those things are always present but that we can go towards the future without being held down by them, if that makes any sense at all. Love you too!

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  7. I love your reaction to the dream! It just shows how far you have come in the past year.

    I wish that people would just be happy for you and probably aren't remembering you and your physical/mental head space last year.

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    1. Thank you! Yes, it was a funny moment, like a feeling of guilt but then also a letting go of it, a realizing that things are different now and that's okay. :) It's probably easy for a lot of people to not remember last year's disaster, because I kept it fairly quiet not on this space and really did not explain much on a wider level, but hopefully this helps people understand just how horrid things were when we hit the breaking point. Going back to read those posts is sobering!

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  8. I love this post. :) We weren't particularly open about our journey or why we don't have kids, so I find people are either really sad whenever the subject comes up, or they tend to focus on the "must be nice...!" aspect, which I find maddening. I have said that I don't want people to pity me, but I don't want them thinking we just said, "Oh well then..." and went on our merry way. I just want a little credit/respect for what we've been through, even if things have worked out fairly well in the long run, you know?

    Re: your dream -- I had a similar sort of "aha" moment that I've written about before (& may have told you about) -- I was in my mid-40s, a couple of years into our decision to stop treatment, it was Christmastime & we were at my parents' house. My period was late & I was feeling lousy. I started to wonder whether I might be pregnant -- a Christmas miracle, just too cute, right?? The funny thing was, I wasn't happy about the idea AT ALL -- in fact I was MAD. I felt like my body had jerked me around for years, I had just gotten used to the idea of not having kids, and now here was my body jerking me around again. We snuck out & got & took a pregnancy test -- which was negative. And I was hugely relieved. That made me realize that maybe I was a little further down the road to acceptance than I thought...! lol

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    1. Thank so much! Oh gosh, the "must be nice" is so irritating. It's funny, because I want it to be okay for people to choose not to have children, or to stop treatment/pursuing options at any point, but yeah, like you I want credit and respect for everything that went into OUR own decision, too. I want condolences and congratulations for a life remade, which is perhaps unfair to expect of people I don't know that well. :) Oh man, the pregnancy thought... so interesting to have a pee stick experience where you're like, "PHEW, done with that nonsense." That's another reason why I love that I had my uterine surgery -- no moments like that to torture me after coming to peace with our situation. It's lovely to have a reminder that you're in a good place with acceptance, I'm glad you had those too!

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