Wednesday, April 6, 2011


I used to have dreams, big dreams.

I thought I would do great things, have a great career, be a wondermom to a gaggle of kids.

As I got older, I consciously made life choices to make that wondermom fantasy a reality: I chose not to go to medical school or veterinary school because I wanted to be able to stay home with my kids and not have loads of student loan debt. I chose to give up my teaching career and move halfway across the country because I wanted Hubby and I to be able to afford a house on one income. I left my family, my friends behind to chase a dream. It seemed so within reach, so inevitable.

I was so fucking naive.

Now, my biggest dream is to learn how to live like a normal person, in a world with real live babies and pregnant coworkers with huge bellies that seem to have their own gravitational pull (seriously - she bumps into me with that thing every. single. day). I dream of not crying in the bathroom at work, of not putting up these walls that close me off into my own little world of pain and sadness. I dream of learning to live childless.

I dream of not wanting to beat the fuck out of people who still think it's okay to make fun of, stigmatize and marginalize the infertile. Oh yeah, fuck you, PETA.

It seems so hopeless. I don't mean the actually getting pregnant and staying that way long enough to have a baby. That dream is dead. The living part, that's what I'm struggling with. I don't think I can do it.


  1. (((hugs)))
    I am sorry. I know how it feels when you make pro-baby plans with the best of intentions and never have the live baby.
    Take care honey.

  2. I wish I had the right words to make you feel better, but I know that I don't.

    Please let me know if you need me.

  3. ((((hugs)))) I am thinking of you.

  4. IT all sucks!!!
    I'm not waiting...taking a beach vacay for 7 days in May, you and hubby wanna come?

  5. I'm sorry. I feel you, though. The main reason I majored in education was because teaching was a job I could take off a few years for kids and come back to, and then I would be off with them in the summers and all. :(

  6. I so relate to this post. I hate it so much, too. I wish there was some way to just make it easier. My life is so much different than the way I planned it.

  7. Hey wifey, I am so sorry you have to go through this. You have sacrificed so much already, that should be enough. And I'm sorry about your coworker too, that must be soooo horrid. I hope you are still talking this out in some way. I know I can't say anything else to make this better but I am thinking of you.

  8. I'm so sorry. And I know what you mean. I'm in the middle of shaping my life around the hope of having kids, and one of my biggest fears is that it will all turn out to be for nothing.

  9. What a heartbreaking post. I'm so sorry, and I understand how you feel. Thanks for putting it into such eloquent words.

  10. I'm so sorry that you're going through this.

  11. You know what? It's not too late to go back to medical school or vet school or anything if you want. It's not too late to pursue any of these dreams you once had for yourself. It seems like you're focusing your sense of self worth on whether or not you can conceive and give birth to a child. I don't know you, but I bet there is a whole lot more to you than your ability to carry a child to term, and really that latter thing is beyond your control. It would be good if you could discover and explore the awesome things about yourself that make you you, to revisit some of your hopes and dreams, and learn to love yourself for the person that you are.

  12. I hear the pain and the desperation in your words and although I'm not going to pretend I know exactly what you are going through, I do understand infertility and the pain that comes along with the fear or realization that the only plan you had your whole life just isn't going to happen. I understand how it is isolating. I read your blog and I'm afraid for you and I hope and pray for some mercy for you.

    I came across a quote that means something to me - and although the concept of a quote helping a pain as great as this one seems something a kin to putting a band aid on bullet wound, I am going to throw it out there for what it is worth - which may be nothing - but either way, just know that although it seems impossible, there is a life worth living after all this.

    "When you let something go, it frequently comes back to you. I let go of the search to understand my bad luck, which also meant relinquishing the hope embedded in that search: that, by understanding, I might come to control my fortune."

  13. I just wanted to drop by and say hi. I've been reading your blog for a long time, and I never was really sure why. I started reading it before my husband and I ever even tried to conceive. Even before we thought about it. It just caught my attention and so I would always check in. I guess it was a lucky circumstance that I found you, since it looks like I'm traveling down a similar path. I've just had my third miscarriage in 8 months and, though there's still testing to be done, I'm currently dxed as "habitual abortion - unexplained."
    I'm so, so sorry for everything you've been through. It sucks and there is nothing that will ever take the pain away. Ever. But I just wanted you to know that reading your words has helped me to feel less alone. You have helped me to feel like maybe I really can make it through this, that what I'm feeling isn't insane. I wish you didn't have to go through it. I wish no one ever did. But thanks for writing so honestly. I appreciate it, more than you know.

  14. Oh I so know that dark place. It sucks. Hoping that you can find some light soon. Keep waking up and just take each day as it comes. I remember when I would just celebrate that I didn't fucking cry for one day...or if I actually put makeup on and left the house. RPL has ripped me of so many things. Wishing you some much needed peace soon.

    I'm not sure if you're still following, but I've gone private to hide from some family for a bit. I'd love to send you an invite if you want to read about my RPL/adoption roller coaster. Just know that you're still loved and wanted around here...VERY MUCH!!!

    If you're up to it. Just send me an email.

    Hang in there!!!

  15. I am very sorry you are struggling right now. It's so very frustrating to not live the life you always thought you would. Please hang in there.