Lessons from a loser: 4 lessons I learnt from divorce

Man, I honestly don’t even know where to begin. I’ve got so much to talk about, but I also feel so fiercely protective of my life now. This ‘journey’ I have been on has taught me so much, but it’s also heightened my already Everest-level cynicisms about life, love, luck and loss.

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For any newbies to this half-abandoned archive of my PMS emotions, the story is pretty simple: my high-school sweetheart husband and I tried unsuccessfully for 8 years to make a family, attempting au naturel, IVF, and adoption. This deeply affected our marriage and my health, and culminated in said high school sweetheart lying, cheating scumbag having an affair with an 18 year old strumpet (who I had idiotically welcomed into my house and treated like a daughter). I was in hospital with deep vein thrombosis and pulmonary embolism when I found this out, and subsequently, our 15 year long relationship came to an abrupt and fiery end.

I’ve now been divorced for over a year, and, while I grew up with divorced parents (and therefore thought I knew a thing or two about it), it turns out that there has been some pret-ty major lessons along the way. Some have been surprising refreshing, while others have felt like great and incomparable injustices.

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  1. Divorce time is D I V O R C E time

So you just heard your not-so-close friends Kim K and Kanye are getting a divorce?* Guess what – this most likely means that they are getting a divorce. The truth is, unless you are besties or family with a couple, by the time you find out about relationship problems it is probably unsalvageable. While miracles can and do happen, generally people take that D word super seriously. Marriage is a huge investment and a massive commitment, not many people throw it away lightly (*cough* Kim K *cough*).

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I can’t tell you the amount of people who contacted me once the news broke to plead/beg/pray/demand the restoration of my marriage. Not only was this highly hurtful and insulting as I had absolutely no way of restoring something my ex didn’t want, I obviously had tried with my heart and soul to ‘fix’ things before the horrible reality hit home – it was over and there was nothing I could do about it. By the time divorce news was out in the open, I was well into the long road of acceptance and recovery.

  1. Nobody cares

This was one of those refreshing realisations. When my marriage failed, I felt absolutely and utterly humiliated. I felt as though I had very publically declared to the world that I would stick by this guy until death, and yet, here I was, very, very publically failing at that. I felt disgraced – like my life had been a lie, and I now had to face the world with egg on my face. I felt like people were judging the kind of woman I was, the kind of wife I was, even the kind of human I was to ‘allow’ this to happen.

Thankfully my experience has been different from my diabolically low presumptions. People (well, the ones that matter at least) don’t actually give a damn D word about divorce. They care heaps and heaps about what is going on personally for you, but they, by-and-large, don’t view divorce in judgmental terms.

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  1. You lose, lose, lose, lose

This has been undoubtedly the hardest lesson. No matter whose fault it was, no matter who ended it – everybody loses.

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Of course I was always well aware that divorce would cost me my husband, my house, my lifestyle and half of all my things, but I never realised how much more you actually do lose. On top of the deep connection you have to your spouse and any material assets you have accumulated together, there are plenty of other unavoidable losses, for example:

a. Your legacy

One of the loveliest things about being in a partnership is the witness you bear to each other’s lives. Someone observes your successes and failures, they watch you grow and change, and can remind you of your achievements and goals. They can look back with you, knowing how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. This might not be relevant to everyone, but for me my ex-husband was there when I graduated high school, when I first went overseas, when I first moved out of home, when I graduated uni, when I underwent IVF, when I bought my first house, etc. I find it incredibly strange to enter a world where the people I date haven’t witnessed any of this journey.

b. Your future plans

Leading on from the previous thought, you also lose every notion you had of your future. Even though life (obviously) doesn’t go according to plan, people generally have an idea of what they are working towards. At the very least, I thought I knew where I would be living and who I would be married to. I now have a completely blank canvas, which is in some ways nice, but there is also a grief involved with closing the door on things long hoped and strived for.

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c. Friends

Yep, this one really sucks. In my experience this has been a gradual and prolonged loss. Many of my friends were really there for me when the shit hit the fan, but then slowly withered away as time went on. My understanding is that something like this is just very difficult for people to know how to navigate.

The ex and I spent most of our time with other couples, so to begin with there’s always that awks problem of feeling the need to ‘choose a side’. Then, there’s the relationship dynamics – two couples having dinner, going to the park, watching movies, etc. works really well. A couple with their distraught, single friend bitching and moaning on the couch isn’t an ideal Saturday night for anyone. The invitations dry up very quickly. And finally, some ‘friends’ simply can’t deal with the changes you go through during this hellish process. Thankfully, there are some absolute gemstones who have carried me and loved me throughout it all.

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d. Family

This one tears me in half. I come from a very small family – it’s really just my mum and I who live in the same state. So every year, for fifteen years, we joined together with my ex’s family to celebrate Christmases, Easters, birthdays, graduations, weddings blah blah blah.

And now there is nowhere to go.

For fifteen years I had a large, loud Italian support structure around me. For fifteen years I had in-laws and siblings and grandparents and cousins and aunties, and now they are largely inaccessible to me. Sure, I’m still loved and cared about deeply by them, but I can’t exactly show up at a family BBQ comfortably. This is a loss that seems enormously unfair, and I would be lying if I said I don’t spend a lot of time creepily watching families at the park wishing I had what they’re having.

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e. Innocence

By innocence I mean trust and optimism and faith and hope – God help any of my potential suitors. Being cheated on, and lied to, in such an extreme way, over such a prolonged period of time, has all but destroyed my trust and faith in the opposite sex. I am filled with anxiety and dread that it might happen to me again. And, it’s simply not something I feel that I could survive a second time. If the man in my life so much as goes into the bathroom with his phone, my stomach starts doing backflips – men are now presumed guilty until they prove and prove and prove themselves innocent. This is clearly not a good launchpad for healthy and successful relationships, but it is unfortunately a reality for me now which will take bucket loads of counselling and good fortune to correct.

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  1. You are stronger than you realise.

Obvs I would never recommend divorce to anyone, unless of course you have a penchant for being dragged arse-first through personal annihilation and then pushed unwillingly back into the same body to restart life all pessimistic, fearful, scared, empty and alone… but, having somehow made it out the other side, I can confirm that what doesn’t kill you does indeed make you stronger.

Last year I was in a place where I was sick, I was going through a divorce with 8 years of infertility pain under my belt, I had no job, I had no house and then my car decided to die as well. I had zero hope for the future. But somehow, piece by piece, the jigsaw of my life began to come together again. I just had to push through that most awful part. Life isn’t all sunshine and French bulldog puppies now, but it’s a life I have pushed hard for, and I’m thankful for that.

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Phew… that ended up being a lot longer than I expected! As I said, I’ve got heaps and heaps to share and this one has been bubbling away in my mind for ages. I wish that I could have made my first post back a little more upbeat and positive, but the nature of this blog is to say things as they are, and, believe it or not, divorce is pretty shitty. So, sorry for my absence and sorry for the downer deluge but I still love this site, and all the incredible support and stories I receive on here.

x

*As far as I know Kim K and Kanye are doing juuuust fine.

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Breathe in Now

So it’s been over a month since I last posted. Part of that was wanting to wait until I had something half thought-out to say, and part of that was wanting to keep all the things I’m learning stored away like precious treasure. And part of it is that I’ve been busy breathing and learning and living.

I really don’t know what in my life will resonate with people now, but I know that I friggen love life more than ever. When everything was so shit over the past year I used to have a mantra that I would repeat in my head just to calm down and be able to take another step through hell.

It was simply: “The sun, the breeze, the sky, the trees.”

Just saying that to myself, took the focus away from me and my private hell, and onto the magnificence all around me. No matter how effed up life becomes, these things remain, and they remain beautiful and pure and good and constant (well, at least until the sun explodes and obliterates us all).

Ok, so not technically the sun exploding but still an amazing movie (if you're into metaphors and all that)

Ok, so not technically the sun exploding but still an amazing movie (if you’re into metaphors and all that)

I lost basically everything – all of a sudden I had no husband, no job, no income, poor health, and (very soon) no house. I was suddenly untethered from everything that was stable and true to me. I was floating in loss and despair. But yet, those wonderful things – the sun, the breeze, the sky, the trees – remained. And what’s more, I actually started to notice them.

I have no idea what my future holds now, and for the first time in my life I’m okay with that. Losing everything can be somewhat liberating. It means that there is a new and unimaginable future ahead. It’s excitingly scary.

Yes, Life, I'm talking to you.

Yes, Life, I’m talking to you.

In my darkest moments last year I planned to take my own life, and I got terrifyingly close. Knowing this scares me like nothing else in this world.

It petrifies me that I had no idea of the beauty and peace and joy that was just around the corner for me. It is daunting to think I almost allowed my life to be reduced to someone else’s actions upon it. And it cuts me to the core that there are people out there who never get to realise that they are worth more than their circumstances.

I’m not sharing this for pity or concern, I’m sharing this to remain true to the essence of Lady Breaks. It’s about vulnerability and pain, but also about the strength and beauty that is garnered and discovered when everything is stripped and everything aches.

As far as I can see right now, life is impossibly painful and impossibly beautiful. And it’s worth it.

PS. The heading is indeed a reference to Katie Noonan’s (george) glorious, healing song, Breathe in Now. So powerful.

Lady Love

Yes, I know it’s been a really long time since my last blog post. To be honest, I’ve really wanted to write but I also wanted to wait until a time where words like slut, whore, home-wrecker, harlot, and strumpet didn’t fill up the page… Actually, who am I kidding? I couldn’t wait to use a word like “strumpet”!

1057No, in all seriousness, things are actually really going very well! All things considered I am really loving life and happy to be here – which is something I wouldn’t have been able to say at all for the past year. I’ve had so many beautiful people rally around me and lift me up that I can’t help but be filled with joy and the deepest appreciation.

In fact, my entire perspective on friendships has changed dramatically over this time. When my world imploded, a close and dear friend wrote to me and said that it will be strong women who will heal and buoy me during this season. And, yes, I guess since I write a blog about how strong and resilient women are I should have known this. But the truth is I have always been one of those girls who “finds guys easier to get along with than girls”, so my inner response was kinda more like “Bah, humbug”.

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When I promise cat gifs, I deliver cat gifs.

Over the years, I had let many of my female friendships wither, always choosing to spend time with the husband instead. So I guess I never had the opportunity to experience the true power of lady friends. Until now.

Despite me being a contender for the World’s Slackiest Friend, woman after woman after woman started coming out of the woodwork to heal me. Some cooked, some cleaned, some wrote lovely cards, some took sooky calls at 4am, some weathered my (misdirected) storms, some took me out, some kept me in, but all – I actually mean all – shared their own stories of pain and loss and suffering with me. And it’s been powerful. It’s inspiring to be able to hear and witness story after story of how women have overcome, how women have thrived, and how women have risen up despite.

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So, without minimizing the beautiful and touching efforts of all my lovely guy friends, I want to say thank you to the ladies – you have made my world colourful and abundant once more.

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x

Lady is Broken

There is no easy way to do this; in fact I have been putting it off for weeks. The sad truth is that I, Ms. Lady Breaks, am broken. I don’t mean broken in the sense of cracked or rusty or crinkly or hurt. I mean b r o k e n. Crushed, obliterated, eliminated. Smashed into a zillion unfixable pieces.

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And I’ve spent a long time thinking through the best way to do this. I mean this site is about strong, resilient women and it’s about my journey towards a family. And now, my life is about none of those things. I feel weak and battered and unsure of the future. Every single one of my dreams has been ripped from me, callously and without warning. Everything I spent fourteen years building and loving is gone. The last eight years of a harrowing fertility journey has culminated in an epic naught and nothing.

Mr. Lady Breaks has opted out of our life together.

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Right now I simply can’t make sense of it, and I don’t know the right words to articulate it. I don’t know how not to spew hate across this page at what has been done to me. I don’t know how to describe the hole in my heart that was full of him for more than half my life. I don’t understand why this has happened. And I can’t begin to comprehend the depth of repugnance of character of someone who would come between a husband and a wife.

In all honesty I never would have thought that this would happen to me. I loved being married and I adored my husband and our life together. Fertility issues aside, I thought we had a pretty damn good life. But, I guess life is always ready with another curve ball, I just could never have seen this one coming – especially not when I was already in hospital!

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I thought long and hard about closing Lady Breaks down completely. I feel humiliated and ashamed of my story now, like I finally managed to build up the courage to share everything and now it’s all irrelevant anyway. All those adoption assessments, safety locks, IVF needles, baby clothes, all that pain and anguish, the years of hoping and dreaming, it’s all withered away to a pointless and traumatic end. I was always so sure that Spring would eventually break forth for us.

So yeah, I was very close to just shutting this whole embarrassing blog down, I felt hypocritical, like everything it reflected no longer resonated with my reality. But then I remembered that I am the captain of this ship, and I really friggen love writing it. I remembered that its focus is on strong and resilient women, getting back up despite everything telling them to stay down… and I want to go to there.

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Right now, I do feel broken, but I know I will get up again. I would love you to keep walking with me as I fight my way through this (I promise to reward you with multiple cat gifs). I will still advocate for adoption. I will still promote infertility and pregnancy loss awareness. And I will still have my lovely, inspirational Guest Ladies. I just don’t really know what else I will have, because I really don’t know what my new life will look like yet. So if you don’t mind a blog that is more like an unfinished ‘Choose your Own Adventure’ novel, jump on board.

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As for me, I will get back to listening to Adele and watching animal compilations on Youtube.

x

Note: I don't really want to listen to Taylor Swift.

Note: I don’t really want to listen to Taylor Swift.

What I learnt from grief

Today’s Guest Post is so inspiring and breath taking I wish that I could make the entire world read it. I wish I could swallow it down into my soul and truly embody it, and as the New Year approaches I am determined to meditate on Amy’s thoughts and *try* to apply them to my own life.

Amy and I went to Primary and Secondary School together and we weren’t always the best of friends. In Primary School she hated how I would “show-off” and do the splits everywhere and I thought she was annoying and a “teacher’s pet” – I mean, her mum worked at the school, what was with that?!

Somehow we managed to put these differences aside and maintain a civil relationship through out High School, but it has been in the years since then that I’ve really seen the depth of her beautiful character. Amy is now a Classical Chinese Medicine Doctor who works tirelessly to bring fabulous health and strength to her clients, and she absolutely loves loves loves her work!

You are about to read just a snippet of her journey – prepare to be encouraged, motivated and challenged! Thank you so much for sharing with us Amy!!!

x

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Three years ago I went out to play pool with my brother.

We’re actually not blood related at all, but Pat had been a part of our family since I was in primary school. He had been a weekly fixture at Wednesday night Changing Rooms and Roast Nights at mums since I was 12.

We would sneak off and play pool after dinner to avoid doing the dishes, and he would hang me upside down by my ankles over the slate floor, and then let go of one of my ankles until I giggled myself beetroot red and mum was forced to intervene with a stern “Ah… Patrick… I think it’s time you put her down…”

Pat picking me up in one arm + holding a beer in the other at my sisters wedding. So Much Fun!

Pat picking me up in one arm + holding a beer in the other at my sisters wedding. So Much Fun!

He was the gentle giant that made the whole room giggle, and he broke up the girl-on-girl sister tension with his bold and deeply cheeky ways.

So, three years ago, we went out on the town to play pool.

And two weeks later he was gone.

Because two weeks later it all got too much,

and Pat committed suicide.

He was 31.

I cannot express what it feels like to experience such overwhelming grief and deep sadness in every part of your body,

in every nook

in every cell

right down to your very wounded and fragile soul.

Those weeks are a blur. I didn’t go to work. I remember helping to choose the suit that Pat would be buried in. I remember sitting with my sister and Pat’s beautiful long term previous girlfriend sifting through photos for the funeral. I remember staring blankly at walls.

I wrote a lot. For hours each day I penned streams of subconscious thoughts and feelings.

And I gave myself permission to feel it all.

Deep, full body, heartbreaking pain. Numbness, shock and raw emotion.

I had a godsend of a beautiful counsellor to help support my path.

The big decision I made early on was to sit with each emotion as it arose; to embrace every moment for what it was.

I chose to feel the depth and breadth of it all in each moment because I knew deep down that even though the full experience of grief is so painful it’s almost debilitating, it’s also the only way to heal.

Every day was a big day.

Hard day after hard day.

But at some point, something changed.

The condolence flowers on the desk in my bedroom began to wilt and die in front of my eyes. Something shifted.

‘Don’t we all die at last, and too soon?’

I started wondering how it was that I had programmed myself to believe that I was always entitled to another day.

I owned up to the big elephant in the room…that some day each of us will have our last day.

Boom.

There it was.

The shift.

Instead of contracting, shrinking, blocking and controlling, I expanded and welcomed.

I stretched out on the river of change.

It was painfully refreshing.

Liberating difficult.

I distinctly remember walking around Brunswick and being overcome by a massive, whole body wash of deep gratitude for all that we have in each moment.

I remember not wanting to put my sunglasses on, because I wanted to feel and see the world in all its raw intensity.

The delicious rays of sunlight.

The leaves dancing on the pavement.

All such delightful miracles

And treasures to keep

If we only see it.

It caused a palpable and ever-present shift in my life – and it all comes back to how I changed my perspective on that day, lying curled up in my bed, staring at the red wallpaper of my Brunswick share house.

So what changed?

I am no longer prepared to live a life that is any less than breathtaking, amazing and deeply soul filling.

I am here to live the depth and breadth of all that I can be.

I am so clear about what makes me feel amazing, and knowing that I won’t be here forever somehow gives me the courage make big and bold decisions based on what I am here to do in this crazy beautiful life.

I invite big and scary change. I love them in fact.

I moved states

away from all my family and friends.

I found the love of my life

and created my very own business that I’m so deeply in love with that I can hardly call what I do “going to work”

I designed a life that I love

And I wake up every day with a smile on my face

at this crazy, beautiful life!

I’m no longer willing to compromise or falter when it comes to what truly matters

because I feel big clarity.

I work tirelessly to create a reality that is totally in line with what I crave from my life experience.

I give my brain, my ego, over thinking and over rationalisation a whole lot less credit than I used to. They’re more like backseat drivers to me at this point.

I listen to and act on what my gut/heart/intuition tells me, and I pursue the things that I am deeply passionate about.

I’m careful what and who I surround myself with.

I’m not perfect, but I no longer aspire to be.

I know what I am here for.

I know what matters.

And I am unapologetically myself.

I barely ever wear make up

And I smile when I look in the mirror at just how lovely and true to my deep nature I am becoming.

I am here to feel clear, light, vibrant, deep and whole.

I am here to experience truly amazing health,

to burst out joy and to radiate kindness,

to help others discover their own fabulous health.

I treat my body like it is the most beautiful vehicle for change,

Because I believe that it is.

I want to inspire, create, to live and to love.

So I do.

Every single day.

And boy it feels good!

I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude on an hourly basis.

When I start to sweat the small stuff,

(And I do, because I am human)

I stop. I take time out. I ask myself what I really need.

I resist the urge to get swept up in it.

I ask my partner his honest thoughts.

I surround myself with notes that make me smile,

Peg my goals and desires above my desk.

And meditate each day to check in and realign with that deep clarity.

Because I know I am worth it.

Which is lovely in itself.

I still feel overwhelmingly devastated that the world lost such a cheeky and kind-hearted, beautiful treasure, but the feeling of loss has paved the way for the deepest sense of privilege that I was blessed to share those moments with him at all.

My life would be void of so many beautiful moments, adventures, giggles and fun without his presence.

At the end of the day,

I just want to learn all that I can from the deep experience that I was gifted.

So when it comes,

I welcome the pain.

And I am grateful for it.

Pain is beautiful because it reminds us of all that we have.

And it reminds me of the lasting and deeply beautiful effect you can have on your fellow life travellers.

Little things like walking past a pool table at a pub can beam joy right into the core of my heart, and make me feel giggly, full and grateful.

Other times it can open up a deep fragility.

And occasionally it overcomes me,

But I learnt to let go of judgement long ago.

If tears come,

I don’t mind,

I’m sure as hell not going to hold back anything that my body wants to feel, because that ain’t the path to fabulous health!

I simply respect the feeling, the beauty, the loss, and often I’ll say something in my head or my heart to my brother Pat,

I breathe, I embrace, and I gently move on.

I learn and grow.

Learn and grow.

I stretch out on the river of change.

Gentle tips for finding your way through grief

  1. Be gentle with yourself. Be kind. Be patient. Let go of expectations. The most beautiful and useful thing that no one ever tells you about grief is that we all deal with it in our own unique way, and that that’s okay.
  2. Find a brilliant counsellor to guide, support, and hold the space for you as you move through the complex up-and-down of it all.
  3. For all types of transition, my favourite book is ‘Broken Open’ by Elizabeth Lesser. Truly beautiful.

All the best with your beautiful journey. You’re doing a good job.

Amy

Amy O'Brien

Amy O’Brien

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What did I tell you?! I think everyone can take something from this amazing reflection! Thank you so much Amy for giving us an insight into your journey, I’m sure it will speak to many people.

Make sure you check out Amy’s website, Fabulous Health, and ‘like’ her Facebook page, Chinese Medicine + Fabulous Health, where she regularly posts tips to achieving (you guessed it) Fabulous Health!

I am truly so blessed to know so many beautiful ladies like Amy – we can all learn so much from each other! Thank you again Amy! xoxoxo

How Does it Feel?

I am so very hesitant to post this.

I’ve been weighing it up all weekend, trying to decide whether now is the right time or not. I think I’ve decided that there will never be a perfect time and I just have to trust that it reaches the right people.

Basically it’s something I angrily scrawled down late one night just before we started IVF. I want to be clear that time has softened the severity of pain I feel – yes, the pain still twinges and burns, but it is no longer agonising. I have had to learn to accept what has happened, and derive my happiness from other things. Some days I do better than others, but overall I am much, much, much happier.

When I read what I wrote five years ago, I almost can’t believe that it was me. There is so much resentment, pain, anger, disappointment and jealousy. It’s really not pretty! But I’m sharing something so personal and so raw in the hope that it helps articulate what failing to conceive for years feels like. Well, even more basic than that, I’m sharing what grieving can feel like.

It is my hope that this story is able to voice the pain that other couples are silently enduring right now.

It’s probably an uncomfortable read, especially if you’ve never seen this side of me before, and for that I apologise. Also, beware of the over-abundance of adjectives and melodrama; I was in the middle of a Literature degree at the time!

Ok – Brace yourselves!

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27th December 2008

IVF.  So this is how it begins.  We have spent the last three years trying to come to terms with the whole thing.  Infertility.  That dirty, rotten, seldom-spoken, sympathy-ridden, gut-wrenchingly painful word.  That word that consumes every breath, every thought, every growing belly, or rolling pram or playground or commercial or waking or sleeping.

Infertility.  It is the demon child that grows within you, but only grows and grows and threatens to burst you apart from the womb to the heart.  It is the devil inside that mocks, taunts, burns, throbs and feasts upon any moments of happiness.  And, as each month slithers past that beast takes even more of you, even though you were quite sure there is nothing – no dream, want, need, or yearning – that it hasn’t already devoured.  But, as surely as winter follows autumn, the pain can deepen.  Suddenly, sharply and with increasingly regular intensity, the infertility tumour within you bursts forth like a volcano, spitting and spewing hate and hurt into the faces of all those around you.  It takes all.  It destroys the truest parts of you.

But, most of all, that awful monster within scrapes.  Day and night.  Long lazy summer afternoons and bone-chilling mornings.  It writhes inside, grating its sharp yellowed claws along your insides.  Dragging itself down your spine then tearing back up through your stomach, trying to fight its way out of your barren cage.  But you know it can never be born.  No.  That gnawing pain, those tears that are only seconds from your eyes, they are yours alone to own, yours alone to carry.

How has three years passed?  Three Christmases, three Easters, six birthdays, countless dreams.

“Don’t worry- you can have mine!” Well-meaning, insensitive friends tease.  Or, “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”  Oh, for goodness sake, sometimes I just want to hit people. And for the countless people that find it fit to remind me that, “Once I’ve got them, I’ll long for the days without them” – Thanks – but I think I would sacrifice any asset, any career, perky breasts or quiet nights for a touch of flesh I’ve made, tiny fingers reaching for me, cries of trust and longing, need and urgency, a toothless smile and those chubby, ticklish thighs that are mine.  Mine.

But even as you think those greedy, guilty thoughts you can almost hear all those “real-life mothers” chuckling quietly with nostalgic sympathy for you.  If only she knew, they tut.  Those nappies, those screams, those rotten loud toys, the spoiled Pumpkin Patch jumpsuit that was just washed, those sexless screaming nights, every shopping trip, every girlfriend visit, every loss of liberty, every wanting hand, everything.  If only she knew.

And, yes I agree, if only I did.

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Phew! You made it through that roller-coaster of anguish! And so did I, thank God. And that’s what I really want to reiterate if you are grieving right now – you can make it through. I’m definitely not at the end of my journey yet, and I doubt I ever will be, but the intensity of the pain has decreased, and my strength has increased ten-fold.

Again, I thank you for being brave and open enough to walk alongside me and many other couples.
x

You Just Didn’t Get What You Want

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‘You know, a lot of us don’t get what we want – you just have to deal with it.’

Oh, the amount of times I have heard those words! As if starting a family with someone you love equates to missing a promotion, or settling for a cheapo white car instead of the steel grey four-wheel drive you imagined. As if desiring a baby is some switch that I can choose to turn on or off, rather than an internal pull I have no control over.

I wish it could be neatly placed inside the box of all the things I’ve wanted but never gotten. I really would like to live a happy and fulfilling life even if I’m never a mum. And I am trying to. But what people who say this to me don’t understand is how the struggle and failure to conceive or adopt has permeated through every aspect of me.

What I mean is that even though having a baby isn’t actually my whole world, it has affected my whole world. It’s like my barren emptiness is mirrored back to me everywhere I go, and with every person I meet. No one does this to me purposefully, I just simply can’t avoid Huggies commercials, pregnancy photos, or standard introductory questions, which makes it rather hard to “just deal with”.

Infertility has riled against my identity as a woman – my femininity, my sexuality. Many women talk about the strength and beauty of their bodies because of what they are capable of, they’ve grown and stretched, created, nurtured and protected.

It places boundaries on friendships, it puts stumbling blocks in conversations. It confronts you at work, in parks, on the train, in the rain (sorry, I couldn’t resist a Dr. Suess moment!)

But seriously not having children slowly excludes you from a world you desperately long to be a part of. Your views are discounted, you are not invited to parties, you can no longer attend coffee catch-ups, and people feel awkward talking about their children in front of you.

In fact people are so fearful of saying something offensive that they stop talking to you at all. And can I blame them? Even now I am having a tanty about how something people say to me gets on my nerves. It’s bloody hard to walk this journey with me, so some just give up.

But giving up just makes me feel diseased, and like my imperfection can’t fit in your perfect world.

Thankfully, there have been some who have pushed through the awkwardness, and welcomed me into their hectic, messy, loud, bright lives, and I’m so thankful to them (love, love, love them).

It definitely takes effort on my part as well. The deal is mutual respect and a whole lot of honesty. I will hear you vent about your kids, I will hear you coo over your kids, I will fit in with naptimes. I just want you to be real – don’t feel like you have to pretend you live on a cloud of gratefulness just because you procreated. But also don’t expect me to “just get over it” when I see what I’m missing out on.

Just walk with me.

X

P.S – I just showed this to Mr Lady Breaks and he said I should end it with “Bah Humbug!” I really don’t mean to come across like a Negative Nancy – I’m just trying to tell it how it is. I am extraordinarily grateful to everyone who, despite never being personally affected by these things, is genuinely seeking to learn more about how it feels. That is pretty darn amazing, and I feel incredibly honoured that you are allowing me to share my deepest thoughts and pain with you. You are making my life brighter and “walking with me” every day, thank you!!!