When You Don't Get What You Want
There’s something beautiful about not getting what you want, and choosing happiness despite that.
If you are alive, you will have experienced disappointment. Sometimes it’s the disappointment of a biting into a terrible nectarine. Other times it's bigger, it’s the disappointment of your IVF treatment failing. The painful, heartbreaking disappointment of infertility is one of the biggest disappointments I’ve faced. There have been other disappointments in my life, other big ones, but none were quite as destructive as this one.
Infertility is so hard. So sad. If you are going through it, or have been through it already, you know this. There is just something so absolute about it, about coming to terms with the fact that you won’t bear children. There is something so infuriatingly beyond your control, you are left helpless and wounded and destroyed. Your ideas of your future life are shattered, your relationship is, quite likely, left ragged, as though the cozy cloak you once shared with your partner is now torn and threadbare, a poor excuse, offering no warmth and scratching both of you with its coarseness. Your body is exhausted, having been prodded, tested, injected, pumped with hormones, ultra-sounded, drugged, sucked dry of eggs, and riddled with anxiety and hope and desperation for months. Your bank account is nearly empty, or perhaps the bank account of family who are helping you out is significantly lighter, as is your sense of pride. You’ve spent hours on online message boards sharing anxieties and hopes and numbers with other women all over the world who are also going through the ordeal. You feel connected to them, saddened when they endure failures, encouraged when they experience pregnancy and, the holy grail, healthy delivered babies! Only to sink into deep grief when your own journey ends in failure.
It’s hard. And that’s the understatement of the year. To top it off, you feel guilty. Not the guilt of “why can’t I get pregnant” (which is its own kettle of specially blended, three-day-old fish), but the guilt of “why am I spending all this money, time, effort to try to create my own child, when the planet is littered with children who need parents?”. It seems indulgent and greedy and very first-world entitled. And in the end, for some of us, it’s futile.
All of which changes you. As any great life change or loss changes us, the loss of the children you thought you would have, leaves its mark. You are left grieving, but perhaps relatively silently, as not many of us announce our infertility to the world. Family, perhaps close friends know, but it isn’t something we bring up a great deal. It’s hard to talk about.
And yet.
Here I am, two years later, and I feel good. I feel alive. I feel sad at times, certainly, grief still occasionally bubbles up, but less often, less painfully, less absolutely. I am healthier, I am happier than I have been for perhaps years. My marriage is healthier and happier, too, due, in part, to the counselling I only wish we had done during the IVF journey. We started afterwards, after it all failed, and it has been one of the best things we could ever have done for ourselves, our relationship, and our future. I feel much more present in my life now than I have for years.
I have decided to trust. Trust that life will unfold for me as it should. The future may hold adoption for us, we’re not sure yet. We were both too exhausted immediately after the IVF experience to embark on another demanding journey, but lately we feel renewed, energized, so we will see. I have been changed by our IVF journey, but in many ways, I think I was changed for the better.
It was slow, and is still a work in progress, but basically, I had to do something so as not to fall into a deep dark pit of despair when we first got the news. I was so lost, no idea what life would look like now that babies were out of the picture. I was struggling to stay afloat, and grabbed onto a few essential buoys, namely gentle, daily exercise, daily meditation, sleep, and listening to inspiring podcasts.
It helped. It made me feel better, certainly, and led, bit by bit, to bigger changes. Changes in diet, more exercise, daily expressions of gratitude, finding ways to embody pleasure, more podcasts! I feel as though my entire outlook towards life has changed. I cannot control life, the future, other people. I can only do the things I know nurture my body and soul, listen with an open heart, and trust that if I am living this way, my life will unfold as it should. I am listening to my intuition, trying not to get swept up in the anxiety of wanting to know what the future holds, and seeking joy. It’s working. I truly feel better than I did before we ever began IVF. I feel as though I am learning to live with intention, be mindful, be present, less full of ego. It’s amazing. Truly an amazing shift. Am I happy that the IVF did not work? Of course not. But there is a part of me that wonders who I would be if it had, and if I would like her as much.
So if you’re struggling, if you’re still stuck in the darkness that comes with infertility, or anything else for that matter, take heart. Find some small things to grab onto that make you feel a bit better, that feel like they offer some relief. Keep turning to them, and let them change and grow and lead you out of the darkness and towards the light. Go where the path is open, one step at a time. I promise life will be good again. Different, but good, and perhaps even better than before.
If you'd like some ideas about moving out of the darkness, about living a happier life, check back here. I'll be writing about gentle steps you can take to nurture yourself and move back towards the light. Sending you all love.
