Life + Wellness

Balance

In life, I have always been motivated by progress, more so than probably anything else. And when I come to the end of whatever I’m putting my effort into, I notice I give myself only a few moments to enjoy the end result. When you consider progress in relation to unexplained infertility, it is as if the two concepts cannot exist in the same scope of thought. What progress can you make in something you have no control over?

My obsession to become pregnant started because for me, moving in any direction was good enough. It’s how I went from trying to conceive naturally, to closely tracking my cycles, to ending up at the reproductive endocrinologist 4x a week for ovulation induction. Yet from all this, there was no end result to enjoy. In it’s place there was only the knowledge that my body produced ovarian cysts, and took 35 days just to complete a cycle. Not exactly a satisfying conclusion.

Chris asked me once what wouldn’t I sacrifice to become a mother. To this, the only answer I could think of, was our relationship. And I still think about that question all the time. Why was I so comfortable sacrificing everything else? To not give a second thought to my comfort, time, lifestyle, diet, and to some extent, even my health. It is no wonder he feared for the day I would look up and not recognize myself.

In the two months since I stopped focusing so much on my fertility, many people around me have become pregnant. I have had to remind myself that their joy is not a reflection of the absence of mine. And perhaps that sounds selfish to say. Perhaps it sounds dismissive too of all the wonderful things already present in my life. For these couples, I know I should find a way to be completely happy for them, to celebrate something so miraculous and so personal. I just haven’t found a way to cope with the announcements. Every one feels like a quick, sharp punch to the gut – just a painful twinge, there for a moment, and then gone.

Finding balance isn’t easy. I go back and forth between being completely sick of this sad girl narrative I’m seemingly creating by writing about these experiences, to identifying with it so much, that I worry about other parts of my life I am neglecting. In all this, it’s clearer than ever that I have few answers. Maybe for me, rather than seeking them out, letting them come to me in due time, is the way forward.

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