I’m still not ready to talk about it…

But writing has always been an outlet for my thoughts and emotions, and I’m ready to share (in written form) about one of the hardest things I’ve been going through in the last year and half.

Back in December of 2019, after about a year of trying, Darrin and I found out that we would never be able to have kids of our own. Darrin survived lymphoma (a type of blood cancer) when he was young by undergoing a brutal regimen of chemo. At times, he could barely eat because his entire mouth would be filled with blood as his body shed the inside lining of his mouth. He hadn’t gone through puberty yet, so even if the doctors had suspected the chemo would affect his fertility, there would’ve been nothing to save.

So even after we found out the news, I never once blamed him. Had I known almost 4 years ago that this would happen, I would still choose to say “I do” again and again in front of our friends and family. Because I am so grateful he is alive. I am so thankful that he survived to become my man and my partner.

I think the most devastating part of the news was coming to terms with the fact that any children we have would not biologically or physically carry any part of the man I love. I know there are many ways to have a family. And I know Darrin would love any child we have as his own. But I wasn’t so confident in my own capacity to do so. I had written this in my journal:

We essentially need to figure out how we want to move forward with building our family. Our only two options are sperm donation or adoption. Each option is obviously less than ideal, so I feel a bit paralyzed and indecisive. I don’t want to carry a random person’s baby…but I also don’t want to adopt because I want the experience of carrying the baby as well. A part of me also wonders if I could love an adopted child as much as one I physically birth, and that fear paralyzes me too. I haven’t been able to talk about this without breaking down and crying. Some days I’m so numb to it all and on other days…I’m so fucking angry at God for taking away this option that He could so easily fix. If He could make a virgin pregnant, why not me? He can move mountains, instantly heal the sick, make what was once dead alive again…so why is He telling us “no”? Why must He completely shut this door? Why can’t His plans align with my desires? Ultimately what I’m struggling with is accepting what God says my life will be like, rather than being able to dictate that for myself. I’m struggling with having my plans shattered and ripped away and replaced by God’s plans. Logically, I know I’m supposed to trust that His plans are better and for my good…but emotionally, I feel resentful and bitter.

And then the shitstorm that is 2020 began, but I felt so numb to everything – over 10 million people were filing for unemployment in a week due to the pandemic. Thousands of people were dying. Australia was on fire. There were earthquakes in Utah. And I couldn’t care less. I had no mental or emotional capacity to take on the suffering of others. It was like I had escaped to a sterile, remote island to survive and everything was clamoring to join me. I was expending all my time and energy trying whack everything away that I didn’t have the willpower to reflect on why I was sitting on that island by myself in the first place.

The pandemic / shelter-in-place made everything simultaneously easier and harder. Easier because I didn’t have to constantly face people and pretend everything was OK. Harder because all the distractions were stripped away and I had to actually feel my emotions.

Most of us are afraid to feel deeply, because we are afraid to see the truth these emotions reveal about our relationships with friends / family / work. We all just prefer to escape reality by numbing out. But ignoring our emotions is turning our back on reality, and reality is where we meet God. We turn a deaf ear through emotional denial or disengagement in order to gain tenuous control over our inner world. In neglecting our emotions, we lose a beautiful opportunity to know God. Change comes through brutal honesty and vulnerability before God.

Reality sermon

I still feel loss and grief. I think I will carry a bit of that grief in me no matter how much time passes. But I also have hope. As I choose self-denial and bow to His will, I know God is changing me through this process and I have faith that he will change me to prepare me for something else in His plan. I can’t “reason away” my grief, but I can allow myself to feel all the emotions, process them, and come out the other end a stronger person.

Ever since I was young, I’ve always wanted a big family. My parents have 5 siblings each. In college, I used to joke that I wanted enough kids to build my own football team. I’ve finally gotten to a place where I feel emotionally ready to pursue other ways of starting a family…but still, I must wait. I have to wait for my next period so I can start treatment (i.e. get injected with another man’s sperm).

About a week ago, I was on a call with a couple of friends when one announced she was pregnant. I smiled through my sinking heart and congratulated her and genuinely wanted to feel so happy for her…but my feelings of self pity outweighed any excitement I could muster. Then I felt so much guilt and shame for not being able to be a better friend who could celebrate with her.

I kept it together until we ended the call. Then I walked downstairs over to Darrin and he automatically opened his arms to hug me…and I just broke down sobbing. It wasn’t envy or even that I didn’t want to hear the good news. It was more that I felt so overwhelmed by the isolation and the disappointment that I’ve had to stamp down over and over again for the past 2-ish years – each time my coworkers and friends announce their pregnancies, each time I scroll through Instagram and eventually have to close it because I see friends having their first, or second, child – children that look like them and their husbands.

I wrote in my journal:

Is it too much to ask? I even gave up my desire of carrying Darrin’s baby. All I want is my fucking period so we can go into the fertility clinic and I can be injected with another man’s sperm – why is everything so damn hard!? Why is God still making us wait? I’m just so tired of waiting. “Our time will come,” Darrin kept reassuring me. And yes, maybe it will. Maybe my period will finally come tomorrow, or next week, or 3 months from now. Eventually, it’ll come. But who’s to say that after it comes and I go in to get injected, that sperm will even penetrate an egg, and that egg will implant? Maybe we’ll have to go through 4 rounds of treatment before I actually get pregnant, and in between each round is another confounding and frustrating period of waiting? And even if I do get pregnant, there’s still a 25% chance of miscarriage.

I think this is so hard to talk about with anyone because I know they won’t know what to say…I don’t even know what I would WANT someone to say. It feels really isolating because it seems like you’re watching life move forward for others but you’re not able to participate. I also don’t know anyone else going through something like this. I know several people who struggled with infertility but eventually overcame it with IVF.

So that’s part of the reason why I’m writing this. Because if feels a little less isolating to “talk” about this without having to actually talk about it and feel like I’m on the brink of another emotional breakdown. Because going through loss is always difficult and the worst parts of you can come out – your selfishness, your anger, your bitterness, your apathy. It can be scary to show those parts to other people or have your feelings minimized. I was tempted to wait until everything was “resolved” so I could end on a happy note and say, “Look – I struggled but everything is good now! I’m pregnant!” Like anything you post on social media, you only want to show the highlights.

It’s Day 57 since my last period. I’m still learning to be patient and wait. I’m still in the process of mourning. I’m still hoping and trusting. And one day, I’ll be ready to talk about it.