The fog hasn't lifted...

Lately I feel like I’ve been wearing a mask…I put on the happy and confident face when I’m out in public. Sometimes I am actually happy and confident – so I fit the mask – but mostly I’m not.

Why?

In the past few months some events have occurred and some issues have arisen that have floored me in terms of my self esteem and self worth. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me especially, because this is just the way it is at the moment, and I will get through it, and many people have far worse things to deal with than I do.

I am going to share what’s going on though – because I want you to know that times like this happen to me and to everyone, and it sucks, but it is also a part of life.

So, here’s what’s going on:

A few months ago Kirby and I had a major falling out with one of our dearest friends. It was a complete communication break down and it has ended up with us not knowing if the friendship can be saved. I hope that it can be, but I’m not sure it will be. It hasn’t only been the loss of the friend, but also of her family. She has a husband who had also become one of our dearest friends, and she has two little girls who we had become very close to.

It’s thrown me in a way that I didn’t know I could be thrown. I feel lost, anxious, confused, hurt, sad, and wondering just who the hell I am and what my worth is. My motivation has dissipated – leaving me with little energy (mental or physical) to follow up on the things that are important to me. Even reading has become too much. And, as you know, writing this blog just hasn’t happened for a while.

This is not our friend’s fault – she cannot be blamed for the way I am at all. This is just the way my mind and body is responding at the moment.

In addition to this, my endometriosis has come back with all the associated pain and discomfort.

And I also have fibromyalgia. My fibro has me feeling like a complete failure. I am sore in all my joints, I can’t sleep because of the pain, and when I do get to sleep I sleep too much (like the other day I was up for a whole seven hours!), and the sleep is not refreshing. Apparently people with fibro don’t get quality sleep because their brains are wired to be on constant alert – so I can get nine hours of sleep but it won’t be quality sleep. My brain gets all foggy and I start struggling to finish sentences when speaking, or I mix up words, or forget a word completely – like the other day I was talking about succulents, but I couldn’t remember the word “succulents” – so I said “you know, those plants that take up water and keep it in their leaves”. For someone who loves words as much as I do this is very hard to take. My body (my legs in particular) doesn’t seem to do what I want it to do sometimes – if I want to pick up a pencil I may have to really concentrate on getting my fingers to move in the right way to pick it up.

I’ve tried all sorts of ways to address the symptoms of the fibro, but unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be any agreement on the best method or therapy among different professionals. So, that probably means a journey of trial and error until I find something that works, if I ever do. And to be honest, I feel too tired to bother at the moment. After all:

• in my childhood it was trying to find a way to stop me wetting the bed
• in my teens it was trying to find a way to stop having heavy, painful periods
• in my twenties it was trying to find a way to deal with depression, anxiety, and OCD
• in my thirties it was trying to find a way to deal with epilepsy, and to overcome infertility
• and, now, in my forties it’s fibromyalgia…

 I’m tired of having to try and find out how to deal with something every damn decade of my life – at least at the moment I am. I know that my inner strength will come back and I will unleash my inner wolf again…I have to. What’s the alternative? I give up? That’s not me.

Then, I can’t help thinking about what our kids might have been like. Hayley would have been 19 this year, and Jacob and/or Ruby 8 this month. How do I let them go? They are so real to me. How do I get to a point where I no longer think about “what if” they had been born? I guess I won’t…I know this in my heart, but sometimes I just wish I could have an operation or something that would make me forget that I ever wanted children.

I feel like a failure. I wasn’t able to have children, I don’t feel productive due to having depression, anxiety, and fibromyalgia, and I feel like I am letting everyone who cares about me down. I know that the people who care about me don’t see it this way, but I do.

My lack of self-esteem is killing me. I’m not writing, I’m not walking – I’m putting on a good show of being okay, but I don’t feel it.

I’m not depressed – I know that – but the fog is heavy.

I don’t know – maybe I’m depending too much on the fog to lift on its own, but instead I should be walking, in any direction, to see if I can find a way out of it. Maybe it’s a little bit of both – the fog and I both have to do something to get me out of it.

Well – that’s where I’m at at the moment. Hopefully next entry will be a more uplifting one.

Revisiting the secret...

Before I start this entry I want to make a clarification regarding last week’s post. It’s true that people with children will generally spend more time with people who also have children, but there is nothing really wrong with that. It’s actually to be expected. People who share common interests do tend to hang out together – and having children is a huge common interest. It is also so important for parents to have that base on which they can gain support from people in a similar situation. Not that we who don’t have children can’t provide support to parents – it’s just that it will be a different kind of support. As a really simplified analogy – you can go and cheer on a soccer team without playing soccer and have some idea of what the players are going through, but the team members on the field will be the ones who really get the game.

Now that’s clarified – let’s get on with this week’s entry.

I’ve recently come across a book by Jessica Sepel called “The Healthy Life”. It is an absolutely fabulous book in terms of gaining knowledge about all different areas of health, including fitness and nutrition of course, but also regarding being gentler with oneself, forgiving oneself, and being more compassionate toward oneself. It also has a great section on sleep – which has been an eye opener for me – or should that be eye closer? (Please excuse that really lame attempt at a joke! J).

One of the sections is about drawing what you want, in terms of your dreams, to you through mantras, belief, vision boards, etc. It’s kind of like “The Secret”.

Now – if you’re a regular reader you will already know that I have a massive aversion to anything to do with the law of attraction. I don’t believe it is as simple as that. This is especially true given I had every expectation I would have children to the point that I had their nursery worked out in my head, had collected samples of paint and material, had saved a picture of a gorgeous wall border, and even had clothes put away ready for them when they arrived. If that’s not belief and vision and so forth, then I don’t know what is! Yet – my beautiful babies, whether they had been Ruby, Jacob, or my Hayley (who would have been nineteen this year – I  haven’t written much about her, but I will one day – I’m not quite ready at this point) never arrived.

Despite the marvellous insights I gained from the rest of Jess’s book I was going to skip the entire section on living the life of my dreams. But, I thought what have I got to lose?

I’m glad I read it. While I still don’t believe that getting what you want is as simple as believing you are worthy of what you want, envisioning it, and working towards it, I have had insights into where I am and have been that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

I sat down with a cup of tea, and with my pencil to highlight different parts of the section that interested me, and I began to read. Soon I was in tears.

What was it that struck me so?

I realised that I’d gone to the extreme of not believing I could have anything I wanted. I didn’t believe that I was actually worthy of achieving anything – especially regarding my dream of being a science fiction writer.

After all, I can’t do what comes naturally to most other women – I can’t do the simple thing of carrying and giving birth to a child. If I can’t do that, then how could I believe that I could do anything else in my life?

Losing our precious dog, Ari, last year added to this hurt and subconscious thought. I didn’t recognise that he was so sick, I told myself time and time again that I should have. He was my boy, and I let him down. Even though in reality I know that I did everything I could and nobody could have picked up how sick he was – even the vet.

I was a failure. So, why dream big?

I was useless. So, why should I even think I deserve to have anything I want?

I’ve been pushing my writing away by making every excuse under the sun – and finding other things that need to be done urgently (like doing the dishes or cleaning the toilet or watching that episode of Brooklyn 99 for the tenth time (though it is a good show! Great for a giggle!)).

I need to step away from the extreme of assuming I can’t, and move a little toward believing that maybe I can. Why not? Where is the harm in having a vision board or repeating mantras if it’s going to put me in the right frame of mind where I might make it to be a full time science fiction writer? Where is the harm in believing I can create a beautiful garden to surround our home? Where is the harm in believing I can snorkel, cage dive with white pointers (yes that is on the list!), travel, and have many adventures? Where is the harm in believing in myself?

I am really thankful to Jess. She’s brought me to a point where I am much more compassionate with myself, and this has allowed me to think about who I am and what stirs my heart and soul, and to start to remove the self-judgement that I’m no good.

I might not make it, but I am now in a frame of mind where I believe more in myself – and surely that can’t be a bad thing.

So, thank you Jess!

Dreaming…

I had a dream the other night that Kirby and I were looking after a nine month old girl for some friends (the friends don’t actually exist in real life). Kirby went home at one point and I stayed with the baby. I changed her nappy, tucked her into bed with her bottle, and left. I went home too.

When I got home I realised what I had done and I was mortified. I had left the baby alone. My main fear was that I wouldn’t be able to get back to our friends’ house before they got home and they would be angry that I had left their child, and it would confirm to them that I don’t know how to look after children.  I didn’t want them to know about my mistake and I didn’t want them to think poorly of me.

It’s interesting that my concern was partially for the baby, but mainly about what the parents would think of me. I thought I would get into trouble and the truth would come out that I was self-centred and thought only about my own need (that being going home and in the process forgetting about the baby).

That night I had two other uncomfortable dreams. It tends to be the way with me – I won’t have any uncomfortable dreams for a while and then I’ll have two or three in one night.

The other two dreams were also along the lines of not being good enough and worrying that I had been, or would be, caught out in my failings. I prefer not to give the details of these dreams due to some of the details being potentially sensitive for my friends and family.

I really don’t get it – the point of those dreams. Or, on writing this entry, perhaps I do.

I’ve been feeling really good these past two weeks. Quite a few things have been going well and, while I know not so good times will happen, I feel stronger and more content than I have for a while.

I don’t think my ego likes this situation. It is coming through in my dreams to tell me that I am not good enough and that I will likely get caught out as a bit of a fraud. It seems my ego likes to aim straight for a fragile part of my psyche as well – that of not being able to have children and that of wondering what kind of parent I would have been. Would I have been any good?

This is a representation of what my ego is trying to say about my broader life. Am I any good at what I do? Am I a fraud? Will I get caught out?

Well – you know what I say to my ego?

I say “Whatever!”

My ego clearly doesn’t like the fact that I am feeling more confident, that I have more of an idea (at least for this part of my life) what my skills and strengths are and what they are not, and that I am challenging myself to be involved in life and to take risks than I have before.

My ego can blabber on all it likes, it can invade my dreams with its doubts and fears, and it can insinuate that I wouldn’t have been a good mother.

But, while my ego sometimes has helpful things to say, I’m not going to listen to anything that is absolute rubbish.

My ego can just go and sit in the corner until it can behave itself and until it has something constructive to say.

So there ego! So there!

Pain and me...

This post follows on from last week’s post about pain. As I realised that we wouldn’t be having children I grieved, and I felt pain like none I had felt before. I was angry. I was hurt. I thought life would never be good again.

Eventually, though, the pain became less and less and then my days started to be filled with hope and an interest in a different life to the one I thought I’d have – the one I thought Kirby and I would share. This took time.

But every now and then the pain returns with great power and depth. I feel like the wound is raw. I feel inconsolable. I am angry.

I used to try and deal with the pain by focussing on it so much that all I could see was despair.  I saw only what I didn’t have and I wanted that and nothing else. I felt so awful that I wanted to tear at my skin until it bled so that I would have something to show people that represented how much I was hurting. That’s the problem pain of the heart and soul over a broken arm or leg – nobody else can see it.

I thought that to get rid of the pain I had to face it head on and exterminate it. But, that didn’t work. Focussing on the pain just seemed to give it some kind of extra power that hurt me even more.

I’ve realised that, instead of focussing on the pain, I am better off giving it space and honouring it in a way. It’s almost seems that in saying to it “okay, you’re here, here’s a spot for you until you are ready to go” takes away its power. It doesn’t have to force its way into my life with me pushing as much as I can to keep it away. It sits, it ponders, and then it leaves.

In the past few years I’ve developed a list of things to do when I feel the pain again. These things may or may not work for you, but I thought I would share them here as some inspiration for you:

Slow down and take time

The first thing I do is slow down. I put aside as much as I can – housework, my job if possible (even if it’s only for ten minutes, and I admit I’m lucky that I work at home), and other responsibilities. I move through my thoughts and feelings and observe them without getting involved. I let them be.

Then I take my time. I go through what I have to do in a more focussed way than usual. I really concentrate on washing the dishes, or playing with my dogs, or changing the cat litter.

I make sure that whatever activity I am doing I am not using it to completely avoid the pain I am feeling. Rather, I do my activities fully aware that my pain is sitting in the corner waiting for me.

Getting out into nature

I love the natural world. I love water and the night time sky in particular, as both seem to give me a sense of peace and that somehow I am going to be okay – regardless of what happens. That being okay for me isn’t limited to this lifetime, but could be after life, in a next life, or whatever happens after I die.

When I feel that pain and anger, if it’s night time, I go and sit outside and look at the stars. I think about what might be out there, how far away some of those stars are, and how some of them  no longer exist and haven’t for a long, long time. I feel very comforted by that.

I may also go to the wetlands near our house and sit and watch the water and the birds all around. I listen to the birds call to each other, I feel the wind on my face, I may realise a few tears are trickling down my face.

My pain is there with me. It is sitting right there with me. It still wants me to give it my undivided attention, but I don’t. I let it be and let nature soothe it.

Remembering…

Sometimes I find it nice to meet my anger with joy over the children I might have had. I guess this sounds strange. What I mean is that I give my imagination an opportunity to think about those little souls and what they might have been like, what they might have been interested in, what types of mischief they would have gotten into. I think about their hair colour, their eyes, and I let myself feel their little hands in mine.

This meets the pain, for me, by saying to the pain “you’re here, sure, but I won’t let you take them from me.” I hold on to the happiness I have when I think about my children, and my anger finds it doesn’t have much room to stay anymore.

I also like to light a candle, or some incense, and focus on it in reflection about what could have been. Often I feel very wistful – a bit sad and a bit happy. Once again, my pain finds it doesn’t have a lot of room to stay.

Company or solitude…

When pain comes to visit I usually prefer some solitude first. I like to let things be for a while. I don’t want anyone to come in and try to fix it all for me. Nobody can do that anyway. People who love me want me to feel better, but I do need to give space to my pain and be with it in my own way for a while.

There are times, though, when I want company. I usually go and find Kirby and get a hug, but sometimes I will have a chat with a friend or family member. I tell them how I’m feeling, and that can really help.

When it gets real bad…

Pain can be persistent, and with my health conditions, such as depression and epilepsy, I need to be aware that sometimes feelings can cross over from being with me to being destructive. When I feel that this could happen I will seek professional help. I might talk to my doctor who treats me for depression, I might seek counselling. It really depends on what I feel I need at the time.

Self-esteem…

Just as a final word, I used to think I was a failure when I felt pain and anger, and even more so if I sought professional help to deal with those feelings. I thought that I was weak. Now I realise that this isn’t so. Feelings such as pain and anger are part of being human. They are part of me being human.

I don’t welcome them with open arms, but when feelings such as pain and anger arrive, I give them some space, I look after myself, and I watch them without engaging with them, and then I watch them go again. Before, when I used to fight these feelings head-on I always lost, but now, most of the time, they gracefully exit on their own and my life is fully my own again.

What kind of mother...

This morning my emotions feel like they are debris on the ocean. I am in a secluded bay and I don’t know what is going to roll in with the waves. I feel okay, I feel angry, I feel upset, I feel pathetic, I feel okay again, I feel ashamed – and then another emotion floats in with the waves.

I wasn’t planning to write about what I will write about this week, because I didn’t know about it until this morning. I had no idea. Well, that’s not true – I must have known at some stage, but somehow it slipped away and I lost it. And now I’m wondering what kind of mother I really would have been.

Last week I found my journal that I began when we first started IVF. I read the words of the first entry and I wished I could go back and give that naïve girl who thought everything was going to work out a hug of strength for the years to come.

I read a few of the other entries and then I looked at the dates. The first entry was dated the 10^th July 2008 – the beginning of our first cycle of IVF, which ended up being cancelled.

July, 2008 – so what? Well, our next round of IVF, where an embryo was created didn’t stay, was in January 2009. This was the baby that I wrote about a few entries ago – the baby that would have been five this year. Except they wouldn’t have been five this year. They would have only been four this year – they wouldn’t have been going to school yet. I’ve completely screwed up the dates and the ages my children would have been.

What kind of mother does that? I can’t have children and I can’t even get the dates of what would have been their births right. I feel sick to the stomach when I think about it. I feel so angry at myself.

I don’t even know what to write in here right now. Except to say to my children – I am so, so very sorry.

Times like these...

I’m not going to sugar coat today’s blog entry. It has been a very tough day and I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise – I want people to know that days like these do happen.

Early this afternoon I found myself in huddled in our back hallway unable to move. I was crying so hard that I almost threw up. I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. I wanted to inflict some injury on myself that would represent the pain I was feeling inside. I told myself over and over again that I was useless, stupid and pathetic, and that nothing I would ever do in this world would amount to anything.

It took me quite a while to stop crying, to recognise the feelings I was having and to acknowledge them enough to give them some space to play out, and then to be able to get up off the floor.

It’s strange how after this kind of day happens I can see how my mood, my thoughts and my actions of the past few days were building up to it – they are kind of like clouds that move together to become a storm. And like a storm, it eventually dissipates leaving me exhausted, but somehow clearer.

Today’s storm began at the end of last week. I went on a three night trip with Conservation Volunteers Australia to the lower part of the Flinders Ranges in South Australia. We helped the local school children clean up their plant nursery area, got rid of weeds in a coastal reserve, and put tree guards up on some little trees to prevent rabbits from eating them. It was great. I had been looking forward to it very much.

When I got home I thought that I would suddenly have a different view of my life. I had done something out of my comfort zone, something that mattered, and something that would give me a sense of identity.

I was shocked when the sense of achievement and the sense of self that I expected to have weren’t there when I got home. If anything I felt completely disconnected from my life, my writing, my home, and even my family and friends to an extent.

As I tend to do, I put on a brave face trying to convince myself that everything was just fine, and I almost convinced myself it was until today.

Just before I crumbled in the hallway I was sitting at the dining room table with my head in my hands and repeating over and over “I want my baby”.  You see, our baby from our second round of IVF would have been turning four around the 8^th of April this year. If they were here we would have been organising their fourth birthday party – friends, family, games, dress ups, cupcakes.

I can almost see them blowing out their candles and I can almost feel their little hand in mine.

But they’re not here. I can’t give them a birthday party. I can’t hug them and kiss them and tuck them into bed, with an overwhelming awe that such a child came from Kirby and me.

It hurts. It hurts a lot sometimes. And it isn’t fair. And I feel like a failure because I couldn’t bring our baby into this world.

Feeling like I am a failure because I cannot have a baby is not nice, but even worse is when that sense of failure leaks over into the rest of my life. I am a failure at something that is supposed to be so natural and this expands to encapsulate myself as a wife, a friend, a writer, and now as a conservation volunteer. It all gets so big that I am scared and I have to hide away in the back hall for a while.

I don’t know if times like these are ever going to leave me alone forever. I doubt it. Actually, I doubt that any of us will go through life without experiencing self-doubt and fear.  It seems to be a condition of being human.

I do hope, though, that somehow I can find a way to face those feelings of failure and fear without being so overwhelmed by them. I don’t know how yet. All I can do for the moment is ride them out until they are done wreaking havoc, pick myself up and get moving, and get my life back on some kind of track.

This isn’t a happy blog entry. I was going to write about how all of this has meaning and how I grow through experiences like this, but, quite frankly, I’m too tired to think about that right now. So, all I will say is “I want my baby” and “it just isn’t fair.”