Part 23

We knew, by late June that having our own child wasn’t an option for us.  We knew that we needed to move on and begin to prepare for the next part of our journey – adoption.  I thought the pain was behind me.  I felt ready to move on immediately.  However, Ben and I agreed to take some “time off” from the baby conversation – and really grieve.  We committed to coming back to the conversation in September once my fall travel craziness had subsided.  By then, we thought we would be ready to move on to the next step.

That process felt like a necessary hurdle for me to do – not because I felt like I needed it – but because I felt like Ben needed it.  I wasn’t sure if he was quite “there” with the whole adoption scenario.  I wanted to give him time to let go of the possibility that we would have our own biological family – and begin to come to terms with the fact that our “family” may not have looked the way we originally intended it.  In my mind, I was already there.  I was ready to adopt.  I was ready to take in a child who needed a family.  I thought I had already let go of the pain and stress and heartache that we had faced up until that point.   I thought I was already done grieving.

Boy, was I wrong.

Looking back on the time from mid-June until late September I see, truly, how much pain Ben and I really were in.  If I look even further back – I see it even more.  While the whole process of infertility and deciding on adoption has made Ben and I’s marriage stronger than it’s ever been, there was a whole lot of pain and turmoil and stress that I just didn’t see until we were completely out of it.  There were a whole lot of wrongs that we made toward each other and the people in our lives – that are impossible to see in the moment – and even harder to undo.  We were broken and I we didn’t even know it until the moment we were fixed – until the moment we were finally (mostly) healed.

I’ll be honest with you and tell you that that moment didn’t come for me until we welcomed 2015 while laying on beach in Hawaii.  I had a point of clarity – I had a moment of peace.  I started to see the broken-ness for what it was.

1. We built a fort.  A fort you say!  Cool!  No, not the cool kind of fort you make with blankets and chairs as a kid.  We built a protective fort around us – a certain, select amount of people that we let in to the true and deep crap we were going through.  That seems logical in the moment.  Inevitably what happens, however, is that we shut a lot of people out.  It was easier to not have to have the conversation over and over with friends and family about what was going on.  We didn’t have to continue to relieve the pain continuously so that others could feel “up to date”.  Ben and I looked up from the past year – to year and a half – and realized that we had a lot of mending to do in many of our friendships and even with some family members.  For what it was, it probably did help us in the moment – but the long-term effects are still being felt in a number of ways with many of our friends.

2. The iron-coating got thicker.  I, in particular, wore the experience as a badge of honor.  I took pride in being told “you’re tough as nails” and people marveling at my personal strength throughout the journey.  While I still take a lot of pride in my personal strength I see now how that mantra became toxic.  It became not okay to not be okay anymore.  “I’m fine” became my catchphrase.  In the moment, I know it was a coping mechanism.  Looking back, I’m not sure it allowed me to grieve and “fall apart” while it was happening.  I needed space and permission to not be so tough.  I needed permission to not be “okay”.  I walked around for months pretending that everything was fine – and it wasn’t.

3.  The fights weren’t about the fights.  Ben and I didn’t really fight that much throughout the whole process.  He was always understanding and supportive and did his best to truly support me.  He was an incredible partner through it all.  There were a couple of times, however, where we fell apart – and ended the day in a total eruption.  I realized, while laying on the beach in Hawaii, that those fights weren’t even about the fight.  They were about pain.  They were about grief and hurt – and in the moment not knowing how to deal with that pain in a productive way.  Reflecting on one fight in particular (that we can both laugh about now) I think helped me realize what really was happening.  The fight we had was about absolutely nothing.  The things we said to each other were hurtful.  What led up to the fight is a window into two people who were hurting – and in the moment couldn’t hold on to the candy-coating “everything’s fine” shell any longer.  We had to learn to forgive quickly and recognize that we were grieving.

4.  I didn’t want to hear any advice.  The people in your life have the best of intentions.  They want to help.  They want you to feel better.  They want you to know it’s okay to be sad.  They want to give you advice.  I wanted nothing to do with any of it – even from some of my closest friends and family.  I found myself nodding or zoning out – not listening to what was being suggested on the other end of the phone or conversation – and checking back in just in time to say, “Okay.”  I got really good at pretending to listen to the advice.  I got really good at saying thank you, when I really wanted to say was “f*@k off”.  I didn’t want to hear anyone’s advice because MY journey was different – MY pain was mine.  How could they possibly understand and offer anything helpful?  The very reality was I desperately needed help.  I needed help understanding how to grieve, how to let go, how to get “unbroken”.

As I looked back on 2014 on what Ben and I went through I think we handled everything really well.  Ben’s initial response to the idea of this blog was “I think we handled everything really well.” he was confused about why I was even writing it.  Many marriages fall apart during fertility – the pain and the blame and the stress becomes too much or too hard.  We made it through, stronger than ever – we’re lucky.  Looking back there is a lot I would change – but a whole lot that I wouldn’t do differently at all.

I look back at it all now, and until about a month or two ago, I didn’t really realize how hard it all was – I didn’t really realize how broken I had become from the process.  I didn’t know I was broken until I was fixed.

Now, we feel even more ready for the journey ahead.  We feel even more ready to now welcome a child who needs us into our home and hearts.  We’ve cleared away the pain for a space for love to grow.