The Dark Side of Silence - #StartAsking

As part of National Infertility Awareness Week, the organization Resolve (check them out here) has decided their awareness campaign theme this year is #StartAsking. The reality is that 1 in 8 couples struggle through facing infertility... 1 in 8!! While that may or may not seem like a lot to you, in actuality infertility is much more prevalent than many people think or even realize. Think about it... I'm sure many of you can think of at least 8 different couples you know - friends, family, co-workers, people at church, or even acquaintances. Statistically speaking, there's a good chance that at least one of those couple has faced the realities of infertility, whether they are going through it now, have in the past, or may even face it in the future once deciding to try and start (or even further grow) their family... and yes, couples who may have already had a child with no difficulty can even face infertility on their second, third, etc. try - it doesn't only affect couples trying for their first child.

So back to the #StartAsking campaign. This year (to me) the campaign really represents a movement to start opening the lines of communication. Unfortunately, although infertility is a pretty prevalent diagnosis, it's often something that's not talked about... sometimes even considered a "taboo" subject. And I get it, trust me of all people I really do. It's considered a "private and personal" matter for many couples, and often starts with a phase of denial that needs to be worked through.

I spoke briefly in an earlier post (that you can check out here) about how at the beginning of this journey I struggled to really even accept the reality that this was what my husband and I were facing - the dreaded word: INFERTILITY. I didn't want to accept that and didn't want to be "that couple" that struggled to have a baby. I wanted to be like every other couple who got to experience the rush of excitement when first deciding to "try." The couple that gets to fantasize about all the cute and fun ways they will tell friends and family that they're pregnant... and then actually get to use one of those ways to tell people. I wanted to be the couple that was just "normal" when it came to baby-making.

But instead, I got to be one of the lucky 1 in 8's - and from there I had to embark down the long and winding road of living through my infertility battle. No matter how much I didn't want it to be true, how much I prolonged even making that first appointment to see my fertility specialist (Dr. M's) or how hard I tried to wish it away, I couldn't. It was here. It was real. It was a battle I was about to embark on that had no definitive end in sight.

Now, as things stand 2 years later, I get to look back and reflect on parts of this journey and hopefully try to help others with my retrospect.

You see with infertility, especially in the beginning phases, there often comes some denial, as I previously mentioned. Denial in a sense that you just keep hoping that this next month will just be "the month" and then you either won't even have to bother telling anyone about the struggle or at least light-heartedly share about the struggle after you can announce your pregnancy.

Even more so, often times with infertility there comes this weird and sometimes even hard to understand feeling of shame. Shame that you can't get pregnant like everyone else. Shame that as a woman your body isn't working the way it was designed to. Shame that your body can't successfully accomplish the one thing as a woman that seems so easy (an even "accidental") for so many others. Shame that you are "the couple who can't have a baby."

For a long time though, I didn't really even understand these feelings. On the outside, I remember feeling like, "I'm not ashamed about what we're going through, I just don't want people to know. I don't want their pity." But really, once I was able to work through many, many, many feelings, I realized that a lot of it was rooted in some sort of shame that my body was letting me down - that it wasn't doing was it was supposed to do and there was nothing that I could really do to make it.

Yet through all of the "working through my feelings" I was adamant about still not telling anyone (and I mean anyone) about our struggle - for various reasons... and this is one of the major downsides to infertility. This shame of silence that you lock yourself into. The feeling of loneliness that you don't mean to, but actually do choose to lock yourself into. By not sharing (even with just one other person close to you) you prevent yourself from being allowed to have a support system around you. You close yourself off to an outlet for love and support and compassion.

And in my situation, that's exactly what I did... I unintentionally locked myself into this dark place of sealing all of my feelings, fears, thoughts, and frustrations inside - with no way to properly process them.

But even more so, the even darker side to all of this was what I had inadvertently put my loving husband through. He on the other hand didn't hold the same thoughts as me about not telling anyone. I mean, he wasn't all about shouting it from the roof-tops, but he also didn't really understand what was so bad about sharing our difficulties with family and close friends. So unfortunately, what I did was lock him into a dark world of silence as well - one that he had no choice to not be in, and one where he had no one he could talk to (without fear of me going crazy for "telling our dirty little secret").

You see, when a couple goes through infertility it doesn't only impact the woman, it also significantly impacts the man in the situation. He was going through his own range of emotions in dealing with this difficulty, many that were the same as mine, some that were different. But sadly, and regrettably, it took me awhile to realize this. I figured since we were going through this together, he had me to talk to and I had him... which we did, but there's still so much power in being able to open up to someone else about all of it. My husband worked so hard to be strong and supportive for me, that I think he sometimes forgot to take care of himself, and allow himself to process through all the feelings he was having... and I clearly didn't make that any easier for him. Sweetheart, I know you know this, but I am truly so so sorry... you didn't deserve to have to be in that place alone, and I know you allowed yourself to be because of how much you love me - for that, I am eternally grateful, and love you more than I could ever express. I'm sorry...

Of course everything is clearer in retrospect, but looking back I wish I would have opened up sooner to close family and friends about our infertility. I wish I would have let my husband speak openly to whomever he felt comfortable sharing with. I wish I didn't lock us both into this dark and lonely place for so long. But - I did.

So now in moving forward and seeing how far we've come and how amazingly powerful and helpful it's been for us to open up about our journey, my advice to others - whether you're just starting to navigate your way through these waters, or knee deep into the world of living with infertility - is as follows:

- First and foremost, your journey is your own, and ultimately you get to choose who and how and when you would like to open up and share. Just because it was something positive and helpful for me (and my husband) doesn't mean it's right for you... or right, right now

- Communicate openly with your partner and be accepting of the fact that you both may have different needs - and be respectful of how to best have those needs met

- It's a personal choice of who to tell, but consider opening up to at least one person you trust about it... I can't tell you how amazing it was for me once that shadowy wall came down and I knew I had a friend whom I could call and chat openingly with about all the nuances (and frustrations) of infertility treatments. Likewise, it was just as amazing once we knew we had the support of both of our parents behind us... praying for us, sending love and encouragement, and providing support

So in light of this week dedicated to bringing awareness to this issue - I challenge you to start opening the lines of communication. Infertility is a medical diagnosis and we all need to band together to break the stigma, misunderstandings, and taboo culture that surrounds it and start breaking the silence...

Living in a "Parenting" Obsessed World

No doubt in our society we are inundated with "parenting" all around us. Pictures of friends' and families' kids on social media, advertising depicting families with children, diaper and other baby product commercials, conversations all around us revolving around topics and issues that more often than not, relate back to people's children and parenting. For those of us battling through infertility, at a time when it's the most difficult topic in our life, it seems to be the number one topic in everyone else's. Of course, not that this is a bad thing in any way, shape, or form for others, but for those of us struggling through infertility, it's just... different. Don't get me wrong, the last thing that I would ever want is for someone to feel uncomfortable, or even worse unable, to talk about their kids when they're around me, because that's definitely not the case - at all. My husband and I often try to have this conversation with our close friends who have children, to try and reassure them of this and let them know that the last thing we would ever want is for them to ever think twice (even for a split second) about sharing something with us related to one of their kids; because we love those little peanuts dearly. These actually are never the moments that bring us back to our infertility issues. Hearing about our friends' amazing "littles" aka: kids (for anyone who watches Odd Mom Out, ha) or pregnancies, actually fill us with joy, laughter, and excitement about what we have to look forward to one day. It's those random little moments that actually catch you off guard and send you reeling back face to face with your infertility. It's those moments that you least expect. The ones where your infertility struggles are actually the last thing on your mind for a brief moment, and then something happens that quickly takes you back to the reality of it all.

I distinctly remember the very first moment when this actually happened to me. It was this past fall when I was at a huge 3-day conference for work. Here I am sitting in this auditorium filled with hundreds of people during one of the break-out sessions, and the presenter paused for a moment and asked everyone to, "Raise your hand if you're a parent." His point was to use an analogy to parenting to make a connection to something he was presenting; but, at that very moment I was flooded with this rush of an awkward feeling. Granted, this awkwardness was most likely something only I realized... but nonetheless, it still felt uncomfortable. I just remember having this feeling of wanting to slink down in my seat, almost in shame, by being one of the only few people in the entire auditorium who not only didn't raise their hand, but couldn't raise their hand. It was this stark reminder that there was this entire "club" of people out there who were parents, and I didn't belong to it. It was the first time in my life that I actually felt ashamed at not being a parent, while so desperately wanting to be. In years past (before infertility became a constant in my life), the feeling would have never even registered. My world simply consisted of either not being married yet (therefore kids were still in the distant future) or still being a newlywed (so again, kids were still a bit in the future). However at this point, we had been TTC for over a year with no luck, and for the first time it was a moment when I so desperately wanted to belong to the "parent club," yet I was surrounded by the harsh reality that I wasn't able to be.

In a world when it seems the one thing almost everyone has in common is being a parent, it's hard to not only continue to be on the outskirts of this, but to constantly be faced with the uninvited (yet often unintentional) reminder that you just don't belong. Someday, I not only hope, but I know I will have my blessing of being initiated into "the club," but for now it simply continues to be an opportunity to build strength and practice true faith in whatever God has planned for our future... until we have our moment...

Suffering in Silence

One of the main reasons that finally drove me to actually start blogging about this journey was to break the stigmatizing silence that often surrounds infertility. For many reasons, it seems to be a topic that isn't often talked about openly, and something that I personally struggled with myself for a very long time. When we first started our journey in "trying to conceive" (TTC), I was adamant in telling my husband that I didn't want to tell anyone that we were actually "trying." Initially, my thought (and hope) was that I wanted it to be this huge, exciting surprise, especially for our family and close friends, when we could finally announce that we were pregnant. In my own weird, illogical head, I wanted people's response when they found out we were pregnant to be, "Oh my gosh, I had no idea you guys were even trying!" Why this seemed so appealing to me at the time, will never make sense to anyone... really, not even me. Then once our exciting journey started to turn into the reality of facing infertility, my insistence on remaining silent grew even greater. I didn't want people to know. I didn't want people's pity. I didn't want to be "that couple" that couldn't get pregnant and that everyone felt bad for. This whole mess was hard enough, the last thing I wanted was to be viewed as the girl who couldn't have a baby. I didn't want people looking at us and thinking, "Man, I feel so bad for them. I can't imagine what they're going through." Why that was such a bad thing to me, again, no rational explanation. Then one day my husband finally said to me, "Who cares if people know and if they feel bad for us? If they genuinely care and sympathize with what we're going through, why is that such a bad thing??" I pondered this thought for awhile and finally came to the conclusion that he was right, there was no real rational reason why it was a bad thing... it wasn't a bad thing.  In fact, if people who love us want to encourage us, show support and love, and offer prayers, that actually wasn't a bad thing at all... it was a GOOD thing. So slowly, but surely I began to break the silence... and this was one of the best decisions I made.