A selfish grief?

It has been such an interesting space that I have been in over the last couple of weeks. A place of slowing down, as much as possible and showering myself with as much self-love and self-care as I can to get to the other side of what I believe is probably the deepest layer of grief yet that I have had to face - the simple fact that I cannot conceive another child.

It is huge. I am acknowledging to and allowing myself to feel at the moment that it is huge. Previously, for three and a half years I minimised my pain and grief to appease others. I was able to share my grief in cyberspace, but in my real life, I got the speak-to-the-hand attitude just about always. What the hell? I mean with any other grief - the death of a relative, the end of a marriage or a relationship breakup it seems from the outside sympathy and empathy is offered. With primary infertility it is understood, though not completely accurately, but understood a little at least that to live with the curse of not being able to have any children at all is pretty damn painful. But when you have one child (or more) and want another and cannot have one - you are left in the dust that is secondary infertility utterly alone and abandoned most of the time. And I have had enough of being in the dust.

So, I have been speaking up. I have been starting small with friends I feel safe around. But I can feel it within me - this need to spread the word about secondary infertility and how heartbreaking it is to live with - not just for me - but for the women who will follow behind in my footsteps. It is not fair that we are treated as if we are been selfish/greedy/overdramatic/unappreciative of the child/children we have because - we want another child. Again - what the hell?!

I've been working the twelve steps around secondary infertility for a few months now and am on steps eight and nine unofficially. At this point I am making amends to me. I am allowing myself to feel the pain of SIF, warts and all as I tried to hold back for a long time how I really felt as on some level I believed the people out there that minimised my pain and said it really wasn't that big a deal. I internalised my pain. That is such a dangerous and destructive thing to do. At one point I felt as though I was going to be eaten alive with the pain of secondary infertility as it was way too much to carry on my own - hence why I ended up on antidepressants.

Well this time round, as I move through the aftermath of SIF, I will not allow myself to be drowned in my grief on my own. I have been reaching out to others and it has been a challenge as I am not someone who likes to ask for help. But I have to do it to get the compassion, love and understanding I so desperately need.

I will describe SIF as a loss from now on to those it is appropriate to share with. I am not going to announce it from the roof-tops or anything but at the same time, I went through this for three and a half years with the conclusion that I cannot conceive another child. It is huge. I will share what I feel comfortable disclosing if it comes up. I deserve to be heard, supported, understood as much as possible and most of all loved for who I am at this point of time because of where I have been. I am someone who needs strong emotional connections in my life - without them live feels empty and so very, very lonely. If we can't connect with those around us when we really need them, then we are going to struggle unnecessarily. I do get that some losses/big experiences in life we have to go through alone - but eventually, at some point, it is important to reconnect with those that say they care and love for us. I am trying to do that.

I have been talking to God a lot. I have also been listening to Him a lot. After I dropped my daughter off at school today I walked home past a group of MOTs. There were four of them, all chatting with their other-off-spring in a buggy or in their arms. And then there was me. Admittedly one of the Mums was the one I know who has adopted/fostered children locally. But the sight of the four of them in conversation as if they were in a club that I cannot join was painful . So I just walked on by as if my heart hadn't just exploded all over the pavement in front of them. I walked on pretending to embrace my Mum-of-oneness and my quiet walk home to my empty house on a beautiful Autumn day. I let the sadness come up after seeing those MOTs and waited for God to comfort me. I mean surely, after all this time, there has to be some light at the end of the tunnel. This is what I got: I know this isn't how you wanted it to be. But you will be okay.