Here’s my argument:  ‘I am infertile’ is definite.  It’s personal.  It claims to encompass everything about me. It is a liar.  I am not infertile.  I have challenges with fertility.  I also have a wicked sense of humour and a rather twisted way of thinking sometimes.  I have an awareness of things around me, and I have trouble keeping a child to term.  ‘I have infertility’ sounds to me like it is something I can overcome.  Something that is not my fault and that I will try to work around.

‘I am infertile’ becomes part of us.  We repeat it to ourselves, to our partners, to our close friends, to our medical team.  As a coach, this goes against the grain, because it feels like constantly accepting defeat, constantly beating ourselves up.  We end up internalising infertility until it becomes part of who we are, rather than simply being something we are struggling with.

The ability to conceive and carry a child successfully to term is important to many of us in defining our feminine identity.  Infertility and miscarriage changes us as people (as does any trauma) – we have to deal with reexamining our assumptions of health, our ideas about family structure, and come to terms with a desire that may never be met. Imagine if people started saying “I am cancer” or “I am AIDS”.  It’s just wrong.

So what is the alternative?  ‘I suffer from infertility’?  Sure, it’s not untrue, we suffer because of infertility, but it seems like such a separating statement.  Does this put us in the category of victims and sufferers?  Does it mean that while we continue in our daily lives, we shouldn’t be living in case we aren’t suffering from infertility?  What about “I am struggling to have children?”.  I like that a bit better.  It’s in the present, so it doesn’t feel like a final declaration, it may describe my current condition, but even that is isolating the problem to you alone, and infertility is not just the problem of one partner.  “We are having difficulties with conception”.  That puts it in its place, it doesn’t isolate the challenge to you alone (infertility is a couples disease), it doesn’t make you a victim, and it isolates the difficulties with conception, rather than letting it define your entire state of being. This phrase works for me, and I invite you to find something that works for you, rather than just accepting what seems to make others comfortable.  You can of course just say “It’s none of your business” if you’re called on to say anything at all.

I have had recurrent miscarriages.  It’s not about who I am, it’s not about what I am, it doesn’t define me, and it wasn’t because of anything I did.  My grandmother had recurrent miscarriages too, and her brother wasn’t able to have children either, so it is not something that I did or didn’t do – it was something that was passed down to me, and something I hope can be treated with an ever-advancing medical science, as I continue to live healthily, eating organically, and respecting my environment.   I didn’t do this, I don’t deserve it, and I refuse to own it, because if I own it, I have to feed it..

Failure is defined in www.freedictionary.com as a number of things, one of which is “the condition or fact of not achieving the desired end or ends”.   This to me is counter-intuitive.  As people, we are constantly changing and, as we change, our desires and goals change.  Not changing would be not adapting, and how could that be defined as success?

Success, in turn is hardly a positive term if we see it as the absence of failure, or the achieving of goals that are no longer relevant, so I thought about it a bit and this is more in line with what I think true success is:

1. Success is paying attention to the cause and effect of actions and circumstances.
2. Success is learning from behaviour.
3. Success is letting go of and moving away from behaviour that doesn’t work for you.
4. Success is growing from experiences – taking the information that you’ve learned, and redefining the situation to get circumstances to work for you.
5. Success is accepting there is no failure, simply learning opportunities.
6. Success is learning about yourself, your boundaries, your support structures.

The best thing for me about success is that it is a choice that’s only a reframe away.  For example, you have been through 10 IVF cycles and are not pregnant, and you choose to stop the IVF, you are putting success definition #3 and #6 at the very least.

There is nothing that creates failure except an unwillingness to learn and if that were you, you wouldn’t be reading this, so I’d like to hear from you what your learnings are… it’s a practice and doesn’t come naturally (or easily) at first, but it’s a great skill to acquire!

Then I thought about it in a moment of reflection and realised that’s what I’m doing anyway. I’ve been pushing myself to do so much in the last 6 months. I had to. Things needed to be done, and I needed something to keep me busy for a while to distract myself from grieving. Then almost before I knew it, I was trying to keep my business running while we sorted out my mom’s estate, renovated her house, found a tenant for our place, moved home, and prepped for Christmas.

If I look at the last few months, I’ve found a solid sense of power in myself. I have realised that I’m capable of achieving what I thought was impossible. It’s been a difficult learning period, and it’s still not easy, but I have realised that I can choose certain aspects, and control others, and those that I can’t control, I can accept or move past.

So this year my resolution is to be kind to myself. I am not going to push myself to achieve, because the end goal (for now) is not worth compromising my sense of balance. I am going to allow myself the space I need without pressuring myself to be productive, and I am finding that when I allow myself time to be creative, I end up being productive and actually increasing my mental energy and sense of wellbeing.

This phenomenon reminds me of the concept of the tyranny of the urgent – we override our internal needs to achieve what we think is important, and end up spending our precious time stressing about doing what we think we “SHOULD”, rather than doing what we need to. And, as anyone who has ever bene in this situation knows, when you take time out for yourself, you will be able to fit the urgent in much easier than when trying to do things the other way.

So, this year, I’m going to be kind to myself. I am going to remember to prioritise the things that are good for my soul and indulge myself in the all-elusive “me-time”. I will chase inspiration with vigour this year and if my goals need to wait a little longer, that’ll do fine, because all will be well with my soul.

What do you want from this year?

Here’s a list of things that I bought to comfort myself with my childless status at the time:

Noisemakers.  Find the most obnoxious noisy toy ever.  Preferably one with only one tune, and bright flashy lights.  let them open it first, so that you can enjoy the tune over and over and over and over and over and.. you get the drift.

Buy lots of sweets.  Chocolate, if you are not at your own house.  The combination of excitement and sugar is like giving children gummi-berry juice and speed at the same time.  Add noisemakers to the mix and you have mayhem and chaos. If the sugar source is chocolate, it doubles up as paint, and kids have an added activity of redecorating the couch.

Get something huge and bright.. like a toy piano station with a microphone. This will ensure that you are not only taking up floor space, which is limited in a house with kids, but also adding colour and music to the household.. after all, bright purple goes with every colour scheme, and music tames the wildest beast?  Watch and enjoy..

Get them a pet.  A big dog.  With long hair that sheds.  A dog that drools. And eats a lot and isn’t house-trained.

Merry Christmas!

*Disclaimer:  This post is for humor, not for following.  Firstly, dogs are for life, and should not be given to unprepared households.. Secondly, this scenario is far better in the imagination than in reality.  Thirdly, when you have your kids, you are opening yourself to cold servings of revenge, so be nice.

I found myself in a state of surrealism, almost as though I was having an out of body experience, and I decided that I was not able to do this on my own.  Instead of following my normal pattern of grieving through withdrawal (although I am very public about our situation, I do not share the vulnerability of grieving with anyone but my husband), I decided to rely on others.  My mom’s church fed us.  I went to a psychologist to process things and asked my doctor to prescribe Cipralex for a little while so that I could cope with the anxiety of having found my mom in a coma after the attack.

I had a lot of things to do.  Because my mom was very involved in her community, and because the press was involved, I felt I had a duty to ensure that she was not misrepresented and that the things she achieved in her life was not overridden by the brief time that led to her death.  I had to deal with newspapers and radio, politicians, police, doctors, family, friends, banks, and still make enough time to deal with my own trauma and anxiety.

During this time, I had to clarify what I needed to help me cope.  I asked for help, I didn’t try to pretend I was strong, I took time I needed, and I didn’t blame myself.  I helped my body where I could, and forgave myself for not operating at full efficiency.

When you are grieving, what do you do to help you get through?  Is it working for you?  If not, what can you do that will help you to feel even a little bit better (and do you WANT to feel better?)?

For the last 5 months, I have been running on adrenaline and it hit me the other day when I realised, in a fit of backlogged emotional outbursts, that I have not allowed myself any time to really process this all.  I have neglected my self-nurturing, and part of that is blogging.

If I were to coach myself as though I were a totally new client, and I filled in a wheel of life, I would take note that I have been enduring a physical space that was a 2 out of 10 (now an 8, although I have not yet unpacked all of my things), and with the trauma of my mom’s death my family life score was lowered – not only because I lost my mom, but because I was too wrapped up in everything to enjoy my son and my husband, even if I was going through the motions for my child, and appreciating the amount of support my husband offered.  My physical area was practically nonexistent, as I wasn’t making time for myself outside of overseeing the renovations, and my career was put on hold for the moment, because I take coaching seriously and don’t do it if I can’t offer my absolute full attention and energy for that time.

So yes, coaches go on wobbles too.  That said, I’m extremely grateful for my ability to reflect and be aware of this, because it has helped me through an incredibly difficult period.   It also helps to be honest with myself (and you), because by acknowledging areas and things that suck, we can work on them.

Things that I’ve learned through the crap, that can be used in the fertility journey as well as with life in general:

• It is important to me to act authentically when my boundaries are being crossed, even if it means overriding my habit of being polite.  This way, I can let go the emotions instead of having internal ‘dialogue’ later.  It also allows me to be heard.

• No matter how clearly I communicate, some people are never going to understand.  That’s fine, and I don’t have to hang around them.

• I have internal resources that I did not even know about.  I am far more capable and far more powerful than I ever even gave myself credit for.

• Some people are not my friends.  These people are not identified because they say the wrong thing at the wrong time, but by their lack of connection to our RIGHT to feel what we feel.   Good people say the wrong things too, but they don’t try to undermine the validity of your emotions, or to superimpose their needs onto you instead of supporting you.

• There are some fantastic people out there in unexpected places who are more than happy to help you however they can.  Having moved into my mom’s house, we had a lot of things to throw away, and so the garbage was full quite early on (despite my worm farm and composter).  The garbage men come around on a Friday to collect, and drive past on Thursdays.  I heard the truck on the Thursday, and ran out to ask them if I could put my garbage on the truck early.  The guy was lovely – he not only said it was absolutely fine, but he took the bin for me, brought it back, and then said to me “I’m sorry about your mom, hey.”.  Here was someone who was offering the help he could, and offered honesty instead of platitudes.  It still gives me the warm fuzzies when I think about it.

There are lots more things that I have taken from this, but I think the dark times are the best learning opportunities, and I would be so encouraged to hear what you’ve taken from the hardest things that you’ve been through.

I had already begun writing this post, but it sort of just tied everything together for me, because Lori summed up what most of us are feeling – the burden of private intimate suffering that seems to be heavier than anything anyone else is going through.

It seems to be human nature to classify and categorise things, and then to judge them accordingly.  For example, a miscarriage is more serious than a breakup (especially if the relationship is new), and then you take it a step further, and a first trimester miscarriage garners less sympathy than those in the second trimester or further along.  People who are unable to fall pregnant sometimes utter the words “well, at least you can fall pregnant”, and the reply is swift “I would rather not fall pregnant than lose my children”.
Where does this leave us as a fertility community?  A house divided is weakened.  We split up into those who are infertile (and then it’s separated into primary and secondary infertility) and those who have miscarried (categorized by trimester, and number of losses), and those who have had children and those who have not.  Each of us compares ourselves to the others in our groups – some gaining comfort from the feeling that there are others out there who have it worse, and some from the fact that they are recognized as having gone through hell and back, even if the acknowledgement only comes from their peers.

The Nature of Grief

With any fertility challenges, outsiders don’t understand the real sources of our grief – they can’t comprehend how deeply the loss of a child, or the loss of the hope of falling pregnant without intervention, can affect us.  People who have not been through this cannot understand all the things we are mourning when we grieve over unborn children.   We mourn for the loss of hope, of potential, of our own innocence (when we thought it was perfectly natural to have a child).  We doubt our femininity and our identities are shaken.  Our vulnerabilities and insecurities come to the surface and we question whether we are good enough to be with our partners, or if they will leave us in favour of our fertile counterparts.

The grief is complex – it is about so much more than the actual loss.  It’s about how we interpret things.  This is why people grieve differently, and for different things.  Grief, like tears, is fluid.  It changes as we change.

Trying to Classify Grief

The length of time that we are ‘allowed’ by others to grieve seems to depends on a number of things, including how traumatic others deem your situation to be,  the understanding that they have regarding your circumstances, how good a friend they are, how ‘dramatic’ people think you are and how bored they are of hearing the same thing over and over.

Sounds harmless enough, doesn’t it? It’s not.  We often encounter outside ideas about how long we should grieve the loss of a child/fetus/embryo or the loss of the hope of conceiving without assistance.

There is a palpable feeling that one’s grief is classifiable into levels and the time and intensity of grief should neatly fit within the acceptable frames for that level of grief.

But it doesn’t work that way for the person who has to actually go through it. What it does is try to control a flood of water with a flimsy dam. The more we deny what we feel, the longer it will take us to get past it, and the more powerful our grief becomes.  If we suppress the grief for the sake of what others might think, we risk having the grief move ‘underground’ – to the subconscious vs the conscious,which makes it harder to deal with.  If we allow someone else to undermine our emotions by trying to have us dismiss the grief before we’re ready, your mind reacts by holding on even tighter to the negative emotions and internalizing them a little more, until it becomes an unhealthy state of mind.

Repression vs Healing

Grief is a necessary and passing stage.  It is not something that should be incorporated into your identity – no matter how traumatic your experience.  The purpose of grief is to facilitate healing through expression (and release) of negative emotions.  The journey of grief needs to be done in your time, so that you can experience it in its fullness.  You can reflect on your loss and its consequences and meaning for you.  You may decide whether you want to discuss things with others, or hold an internal dialogue (or even journal or scrapbook).  It is up to you whether you want to do something to commemorate the loss, or whether you want to let the memory become murky and slip away.  No-one else can experience (or even fully understand) what you need to do to heal and, if you keep in mind that eventually the grief will pass, and this is not a betrayal of the memory, or denial of the emotional trauma, simply a release.

So, how long should you be grieving? As long as it takes for you to begin healing.

Last month my mom was murdered. I found her alive but in a coma from which she never recovered. She died peacefully, surrounded by people who love her and I had the chance to wash her feet, which was something she did for my grandparents, and which was hugely significant for both of us.

Now, though, I’m left with an inner struggle. Things don’t seem quite as meaningful without being able to share with my mum. I struggle to do anything that doesn’t involve my mom somehow.  On a practical level, I busied myself with sorting her estate, watering her garden, cleaning her basement, etc. etc. I find it incredibly cathartic.  On an emotional level, I battled the thoughts that if I had perhaps found her earlier, or if I was with her on the day she was attacked, or if I had gone to visit her or helped her that day, or if I had become alarmed that she hadn’t answered the phone when I called (even though she did that often) that there would be a different outcome.

I’m sure that you, like most other people would tell me that there is nothing I could have reasonably done to change the outcome for my mom. Living a life in fear is not living at all, even if it is in fear of a loved one’s safety.   So why do we continue to beat ourselves up for things that are neither our choice nor are within our realm of control?

I’ve observed a remarkable similarity between the process of grieving my mom’s death and grieving my pregnancy losses.  When I was in the middle of my crisis with miscarrying, I also obsessed about all things pregnancy and fertility related.  I focused on the practical (taking my medicines, living as healthily as I could, etc. etc) and I wondered if I was doing anything wrong, or if I missed some important fact that may have changed the outcome.  Perhaps if I’d been a better person, or somehow been more ‘worthy’ of becoming a parent I would somehow have my child. I felt so much guilt around the losses that I withdrew and could barely muster the energy to do anything except surf the net for information on miscarriage and infertility.  I had little motivation to do anything but the bare minimum for myself and for my relationships.

I am reminded of how incredibly important it is for the process of healing to not dwell on the things that are beyond our control.  We need to have ordinary things to spend our time on as well – get out of the house, and take the time to nurture yourself in ways that make you feel human again.  Distract yourself with things that you enjoyed doing before crisis hit.  Healing is not only a matter of time – it’s a matter of opportunity and is a work in progress.  It is your choice (and yours alone) how long you want to grieve for, but know that it is a choice – between actively pursuing healing in whatever ways work for you, or recreating your identity to incorporate your tragedy into your sense of self.

So, the question is this:  Which serves you better (and they do both serve a purpose) – being the Infertile or Miscarrier, or being the person who used their hurt to develop, reach out, connect, and grow?

I was reading an article on BioNews today about the controversy around assisted reproduction for prisoners.  This is a topic that seems to stir up quite a lot of emotive responses.  When I saw the headline, my first response was “who’s paying?”, but the ethical dilemma moves past the semantics.

Genetics

Is violence or aggression hereditary?  Even if it is determined by environment, it’s not as if a criminal is a great role model.  Except, if we start deciding that convicts can be denied the human right to be a parent, where do we stop?  When I posed the question on Twitter, someone replied about this sort of decision possibly ending up with denying those with genetic abnormalities or congenital defects.. and come to think of it, would we as infertiles even qualify for help, considering that we have medical issues that prevent us from conceiving or carrying?  Is this a really slippery slope to the Nazis’ desire to create a perfect race?

Merit

Do you feel that people who have violated the rights of others should not be entitled to enjoy the same rights as those who respect the law?  Do you get annoyed at those people who get pregnant easily even though they suck at being parents?  What’s the difference?  Does this speak to the sensitivity we have that perhaps our conception issues are our fault because we’re not good enough people?

Who gets to decide?

The dilemma for me is that I don’t believe that anyone should tell us when we can or cannot try to address a medical issue that stands in the way of us achieving a successful pregnancy.  If we condone this behavior for prisoners, are we setting ourselves up for similar scrutiny with regard to our lifestyles?  Will we be informed that we have to have perfect bodies and perfect lifestyles in order to qualify for ART?  Are we paving the path for infertiles and miscarriers to be seen and treated as second class citizens?

My Thoughts

Personally, I believe that criminality is the result of a combination of factors, such as genetics, environment and opportunity (or lack thereof).  I certainly am glad that the man who murdered my mother (and subsequently committed suicide) does not have kids, but would I go so far as to have contested his right to have kids? I don’t know.  I’ve changed a lot of my beliefs, but at some stage, procreation has to stop being about us and start being about the kids that we desire to have.  I would feel happier knowing that the result of IVF is more than just a child that you are not going to provide every opportunity for optimal development, and then again, I can’t imagine that anyone who undergoes such a lot of effort to conceive will be anything less than a good parent.  Naive? Probably.

What are your thoughts?

1. Giving up control

Once diagnosed with fertility challenges, I set about trying to ‘solve’ the problem.  I researched causes and possible cures. I found doctors and medical teams to help me achieve my goals.  I went on a mission, ruled by the fear of the unknown and the uncertain.  Then I gave myself over to the process of the medical experts.  I tested myself and push my body beyond the normal limits.  I focused, I obsessed, and I forgot life before diagnosis.  I sacrificed control and spontaneity for the search of knowledge and understanding.

2. Blaming myself

There is nothing quite so personal as your own body, and it is normal to think that your body has betrayed you by not giving or keeping what you want.  However, it does not help to blame yourself or to distinguish between your mind/heart (desire) and your body (physical reality).   I saw my body as a traitor, and started to neglect myself, and engaged in self-destructive behaviors.

The journey to overcoming infertility and recurrent miscarriage requires EVERYTHING we have.  This means we need to be a unified whole, rather than warring against our own bodies.  Once I stopped blaming myself, I began to give my body the nurturing and love that it required to sustain me through the treatments.

3. Withdrawing from my support structures

There is a choice we make when we see our friends falling pregnant left, right and center.  We can decide whether the friend is worth keeping or if we want to use their pregnancy to feed my hurt and sense of loss, and ditch them.

Ask yourself: “Are there any pregnant people/new moms that I still like (including fellow strugglers)?”

If you answer “yes”, then it is probably not the pregnancy that is causing the rift in your friendships, but your friends’ lack of understanding or sensitivity towards your situation.

There are definitely ‘friends’ that you are better without and, frankly, there’s no time like the present to get rid of the people in your life who don’t contribute to your development, your peace of mind, or your well-being.  Know that you will need support through your journey, and regardless of whether or not someone is pregnant, they may be able to provide just what you need.

4. Recreating my identity around my diseases

Infertility is a demanding mistress.  Because we need to focus and learn in order to keep up with the sudden influx of overwhelming information, we have to make a whole bunch of adjustments.  We need to become different: stronger, more focused, determined.  I became single-minded.   I became a Miscarrier.

I made a whole new circle of acquaintances, with whom I quickly became intimate (I doubt I share nearly as much about my sex-lives, my progress through my menstrual cycle, or what different types of discharge there are, with my real-life friends as I do with my online support groups!).

What happens, however, when we fall pregnant, or when we decide that enough is enough, and that it is time to let go of the dreams.  Where do you go from here? Who are you? What are your values?  Who are your friends?

5. Trying to do it alone

Infertility is a couples’ disease.  Your partner is this with you.. not just for you.  The focus, self-blame and silence that shrouds infertility & miscarriage often leads to withdrawal and introversion.  I didn’t want to begin a real conversation with my husband, because there was so much that I was scared to say or ask and once you open the door, who knows what’s going to come through it?!

Your partner is there with you and has their own stuff going on – your pain is there pain, and they put aside their feelings to be supportive.  Remember to reciprocate.  A bit of non-reproductive loving is often well received.

…And How You Can Avoid Them

In 6 hours of coaching, you can be the director of your own life again, in a position to know what works for you and how to get it.  You can have the energy to invest in the relationships that matter to you and manage your stress in a positive way.

I am so confident that you can benefit from my coaching programs that I will refund your money if you are not 100% pleased with the results.