I needed a break from these interwebs. Especially in relation to things like my body. Turns out it’s kind of a mind-eff to put so much out there.
Not only did I take a break from writing here, I took a break from wanting to get pregnant. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I stopped being so obsessive about it, adopted a more “devil may care” attitude toward the whole concept, all in the hopes that maybe relaxing a little bit might be what I needed to get any of this done. As it turns out, not the case.
So I’m back. Back to writing about it, thinking about it, hoping for it, praying for it, you name it.
Infertility is such a weird water to tread. I wouldn’t exactly call it a taboo, but it is certainly something that goes undiscussed, often. Part of you wants to talk about it all the time, because it drives your thoughts, your actions, your life. Simultaneously, you don’t want to talk about it, for a multitude of reasons:
First of all, there’s the whole fact that it’s intimately tied to your body, and as much as talking about periods and cramps and pms and yeast infections and other “woman troubles” are generally mitigated to nights with the lady friends, or bitching at your S.O., fertility issues ultimately come down to talking about ovulation and periods and cervical mucous and intercourse patterns, with EVERYONE. The most intimate aspects of your life basically get splayed out there for the whole world to discuss.
Second, the advice. We infertiles can’t shove anymore potions or tinctures or sex postitions or rituals into our lives. Believe me. If we want advice, we’d ask for it. And I often do. It’s the unwarranted attempts from someone that knows nothing of your history, your background, etc. offering up the particulars on how SHE got pregnant that really puts me on edge.
Also–the empathy. Part of it is problematic because it somewhat forces you to live in this “poor me” world. “Woe is me, for my womb is barren…” People become hesitant to tell you of their own successes in conceiving, or talk about pregnancy issues. Or, they feel tempted to let you know that “they understand.” And then you have to pretend that they do. But, chances are good that they don’t. I mean, that seems like such a silly practice in regular life anyway, claiming understanding. I don’t understand where you are coming from and you don’t understand me, and that’s really okay. We don’t need understanding, we just need support. Shoulders to cry on. People to send good baby vibes our way. Prayers. But, we don’t need understanding.
Turns out that my disappearance just makes me wordy. I feel like I have so much more to write, since I’ve been mulling over all of this for so long, but will opt for brevity, now. Don’t worry, I’ll be back, soon.