As we come to the close of this decade, I've been thinking about all the changes and milestones that have happened in my life over the last ten years. Some of the things have been good: I'm married now, I own my own home, I have a new car that is completely paid off, I have a cat, I have two more endorsements on my educator's license, I survived skin cancer. Some of the changes have been bad: I lost my mom, I changed jobs (still teaching, just a different place) and I don't like my new school, I've ridden the weight-roller coaster with little success, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's disease, and I found out that I have unexplained infertility.
That last one has been all-consuming for almost the entire two years that I've been married; I literally can't focus or think deeply about anything else. I am sad all the time, and every day is harder than the last. I get angry at people that tell me they understand what I'm going through. I hate that phrase. Nobody knows what it's like to be me. Yes, other people have suffered with infertility, and I welcome empathy and support, and hearing their stories can be comforting on my darkest days. But their story is not mine, and their strength and faith can only give me so much light to find my own path, because my story is not theirs.
So, what even is my story? The chapters that are finished so far are filled with both darkness and light, fear and faith, pain and miracles. I suppose it's good to keep a balance, but the current chapter is so dark and terrifying, that no amount of light from those around me seems to be able to penetrate the mists of despair that are surrounding my mind and my heart. I feel very much like I imagine the passengers on the Titanic did after it hit the iceberg on that fateful night: I'm sinking fast, I'm cold, I'm alone, and everyone around me has so many of their own problems that even if I dared to cry out for help, there is no help to be had. My faith, which was once akin to a roaring bonfire, has been reduced to a single match, and it's almost burnt out. I need some kindling fast, but I'm surrounded by freezing, deep, black water. I can't find joy, or hope, just fear and sadness. Things that once delighted me (theatre, reading, even music) now fill me with anxiety and dread, or even worse, nothingness. I often feel that there is no point treading water any more - which I've been doing for a while now - and it would be so much easier to let the freezing sea take me down into the black depths where I can no longer feel the aches and pains and insecurities that haunt my every moment.
Dark. Bleak. Hopeless. Ugh. I know, another story of someone's hard, hard life, wah, wah, wah. Normally my musings lead me through a horrible situation, or a bad time, and I take the path to a moral, or a lesson, or at least a light at the end of the tunnel. But this time, as I mentioned above, there is not a light to be found.
Let me start at the beginning. Not that I expect many people to read this, I only have 5 followers. But for anyone who's made it thus far, let me give you a history lesson on Stacy. I was sexually molested as a child. I was raped at age ten in a haunted house, which is why I refuse to this day to go in one. I was verbally as well as physically abused for most of my formative years, having it ingrained into my personality that I was dumb, and ugly, and nobody in their right mind would ever want me. No matter how many times my mother, grandmother, sisters, aunts, and friends tried to tell me differently, I believed that I was unwantable. Church didn't make that easier, with the used gum analogy chastity lessons. In spite of that, I clung to my faith. I somehow knew that God had a plan for me, and that He loved me, and things would be made right in His time if I just trusted Him. I found escape in literature, and solace in music and performing. I was pretty good. Turned out people did want me if I could play for them - piano, percussion, bass, unwanted chorus/ensemble parts - I would do anything to be included, even if I wasn't really included. I wasn't invited to parties, nobody came to mine, the only dates I went on in high school were set ups because my friends weren't allowed to go on dates alone and I was a trustworthy chaperone who wouldn't let anything happen. Nobody ever asked me out. That was to be expected, nobody in their right mind would want me, remember? God would make it right, eventually.
I studied music, and took German, I was going to get out of poverty and travel the world by playing in world-renowned orchestras. I was going to write music and become a conductor and make tons of money and be well-liked by famous people. But then, when I was only a senior in high school, I got carpal tunnel. It was no one's fault. The nerve bundles in my elbows were on the wrong side of the bone. This is the case in about 30% of the world's population. It's not a problem, most of the time, but my piano and bass playing aggravated it, and that caused nerve damage to my wrists and hands. OK, surgery. Both elbows, both wrists. It was fine. I was going to recover beautifully and continue with my dream of being a professional musician. After all, I'd figured out ways to push through arthritis pain - juvenile onset osteo-arthritis, diagnosed at age 10 - with no serious side effects or injuries, I could definitely push through nerve pain, too. It was working pretty well until junior year of college, when I fell and broke my left wrist. Broke is kind of a mild word to describe what happened. It was crushed: every bone, ligament, and tendon needed repair. Three surgeries and 25 years later, and I still don't have full range of motion in my left hand and wrist. My wrist was crushed and so were my dreams. I couldn't be a famous musician if I couldn't play my main instruments any more. My singing voice was never anything to write home about, it couldn't take up the load. I graduated with a (useless) degree in liberal arts, and, after traveling and teaching abroad, went back to school to get a teaching license.
This was God's way of telling me, I convinced myself, that my life's calling was in teaching. Look at all the lives I could change and touch by teaching. I got to reconnect with my beloved children's literature, and ignite a passion for history, and a love of learning. I was a good teacher, this is where I belonged, I never would have gotten to teach in Taiwan, or travel to China, or find this career if I'd followed the other path. I still got to have music in my life, and I still got to perform with my bass and piano in community or church things. God would make it right, eventually. In the mean time, I was still not invited to parties, nobody came to mine, and I started packing on weight due to the anxiety caused by - unbeknownst to me at the time - C-PTSD. As well as the fact that I couldn't participate in soccer, gymnastics, or dance anymore because the arthritis had gotten out of control, and to add insult to injury I was awarded a partially severed nerve in my leg from a botched knee surgery. Through all this, I held tight to my faith. I prayed, I went to church, I went to the temple, I paid my tithing, I magnified my callings. I just knew that if I did what God asked, then all would be made right, eventually, in His timing.
Oh, that was hard, to watch my friends get married, and have babies, or have babies without getting married. I wanted so badly to be a mother. I don't know exactly why the mothering instinct and desire is so strong in my heart, but some of my earliest memories involve me telling people that I wanted to be a mama when I got big. Well, I definitely got big, but I never got to be a mama. Each time one of my friends got married, each time I was rejected by a guy (that's a whole other sad story), each time someone had a baby - especially when they did it the "wrong" way - my heart broke a little bit more, and I would find myself pouring out my heart to a silent heaven, pleading for my turn. It was particularly hard when my youngest brother started having children. They have four boys now... When I was 36 years old, I was told that I should have a hysterectomy. I'd always had really bad periods - cramping to the point of debilitation, passing out, throwing up, etc. - and since I had no prospects for marriage, and I was getting along in age, my doctor recommended that I just get rid of the whole problem. I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to ask for guidance. I heard an actual, physical Voice tell me that this was not the plan, and I should not have the surgery. Trusting that the Lord had a reason for this, I told my doctor that I would just continue to suffer. I didn't know why, because I still believed that I would probably not get married in this life, but there must be some reason, and I would trust as I'd been taught.
My patriarchal blessing says that I will be sealed for time and all eternity to a worthy companion, and that I should remain prayerful that I don't falter in that goal. For my fortieth birthday, I signed up for online dating. I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to beg for guidance in this very scary step. I didn't think I could handle much more rejection. I've changed over the years, though. I know that I'm deserving of someone's love. I know that I'm amazing. I know that my physical appearance is part of me and bears the battle scars of the wars of my emotional and physical traumas, and is nothing to be ashamed of, despite what society at large says. As it turns out, this knowledge gave me confidence, and that's, apparently, attractive. I was asked out on a lot of dates through my dating profile. I prayed before each date that I would be able to be myself, and be led to make good decisions. I was still nervous, and got super anxious on each date. Until I met my husband. As soon as I saw him, my whole body relaxed. I still felt nervous, but I had no anxiety, no racing heart, no trembling lips, no sweaty palms. I knew that he was going to be important for me. It was only our sixth date when I knew that I wanted him for eternity. Being in his arms gives me a peace that I've never felt anywhere else. Again, I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to beg for guidance. Again, I heard an actual, physical Voice tell me that he is a good man, marry him now, don't wait. I was so confused. He didn't have a temple recommend, he couldn't marry me in the temple, and I was told to be prayerful that I don't falter in that goal. I decided that we would wait. I started getting physically sick when I took that decision to the Lord, my head hurt, and I actually threw up a little. So I tried the way I'd been told by that Voice, "I've decided to marry him outside of the temple. Please, Lord, help me know that I've made the right decision." Peace, like the kind of peace I feel in his arms. I knew that it was the right decision. And, just to make sure, that Voice again - he's a good man, marry him now, don't wait. So we didn't. Six months to the day after I met him, I married him at the Little White Chapel in Vegas.
The plan was to work together to get his temple recommend, and get sealed in a year. Then I remembered the Voice from four years before - don't get the hysterectomy. This must be why, and why we didn't wait. I was forty now, no spring chicken in the fertility game, we must be meant to have a baby right away, and waiting for a temple recommend would be too late. God was good, His plan made sense now, I'd finally been rewarded for all of my patience and suffering.
Except I hadn't. It's been two years since I got married. My husband doesn't believe in the church, or indeed even in God, and he feels that getting married in the temple is foolish and not something he wants. We've been to several fertility doctors and done several treatments. We were finally told this last April that we could try in-vitro fertilization (IVF) as a last resort, but with my age there was a less than 2% chance that it would work, and as it's so expensive, it's not something we could afford. We've applied for grants and scholarships, but because of my age, our ages, it's not likely that we'll get to do it. In May, on my birthday, my husband told me that he wasn't in love with me when we got married, that I was better than being alone, and what he considered to be his last chance to have a family, and now that I'd failed him, his life was pointless. I was crushed again. All those times I was told that nobody would ever want me came screaming back to my head and my heart. All that work I'd done to convince myself that I was worthy was destroyed. This was my iceberg; I've been sinking since then.
Once again, I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple. I was so sure that having a family was God's plan for me. I listened for that Voice that had been so assertive in telling me that he was a good man and marry him now and don't wait. I heard nothing. I watched as my friends had babies and grandbabies. I watched as my former students went on missions and got married. I watched as friends who didn't want children or families ended up with them. I watched as acquaintances got pregnant on accident when they were having affairs. I watched stories from around the world of people having abortions, and drug addicts giving birth and abandoning their babies in dumpsters, and women who ask for help on Facebook because they got pregnant but can't afford it, and....
Oh, it hurts, it hurts so badly. I have heard that Voice once more. It was in a moment of deep anguish, when I was crying to the heavens about the unfairness of never being loved, not even by my husband. I was needing comfort and guidance, because I was sinking and hurting and I was all alone. I heard the Voice then, and it didn't offer comfort at all, I'm not even sure what it said could be construed as guidance. I feel broken. I feel betrayed. I feel alone. I feel ugly. I feel unwanted. The only good, weird but good, thing I still have is that when my husband wraps me in his arms I still feel that profound sense of peace. He's told me since that awful May day that he is growing to love me, that he loves me now more than he did a year ago. I am his best friend, and he can't imagine his life without me in it. That's more comfort than the Voice, but not much. I thought I'd found my true love, my soulmate, my eternal companion. He found a roommate, someone to live with so he wasn't alone anymore.
Oh, The Voice, you want to know what The Voice said. Let it go. That's it. Let it go. I don't know what to let go of. Pain. Fear. Anger. Loss. Hope. Desire. Longing. Faith. Religion. Resentment. Expectations. Everything. It's all so intertwined, and I've been holding on so tightly for so long that I'm afraid if I let go of even one thing, they'll all come crashing down, like ice from the berg, and I won't be able to hold on to anything that will keep me afloat. But my life is heavy, and I'm so tired of trying to do the right thing all the time, and having pain thrown back in my face. I just need to figure out how to let it go....
That last one has been all-consuming for almost the entire two years that I've been married; I literally can't focus or think deeply about anything else. I am sad all the time, and every day is harder than the last. I get angry at people that tell me they understand what I'm going through. I hate that phrase. Nobody knows what it's like to be me. Yes, other people have suffered with infertility, and I welcome empathy and support, and hearing their stories can be comforting on my darkest days. But their story is not mine, and their strength and faith can only give me so much light to find my own path, because my story is not theirs.
So, what even is my story? The chapters that are finished so far are filled with both darkness and light, fear and faith, pain and miracles. I suppose it's good to keep a balance, but the current chapter is so dark and terrifying, that no amount of light from those around me seems to be able to penetrate the mists of despair that are surrounding my mind and my heart. I feel very much like I imagine the passengers on the Titanic did after it hit the iceberg on that fateful night: I'm sinking fast, I'm cold, I'm alone, and everyone around me has so many of their own problems that even if I dared to cry out for help, there is no help to be had. My faith, which was once akin to a roaring bonfire, has been reduced to a single match, and it's almost burnt out. I need some kindling fast, but I'm surrounded by freezing, deep, black water. I can't find joy, or hope, just fear and sadness. Things that once delighted me (theatre, reading, even music) now fill me with anxiety and dread, or even worse, nothingness. I often feel that there is no point treading water any more - which I've been doing for a while now - and it would be so much easier to let the freezing sea take me down into the black depths where I can no longer feel the aches and pains and insecurities that haunt my every moment.
Dark. Bleak. Hopeless. Ugh. I know, another story of someone's hard, hard life, wah, wah, wah. Normally my musings lead me through a horrible situation, or a bad time, and I take the path to a moral, or a lesson, or at least a light at the end of the tunnel. But this time, as I mentioned above, there is not a light to be found.
Let me start at the beginning. Not that I expect many people to read this, I only have 5 followers. But for anyone who's made it thus far, let me give you a history lesson on Stacy. I was sexually molested as a child. I was raped at age ten in a haunted house, which is why I refuse to this day to go in one. I was verbally as well as physically abused for most of my formative years, having it ingrained into my personality that I was dumb, and ugly, and nobody in their right mind would ever want me. No matter how many times my mother, grandmother, sisters, aunts, and friends tried to tell me differently, I believed that I was unwantable. Church didn't make that easier, with the used gum analogy chastity lessons. In spite of that, I clung to my faith. I somehow knew that God had a plan for me, and that He loved me, and things would be made right in His time if I just trusted Him. I found escape in literature, and solace in music and performing. I was pretty good. Turned out people did want me if I could play for them - piano, percussion, bass, unwanted chorus/ensemble parts - I would do anything to be included, even if I wasn't really included. I wasn't invited to parties, nobody came to mine, the only dates I went on in high school were set ups because my friends weren't allowed to go on dates alone and I was a trustworthy chaperone who wouldn't let anything happen. Nobody ever asked me out. That was to be expected, nobody in their right mind would want me, remember? God would make it right, eventually.
I studied music, and took German, I was going to get out of poverty and travel the world by playing in world-renowned orchestras. I was going to write music and become a conductor and make tons of money and be well-liked by famous people. But then, when I was only a senior in high school, I got carpal tunnel. It was no one's fault. The nerve bundles in my elbows were on the wrong side of the bone. This is the case in about 30% of the world's population. It's not a problem, most of the time, but my piano and bass playing aggravated it, and that caused nerve damage to my wrists and hands. OK, surgery. Both elbows, both wrists. It was fine. I was going to recover beautifully and continue with my dream of being a professional musician. After all, I'd figured out ways to push through arthritis pain - juvenile onset osteo-arthritis, diagnosed at age 10 - with no serious side effects or injuries, I could definitely push through nerve pain, too. It was working pretty well until junior year of college, when I fell and broke my left wrist. Broke is kind of a mild word to describe what happened. It was crushed: every bone, ligament, and tendon needed repair. Three surgeries and 25 years later, and I still don't have full range of motion in my left hand and wrist. My wrist was crushed and so were my dreams. I couldn't be a famous musician if I couldn't play my main instruments any more. My singing voice was never anything to write home about, it couldn't take up the load. I graduated with a (useless) degree in liberal arts, and, after traveling and teaching abroad, went back to school to get a teaching license.
This was God's way of telling me, I convinced myself, that my life's calling was in teaching. Look at all the lives I could change and touch by teaching. I got to reconnect with my beloved children's literature, and ignite a passion for history, and a love of learning. I was a good teacher, this is where I belonged, I never would have gotten to teach in Taiwan, or travel to China, or find this career if I'd followed the other path. I still got to have music in my life, and I still got to perform with my bass and piano in community or church things. God would make it right, eventually. In the mean time, I was still not invited to parties, nobody came to mine, and I started packing on weight due to the anxiety caused by - unbeknownst to me at the time - C-PTSD. As well as the fact that I couldn't participate in soccer, gymnastics, or dance anymore because the arthritis had gotten out of control, and to add insult to injury I was awarded a partially severed nerve in my leg from a botched knee surgery. Through all this, I held tight to my faith. I prayed, I went to church, I went to the temple, I paid my tithing, I magnified my callings. I just knew that if I did what God asked, then all would be made right, eventually, in His timing.
Oh, that was hard, to watch my friends get married, and have babies, or have babies without getting married. I wanted so badly to be a mother. I don't know exactly why the mothering instinct and desire is so strong in my heart, but some of my earliest memories involve me telling people that I wanted to be a mama when I got big. Well, I definitely got big, but I never got to be a mama. Each time one of my friends got married, each time I was rejected by a guy (that's a whole other sad story), each time someone had a baby - especially when they did it the "wrong" way - my heart broke a little bit more, and I would find myself pouring out my heart to a silent heaven, pleading for my turn. It was particularly hard when my youngest brother started having children. They have four boys now... When I was 36 years old, I was told that I should have a hysterectomy. I'd always had really bad periods - cramping to the point of debilitation, passing out, throwing up, etc. - and since I had no prospects for marriage, and I was getting along in age, my doctor recommended that I just get rid of the whole problem. I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to ask for guidance. I heard an actual, physical Voice tell me that this was not the plan, and I should not have the surgery. Trusting that the Lord had a reason for this, I told my doctor that I would just continue to suffer. I didn't know why, because I still believed that I would probably not get married in this life, but there must be some reason, and I would trust as I'd been taught.
My patriarchal blessing says that I will be sealed for time and all eternity to a worthy companion, and that I should remain prayerful that I don't falter in that goal. For my fortieth birthday, I signed up for online dating. I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to beg for guidance in this very scary step. I didn't think I could handle much more rejection. I've changed over the years, though. I know that I'm deserving of someone's love. I know that I'm amazing. I know that my physical appearance is part of me and bears the battle scars of the wars of my emotional and physical traumas, and is nothing to be ashamed of, despite what society at large says. As it turns out, this knowledge gave me confidence, and that's, apparently, attractive. I was asked out on a lot of dates through my dating profile. I prayed before each date that I would be able to be myself, and be led to make good decisions. I was still nervous, and got super anxious on each date. Until I met my husband. As soon as I saw him, my whole body relaxed. I still felt nervous, but I had no anxiety, no racing heart, no trembling lips, no sweaty palms. I knew that he was going to be important for me. It was only our sixth date when I knew that I wanted him for eternity. Being in his arms gives me a peace that I've never felt anywhere else. Again, I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to beg for guidance. Again, I heard an actual, physical Voice tell me that he is a good man, marry him now, don't wait. I was so confused. He didn't have a temple recommend, he couldn't marry me in the temple, and I was told to be prayerful that I don't falter in that goal. I decided that we would wait. I started getting physically sick when I took that decision to the Lord, my head hurt, and I actually threw up a little. So I tried the way I'd been told by that Voice, "I've decided to marry him outside of the temple. Please, Lord, help me know that I've made the right decision." Peace, like the kind of peace I feel in his arms. I knew that it was the right decision. And, just to make sure, that Voice again - he's a good man, marry him now, don't wait. So we didn't. Six months to the day after I met him, I married him at the Little White Chapel in Vegas.
The plan was to work together to get his temple recommend, and get sealed in a year. Then I remembered the Voice from four years before - don't get the hysterectomy. This must be why, and why we didn't wait. I was forty now, no spring chicken in the fertility game, we must be meant to have a baby right away, and waiting for a temple recommend would be too late. God was good, His plan made sense now, I'd finally been rewarded for all of my patience and suffering.
Except I hadn't. It's been two years since I got married. My husband doesn't believe in the church, or indeed even in God, and he feels that getting married in the temple is foolish and not something he wants. We've been to several fertility doctors and done several treatments. We were finally told this last April that we could try in-vitro fertilization (IVF) as a last resort, but with my age there was a less than 2% chance that it would work, and as it's so expensive, it's not something we could afford. We've applied for grants and scholarships, but because of my age, our ages, it's not likely that we'll get to do it. In May, on my birthday, my husband told me that he wasn't in love with me when we got married, that I was better than being alone, and what he considered to be his last chance to have a family, and now that I'd failed him, his life was pointless. I was crushed again. All those times I was told that nobody would ever want me came screaming back to my head and my heart. All that work I'd done to convince myself that I was worthy was destroyed. This was my iceberg; I've been sinking since then.
Once again, I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple. I was so sure that having a family was God's plan for me. I listened for that Voice that had been so assertive in telling me that he was a good man and marry him now and don't wait. I heard nothing. I watched as my friends had babies and grandbabies. I watched as my former students went on missions and got married. I watched as friends who didn't want children or families ended up with them. I watched as acquaintances got pregnant on accident when they were having affairs. I watched stories from around the world of people having abortions, and drug addicts giving birth and abandoning their babies in dumpsters, and women who ask for help on Facebook because they got pregnant but can't afford it, and....
Oh, it hurts, it hurts so badly. I have heard that Voice once more. It was in a moment of deep anguish, when I was crying to the heavens about the unfairness of never being loved, not even by my husband. I was needing comfort and guidance, because I was sinking and hurting and I was all alone. I heard the Voice then, and it didn't offer comfort at all, I'm not even sure what it said could be construed as guidance. I feel broken. I feel betrayed. I feel alone. I feel ugly. I feel unwanted. The only good, weird but good, thing I still have is that when my husband wraps me in his arms I still feel that profound sense of peace. He's told me since that awful May day that he is growing to love me, that he loves me now more than he did a year ago. I am his best friend, and he can't imagine his life without me in it. That's more comfort than the Voice, but not much. I thought I'd found my true love, my soulmate, my eternal companion. He found a roommate, someone to live with so he wasn't alone anymore.
Oh, The Voice, you want to know what The Voice said. Let it go. That's it. Let it go. I don't know what to let go of. Pain. Fear. Anger. Loss. Hope. Desire. Longing. Faith. Religion. Resentment. Expectations. Everything. It's all so intertwined, and I've been holding on so tightly for so long that I'm afraid if I let go of even one thing, they'll all come crashing down, like ice from the berg, and I won't be able to hold on to anything that will keep me afloat. But my life is heavy, and I'm so tired of trying to do the right thing all the time, and having pain thrown back in my face. I just need to figure out how to let it go....
