Lessons Learnt

It must be about six weeks since our adoption file expired. The first month post-it all ending was hard - way more emotions came up then I expected. I felt very raw and defeated.

But I'm feeling better about things now. I'm a big believer in feeling your feelings and working through things - pain comes up for a reason, and if faced, better times are on the other side of trying times. Sometimes a shift in perspective is all that is required - and this is something that can only come with time.

I suppose I've emerged out of the SIF chapter in my life a much stronger person. I certainly have way more compassion than I ever had before - and I was an empathetic, compassionate person before all this.

Life and the lemon's it throws, either to myself and others no longer surprise me. It's not that I think life completely sucks. More like, I think life is actually pretty good. But tragedy is part of life and will affect each and every one of us in different ways, either personally or to those who we love.

With SIF behind me, I feel I am able to understand big loss and major grief in a way I never could before. I understand that some life events are near impossible to overcome or if they can be overcome, could take a very long time to heal from.

I understand about rebuilding a life when a dream has been lost. About starting again and finding a new direction.

I really, really get at a deep level, that life is not perfect.

Accepting life on life's terms, and being able to see the bigger picture is finally allowing me the perspective I've needed to put SIF behind me. It is something that happened to me. Not something that is happening to me now.

Sure, I will get triggered probably in some way for the rest of my life. Pregnancy, babies and siblings  - those are all bittersweet things that will always be part of my life as life is about child-birth and families, afterall. I don't think I will ever be cured or done and dusted completely with SIF.

But I will not dwell on it. I have a belief in God and God is helping me let go, to finally move on from a dream that wasn't meant to be. I do trust that a different life awaits. I have to trust that it will be a life that will be just as good as the one I hoped for.

I feel blessed today. I've come out of all this with a new gratitude and appreciation for what is, rather than what isn't. Life can change in an instance. Things don't always go as we hoped and planned. But it is possible to not only survive the impossible, it is possible, I believe, to thrive.

I have booked to do a novel writing course next Sunday. I am deadly serious that I will write my book about my own secondary infertility experience. I am not afraid to share my story and to be an advocate for those in society who often go through SIF in silence. I don't think it should be or that it needs to be that way.

Last weekend my seven year old daughter and I went to Sydney for a weekend. It was a whirlwind trip - fun to see family and the sights of Sydney. I know I will now make more of an effort to spend time with family outside of our city now that our daughter really is a confirmed only child.

We have had some challenging times with our daughter - her autism changes as she gets older and in many ways although it is easier to read, it is harder to manage. I do think any sibling our daughter may have had would have being greatly impacted by her autism.

At the same time, our daughter was asking recently about adoption and we had to explain it was all over - we had explained it before, but I guess she's still digesting it. We talked about fostering. Even she said "Maybe when I'm older." But I don't know - I'm really not sure about fostering for us. I guess we will leave things as they are for this year. I have another operation for my arm later this year (to remove the metal). It doesn't feel like the right time at all to be considering opening our home to foster children.

My replacement starts at work tomorrow and we will be training for three weeks together. I haven't yet found another job but have applied and enquired about a couple of jobs to do with community/social work. It is the first time in five and a half years I'll be looking for a job for me as a career move as opposed to a job to do "until the baby comes." There is some freedom in that.

So all in all, I would say I'm in a pretty good place. I had a big response to the poem I wrote "Don't Leave Me Alone" in my last post, two weeks ago. I put it on Facebook and got some interesting feedback - many valued the insight to SIF. I was hurting when I wrote it and it was incredibly healing both writing and sharing it. That is my hope for those that follow in my footsteps with SIF; that they don't feel they have to get through it alone - that those around them will reach out as much as they possibly can. Nobody can take away the pain of SIF but being supported, even in a small way helps.

Don't Leave Me Alone

Don't leave me alone

To stew in my grief

Because it's not my fault

My family is incomplete

My body went through

"The change" very young

Amongst my peers

I feel like the only one

People think

Because I have one

That the pain isn't as deep

As those that have none

I feel so guilty

To have wanted another child

I have been called greedy

And for that I feel judged

Nobody seems to know

What to do or say

But it's a death I'm experiencing

So I need help in the same way

A phone-call, a cuppa

Just asking me how I am

All of these things will help me

To feel not as lonely as I am

Grief is not something

That disappears one day

Just because we are at the end

Doesn't mean the pain

Has gone away

My heart is still breaking

Every single day

Reminders are everywhere

Of the child that wasn't
Meant to be

Please understand if

I cannot rejoice

In your pregnancy or your baby

As I didn't have a choice

I want to be free

To move on from this pain

If you'd listen to me for a moment

Then a lot could be gained

Don't ever judge

If you haven't been in my shoes

I should have a right to be a mother

To as many kids as I chose

It's been a long journey

Lasting five and a half years

So many methods

So many tears

There is no quick fix

No easy answer

As secondary infertility

Was simply my personal disaster 

Lonely Times

Dealing with the aftermath of our failed attempts at adding to our family would have to be the hardest thing I have ever being through. Mainly because I feel so very alone. There is nobody to turn to at this time, no shoulder to cry on.

Sure, God is out there somewhere but the truth me known - I am angry with him at this point in time.

I try to open up as much as I possibly can in order to release some of the pain I am carrying around. But it either falls on deaf ears or ears that get it so wrong.

This morning two Mum-of-two friends were talking about birthday parties and how they were trying to simplify things now their eldest kids were older. One of them said "It must be different for you, because you have an only child." To which I replied "Well because I couldn't have the second child I wanted, I celebrate birthdays (not that I'm saying you two don't celebrate birthdays) by going with whatever she (my daughter) wants to do." There was silence after that statement. Gosh I wish people had a clue as to how painful this actually is.

Today another friend said to me something along the lines of "You're lucky to have one, plenty of women can't have any" to which I responded "That just makes me feel more guilty for having the grief that I have." (something like that). Silence, once gain.

What I really want is someone to call or pop round for a cuppa and just me talk, let me vent, let me release my grief. But it's all too taboo, too uncomfortable and too socially awkward for most to deal with.

Even the woman from the infertility support group I started who has had a baby recently said  in an email " I couldn't pretend to understand what you're going through." But that statement has made me feel so very, very alone.

My seven year old daughter is watching a video of her first year of her life right now. I had to leave the room. I cannot do babies right now. It is too, too painful to watch knowing that that was it - I won't get to repeat those glorious years ever again.

I've felt so alone in my pain this week that I've been googling secondary infertility in a desperate attempt to ease my intense loneliness and overwhelming grief. Perhaps it's time I went for another round of counselling. I am swimming in a sea of grief that is too big for me to manage.

 I want to look on the bright side but my grief is too big right now to do that completely. I agreed with another Mum Of One (who doesn't know about my secondary infertility), that having one child had it's perks this week, such as being able to travel more and to travel longer distances (because of price). Next weekend I am taking my daughter to Sydney to see my sister and niece. I'm not sure we'd be going over for a weekend if I had two kids.

I want God to fill this baby-shaped hole with something else. It seems so unfair that after all I've been through, I'm still left feeling disappointed, dissatisfied, empty and so very, very alone. At least God, take away this desire to have another child - it seems so cruel to live with a dream that is forever-broken.

So I shall go and take my dog for a walk out in the darkness of the night now. I might shed some tears and plead with God to lessen my pain. I want to be ok, to find peace, to embrace new dreams. I want to be set free from the prison of secondary infertlity that has tormented me for way too long.

Now What?

I have surprised myself as to just how rough I have found reaching the end of the road to be. I thought I had processed and accepted so much over the last five and a half years - so to be feeling as raw as I do right now is a shock. I really thought I'd be doing better than I am. But I can't change the way I feel.

I spent the first part of Mother's Day in tears this year. At first I didn't want to go out. I didn't want to be out there, in the world of completed families celebrating my incomplete family. I cried into my husband's arms that it  it was all my fault that we were here - no baby because of my body - and that we had to go through the adoption process all for nothing...

But my daughter wanted to go out and so did my husband. So we found a not-so-busy cafe, which was perfect for the frame of mind I was in. We sat out in the sunshine and had lunch then went for a drive to visit A Guinea Pig Village I'd heard about. There was an adorable shop nearby and I got spoilt with a few things from that shop for Mother's Day. So in the end, I was able to celebrate the day despite the grief that came up.

It has been so hard sitting with this grief that most have no clue I am carrying. I want to scream at the Mums Of Two or more that I sit chatting with as we wait for our kids after school that I couldn't have any more kids. Couldn't even adopt, as it turns out. I want them to know that I wanted, more than anything, to Be A Mother Again. More than anything.

So now what God? I have handed my life over to Him but I have no idea what comes next. I've just four weeks left in my job and I don't know where I'll end up next job-wise. I am picky. I want and deserve to be happy and so am being very careful and selective around what I apply for. I am drawn to either working with children with special needs or going back into the abnormal psychology field (I have previous experience in both areas). 

I fear my heartache won't subside. I've had to apply self-preservation big-time. I cannot be around pregnant women and if I have to be; it has to be at arm's-length. I cannot cope with babies at this time. A woman from the infertility support group I started has had a baby recently but I've told her I'll have to leave visiting for a while as I'm processing my own fate and that has been hard. 

I want to kick and scream and yell at anyone who cares to listen that I am struggling to accept our outcome at this point in time. The trouble is, nobody really does want to listen. Babies smile at me, toddlers walk towards me, preschoolers want to talk to me - and my heart breaks every time. I'm not sure any of this will ever make sense - why I have such a desperate longing to be a Mum again and why it wasn't to be.

So in the meantime - until I get to the place where I've settled into the life God has chosen for us - I have to find other things to focus on. At the same time, God has given me many signs that it's time to slow down, to give myself a break, to stop and to listen to what He has to say. Easier said than done.

What I've realised is that in order to cope with my intense feelings of grief over the last few years, I've created (unintentionally), a very busy life. My job is one that is flat-out with never enough hours in the day and often involves extra unpaid hours. This has meant I've struggled to fit part-time work around my husband's 12 hour shifts and the needs of my autistic daughter. I've been "running" for so long - trying to fit in the gym and community commitments amongst the chaos of work and home. No wonder I tripped and fell six months ago and seriously broke my arm at the elbow. No wonder I have a rash on my chin right now that doesn't appear to be going away in a hurry. No wonder I am emotionally depleted. It has all been too much to handle.

But it's a new chapter now, whether I like it or not. I am trying out a Tai Chi class on Monday night as I'm attracted to more gentle forms of exercise right now and am more than happy to let go of my gym membership. I have found a novel-writing workshop next month so plan to attend that. I've applied for a couple of jobs that match family life and hopefully won't be such a stretch should I get one of them.

I'm a fighter. I know I'll get there. I have to get there. It's just such a lonely road. More than ever. I just don't know anyone who went through secondary infertility and didn't get a baby. All my contacts did in the end...So no-one understands just how awful it is to be faced with a garage-full of clothes, toys and bikes that you were hoping to pass on to your second child. No-one gets it. And I'm too tired and burnt out from it all to even begin to explain my feelings. I'm done with justifying why I feel the grief I do.

Our profile got sent back to us last week. Wow, was that a kick in the teeth. Yes I knew it was coming back - but to receive it back in the mail...I cannot bring myself to open up the courier package at this stage. Not now. One day it will, as my husband says, be a historical document of a point in time in our lives. Of a dream we hoped for. Hopefully one day we'll look back and see all the good things that happened instead.

I feel so many things right now that it's almost impossible to name all the feelings. But the feeling that hurts the most is a lack of hope. I have lost some drive and oomph in my life because of this whole experience - it has left me feeling weak, hopeless and disspirited. I can only hope that this gentle path that God is prompting me to go on now - the one where life will slow right down (or as much as possible!), will allow time to heal, to reconnect with myself in mind, body and soul, and to find joy in other things again.

It's Over

Well it's over. Two weeks ago our adoption file expired and that was the end of a very long chapter. Five and a half years of waiting, hoping, praying and emotional harrowing times, over.

To be honest, it isn't that easy being at the end of it all. I've been letting go and preparing for the outcome that has been obvious for some time - the no baby outcome - the living as a Family Of Three outcome. But now that we're here - at the end - it is actually very sad.

Even my husband who I thought had let go of the whole adding-to-our-family hopes quite some time ago; felt as though the ending was all rather flat. He commented one weekend how our seven year old daughter was reading to our two year old neighbour and how cute that was...

I feel as if I have a responsibility to be more upbeat than I feel right now - a responsibility to those who read this blog and may be following in my tracks; that surviving infertility and not actually beating it is ok.

But it's not.

It's so not ok. It sucks big-time that after all these years, all that time and energy was wasted  - for nothing.

I don't feel bitter though.

Just very, very disappointed. Hurt. And disillusioned.

But I know that I will be okay.

I will continue to be real about this, as I have all the way through. It is no piece of cake living with infertility - and it seems once you reach the end of the road and your dreams are shattered - all you are left with are crumbs.

It is no coincidence that I resigned from my job the day after our adoption file expired. I figured if I cannot change the size of my family, then I will change the job that I am not happy in!

I think those who go through infertility and are left with nothing - no result; no baby to be blessed with are indeed dished out a pretty raw deal. It must be so incredible to survive infertility and to eventually get the baby - to finally hold it in your arms and breathe "It was all worth it." Suddenly all the heartache and agony of the years gone by could be understood because afterall, if one hadn't endured infertility; there would be no baby.

But for those of us who come out of this without the baby- the whole thing can feel like a bit of a sham (well it does for me!). Sure, I have grown emotionally and spiritually. I've started a support group for women going through infertility locally. I'm even writing a book, for goodness sakes about my journey! I'm giving back, I'm helping, I'm being open about it all. You could say, my reason for going for all this was so I could help others.

Yet the sight of siblings together, a baby in a pram, a pregnant belly - those sights have never lost their power to cause me to crumble on the inside. Why did God not think I should be a mother again? It is a question I daren't explore too deeply as searching for an answer will only leave me depressed.

Just the other week a Mum Of Three proudly wheeled her newborn into the school grounds. I had my sunglasses on, but I had tears streaming down my cheeks as just days earlier our adoption file had expired. And I sat there flanked on each side by two Mums Of Two who were comparing the personalities and similarities of their children - the old second child spiel...it was absolutely heartbreaking.

Our social worker phoned recently to double-check that we'd really reached the end of the road. I confirmed we didn't want to reapply and to go through the adoption process all over again. She said she will  be sending our profile back in the mail. There was a time when I thought we were good candidates for adoption - I feel like a bit of a fool right now. I know we gave it our best shot - but we weren't picked. And that hurts.

Our social worker asked us about Home For Life - which is what permanent fostering is called here in New Zealand. I said we'd leave it for now, but that we had talked about it before. I feel we need time to heal as a family before considering going down that path. I'm personally not up to going through yet another process for fostering. Also with fostering, you would get a child - an older one - not a baby - as there are obviously loads of children out there who need foster homes. Maybe one day we might look into it but the time is not right at the moment. I also have big concerns about mixing our daughter with autism with a child with emotional/behavioural problems.(which is the reality of fostering). So I'm not going there for now.

I feel as if outwardly I have nothing to show for what I've been through. At least six months on post-accident the scar on my arm is so very visible and obvious from the two surgeries I have after I broke my elbow. People see it and ask about it.  But infertility - it's invisible. So many people I know have no idea what I've been through.

But it's a case of onwards and upwards - because there's nowhere else to go. At least I can really sink my teeth into my book now as the conclusion has been finally reached and I needed the ending before I could write my book properly.

I wish I felt as if I was in more acceptance than I am right now about the whole thing. I want others to know who are in the midst of infertility that the finality we are all so very afraid of (no baby) isn't so bad. But I can't lie - getting here, where I am, feels like a tragedy. I can't pretend it's any different. Telling the truth and speaking from the heart is simply my style.

I will be okay though. I know that. I am just processing and trying to make some kind of sense of the last five and a half years, that's all. I have to trust that my life will open up in a different way.

A New Freedom

It seems I have been waiting a very long time to end my SIF/family building journey. So unbelievable in some ways that in a weeks time, it will all be over!

Relief has been the main feeling I've felt for the last few months. Relief that life can soon/now be about different things - other things.

I had coffee with a friend this weekend who is going through primary infertility. How nice it was to be able to share with her that there is an end to it all - an end to the emotional torture, regardless of whether a baby comes or not.

We purchased some bunks this week for our spare room. When we bought our house two years ago, one of the reasons was because it was a three bedroom home and could accommodate our hoped-for family-of-four. The social worker from Adoption Services came round and inspected our place. She ticked it off as been a good home for an adopted child.

So for the two years we've lived here, our spare room has been an in-between room - a room that might one day be decorated or kitted out for our addition.

Now that that isn't going to happen, we've accepted that our spare room is a guest room/office (aka my "woman-cave"!). It's not the biggest of rooms so the bunks fit perfectly for guests and I have space to write in the office and do whatever else I want to do (blog, use Facebook...)

The closure around this era feels good. I'm certainly ready for it and embracing it - the end of an era.

There are changes ahead.  I was sharing with the friend going through primary infertility how small my world became when dealing with secondary infertility/going through premature menopause. Well my world is opening up again and I just want to embrace and enjoy life.

I am not happy in my job and am making steps towards finding another one. I have decided I want to do teacher aiding as it fits in with school hours and working with special needs children has always been an interest of mine, even before I was a Mum and ended up with a daughter with autism - that is simply one of life's ironies. 

My current part-time job is demanding and unrewarding in so many ways.  I am done with it. I want to teacher-aide and then find time in my week to write, write, write - because at the moment that (writing) isn't happening as much as I'd like it to. My brain is too full with the stress of my job and I am exhausted a lot with my husband working 12 hour days. 

I want and deserve a more balanced life - especially after enduring a disappointment (understatement) like the one I've been through - 5.5 years of pining is too bloody long, if you ask me. And not in character with how I usually respond to life's u-turns. Normally I get it quite fast in the piece - I back paddle out of situations that don't appear to be working for me. But not with SIF. It was just something I couldn't let go of for a very long time.

But I have no regrets. I TTC, used fertility drugs and went through the adoption process for another child and nothing worked. I can't say I didn't try or didn't give it my best shot.

Now that I have a conclusion, I finally feel I can sit down and spend some time writing my book about my experience. Even though I've been blogging on this topic for four years, and I've wanted to write a book about it for some time and have started editing my blog; I did need an ending to give me a perspective of some sort. I like that I can offer a tale of stamina, strength and honesty based on not getting what I wanted.

I've met a few women - mainly online but also some in real life (through the infertility support group I started), who once they got pregnant after a time of infertility, hoped and even believed that I would too - or later down the track,  believed that we would get picked as adoptive parents. I wanted to have the faith these women had for me after their dreams were realised but I guess at some point reality hit and I knew the chances of me joining them were incredibly slim, for reasons known only by God.

When I drove past Adoption Services this week I could only think it was meant to be part of our journey - going through the adoption process. I learnt a lot and healed too around not being able to have a biological child at that time. I know I could raise a child that wasn't biologically ours now. I probably always could have done that, but after having a biological child it did take a while to make that leap.

Now I'm in a position of seeing the word's children in a different way - it's not just about mothering our own, it's about mothering those that come to us. I know with teacher aiding I will bond with children in some amazing ways. I've been there before, a lifetime ago before I was a mother myself - nurturing children with special needs. I guess this is the direction I am meant to be heading in.

The Final Countdown...

Wow, 14 days to go until our adoption fire expires. Two weeks to go until we will be finally done and dusted with this long, painful and frustrating period of our lives.

I know once we're officially out of the pool of prospective adoptive parents, I will be able to move on and make sense of things.

Over the last few days our seven year old daughter has been asking about siblings again. When she asked today I had to say that we weren't picked - that there were lots of families to choose from and they were all different so there were lots of choices for the families adopting out. I'm not sure how much of it she got. She just wanted a chance to be a "big sister".

As I walked back from the fish and chip shop tonight, I saw two siblings (one is in my daughter's class) playing happily together on a trampoline. I know our daughter is missing out, not having a sibling in so many ways. I have to try extra hard to provide her with play dates so that she is around other children as much as possible. This is easier said than done when autism is added to the mix.

Who knows how things might have gone had another child being added to our family. If it had happened biologically, perhaps we may have ended up with a second child with autism. That could have been a possibility. Or if we'd adopted, who knows what the dynamic between our daughter and another sibling would have been like. I know from the families I know with autistic children that their siblings are affected and things can be tricky. But at the same time, family is family and to have a sibling that loves you for you; that is priceless.

I spoke to a very close friend today who went through primary infertility and went on to try for another child but it didn't happen - she reached the end of the road recently with that. So we were able to share about our journey's and the relief we felt at being at the end of it all. We tried to be positive about it all, as best as we could.

I packed up some of my daughter's old clothes today to post to one of my sister-in-law's who has three children. It's all her size six and seven clothing. I always find it to be a little heart-wrenching saying goodbye to her old things - things that represent different eras that I'll never get back, especially because she's my only one.

Now my daughter is seven she seems like such a big-little girl - no longer a new entrant at school and so sophisticated in her thinking and speech in lots of ways.

Even though I am reflecting back a bit as we approach the end of the road with this journey; I am also looking forward. I just want life to be as fun and as light as possible after all the heaviness and seriousness of the last five and a half years. Life is short and I can't stop life throwing me a lemon every now and then. But I can enjoy the good bits and make the most of things the way they are.