I spend a lot of time thinking about balance in my life. Balance between self-preservation and preserving friendships. Balance between anger and hope. Balance between optimism and reality. Balance between being gentle with myself and forcing myself to be healthy and strong. Between planning for the future and living for the moment. Between experiencing happiness and allowing myself to grieve. It’s so, so easy to get sucked into one single emotion, or one single path through life; to lose the balance that is necessary to enjoy the life I have while still striving towards a better place. I’m horrible about compartmentalizing people, events, and emotions into a single frame of reference, and it’s hard for me to accept that those things can span a range of experiences.
I’ve been contemplating this lately because our two year anniversary of TTC passed last week. So officially, we’ve now been trying for longer than 2 years and still do not have anything to show for it. That’s a hard thing to let pass, but at the same time, it’s not something that I want to commemorate. Last year at this time, I was desperately trying to convince myself that it didn’t really count as a year since I hadn’t been ovulating for 12 months. Then October came, and I couldn’t tell myself that anymore. And I crashed — hard. What made it worse was that October was my first round of clomid. I had quasi-admitted to myself that we needed help, and accepted the prescription, and then it didn’t work. That was really the bleakest point that I hit in our journey; the point where I had to concede that there really was something wrong with me. I cried, I railed against the universe, I was angry and sad and miserable all rolled into a ball and walking around. I told Manly that I couldn’t take the holidays like I was, so we went on a break for a while and I tried not to think about it. When January rolled around, I made the appointment with Dr. Local and you know the story since then.
That time period has left a lasting impression on my psyche. Before then, I had honestly not known any true degree of pain or anguish. I am one of those intolerable people who seem to eventually get what they want out of life, even though I usually have to work for it. Invariably, I try to see the good in life, to enjoy life as it passes. But those few months stripped me of a lot of Pollyanna tendencies; I no longer assume that life will be good, that things will work out in the end, or that good people eventually have good things happen to them. That lesson was more than driven home as I sat at my kitchen table crying one night, as I sat in fear that my SIL would announce their “good news” on Christmas morning, as I looked out my office window and couldn’t see anything but gray in the world.
When I started blogging, I was afraid that I would not be able to find something to say every day. I was afraid that I would be tongue-tied, or boring, or offend people, or that no one would like what I had to say. But none of that has happened; in fact, I’ve come to depend on this outlet to channel my feelings about IF, to allow me to step back and examine what I feel and why I feel it and whether it’s something I want to continue to feel. Many times throughout the day, I catch myself mentally composing entries in my head, trying out sentences to see if they sound right, working to find the right phrase to describe what I’m going through.
The past week has felt like a breakthrough point for me. You know the feeling: all of a sudden, the sun comes through the clouds and the world is illuminated with clear gold light. That’s how I’ve felt about my life, especially in regard to our reproductive status. I’ve been able to see myself and my actions and my motivations in a way that has lurked just out of sight for the last year. Don’t misunderstand me, there’s a cartload of emotion that I still haven’t examined, but I’m at least feeling strong enough to start sorting through the issues that shape and define my own particular brand of angst.
I want to thank you, each and every one of you, for keeping me company along the way. I don’t know if I would have been able to reach this point without all your support and comments and posts and emails and visits and everything else you’ve done for me. I’m going to continue working on balancing my life, and I hope you’ll stay with me.
So now that I’m all teary and sappy thinking about you guys, here are two of the pictures from the Josh Simpson exhibit this weekend. The first one is my favorite piece in the whole show, a tektite bowl that reminds me of an oyster (if only there had been a pearl inside!). The other is one of his megaplanets, which are all fabulous, but this one makes me especially awe-struck.
*Yeah, after the whole stairs incident yesterday, I opened a door across my toe this morning. Feck, it hurts!