Does the sun still shine when there is rain on the other side of the earth? Certainly it does. Not all is lost. I want to tell a story about optimism, bravery, and falling in love. It will be rough and ugly at times, but I promise, the ending is sweet. Sometimes that idea is all that will prevail. That is the only certainty, but I’m relieved that it’s a pretty darn good one.
I am 11 weeks pregnant today, and I can’t believe it.
In August, September, and November of last year we underwent three IUIs and none of them gave us the result we wanted. But in January of this year we unexpectedly fell pregnant naturally.
We found out when traveling in New Mexico. We bought a test in Roswell and waited until we were in Carlsbad to take it. It became positive right away and I let Jack go see it in the hotel bathroom and bring it out to me. I’ll never forget his face! Pure surprise and happiness.
I fretted a lot about miscarrying but now feel very confident that our baby is here for good.
I’ve been struggling with a mild case of hyperemesis gravidarum and have had to go to the ER and be on multiple medications. I’ve had to leave work for the time being and I’m mostly stuck in bed. It’s been very trying for us and it’s sometimes easy to forget that I’m growing a baby and I just think I’m slowly dying instead.
I know that conflicting emotions can coexist: grief and gratitude. I’m grieving feeling healthy and normal and wonder when I’ll feel good again. I’m beyond grateful for this duty; for this opportunity to be a mom. Seeing our little one on the sonograms (we’ve had 4 so far due to my health) have given me the biggest moments of joy I’ve ever experienced.
Baby K, we are ready to love on you!
It bugs me when my landlord refers to my home as a unit. It feels like a slight. I know you are ruler over many units, your majesty, and ours is just one in a thousand. To us it is where we planned on our lives truly starting.
This is where I thought I’d surprise Jack with our very first positive pregnancy test.
It’s where I thought we’d see our child take their first wobbly steps.
I really thought this place was where new beginnings would blossom and where our family would grow. Instead we cried and worried and wondered why you wouldn’t come.
Tonight Jack calls me over and we watch a fawn graze in the snow, while peering out the window and spying the snowflakes twirling down and around. I feel amiss that I haven’t looked out this way as much as I’ve stared at our courtyard, wanting to see a picnic blanket and a sweet infant that looks like my husband upon it. I bet there are many scenes I would have loved to witness.
Our street really is beautiful, and the view of the mountains is spectacularly unique. We can see pops of autumn reds in September and the first frosts in November, and the green mossiness of spring in March. We get to see the previews to each season.
Instead of pondering this facet of our home’s individuality, I have cursed my body while looking in the mirrors that have been here for a decade, mirrors that have held space for dozens of other women. I have snarled at my empty fridge, and rolled my eyes at the little mold spots on our bathroom ceiling.
Gosh, this place means so much to me. I need to speak this into existence and thank every square foot of this abode, this perfect haven that’s been just ours for the past two years.
While it s devastating to consider that the whole time we’ve lived here we have ached to fill it with a baby’s midnight cries and bathtub babbling, I remember late nights that we stayed up and laughed and laughed, smiling so wide our lips audibly cracked. I recall lazy afternoons when we were sick in bed and the healthier partner brought us food and medicine to swallow. I remember decorating the Christmas tree and reading poems every night on the couch. I think of the cozy bed without a fancy headboard, a spare room we collected useless things that mean the world to us, the carpet fibers clinging onto dirt from mountain hikes and crumbs from everything bagels. I will never forget that our clothes were never dry without two cycles on high heat, or that our shower squeaked incessantly until you relented and turned the knob in a bit, lessening the flow of water onto your skin. That our pantry was not a pantry but five separate cupboards all spaced out. That my dollhouse was more important than our sitting at our kitchen table for dinner ever was. We had the couch to eat on.
This place isn’t what I thought it would be. It holds an era of my life that I have eagerly wanted to pass by. A time that has tested me so. “I thought I would bring a baby here,” I think to myself as we head out the door for the very last time.
I revere this home for what it represents. I prayed so many times to God that my dream would come true right here, right in this very spot. It didn’t.
He showed me where to go next. We are so afraid and overjoyed, all at once. We are grieving this home not just for what we thought it would be, but now we consciously cry at what it has been: home, a healing place; our Gethsemane.
I think it would probably kill me if I did another round of fertility treatment this month. I cannot remember a worse week than last week. I cried more than I ever have. I hurt more than I ever have. I can’t turn around and do it all over again. It’s beginning to feel like I’m getting on a rollercoaster hoping to be rewarded for my efforts and then getting off and being slapped in the face.
I am taking a break and checking in on my mental and physical health. I went to my doctor and he updated my medication prescription to help me with my brain chemistry. I’m going on walks again, cooking again, and treating myself like a human again.
While I do want to be a mom, the way I was handling the process had turned me into someone I don’t want to be…bitter, angry, impatient, and full of fear. I don’t want to be that way any longer.
I want to be the mom my kids need, and in order for me to be that mom I need to live again.
Live for real, not in waiting, not holding my breath, not for any reason but because I am here now and I have a heart that is beating, still yearning for my children, but also full of love for myself, because I matter, too.
I cry. A lot.
I let myself be sad, angry, faithless, jealous, tired, and on the verge of giving up.
And then I go to sleep, wake up the next day, and choose to keep going. I am going to trust the process and lean on everyone who is willing to support me when I can’t stand on my own.
I immerse myself in my work. I assemble presents for other people, just because. I travel, but save my money for treatment and a home for my children one day. I eat healthy sometimes and not so healthy sometimes.
I walk. I read. I decide to fold up my dread and put it in a suitcase. I go to therapy. I miss therapy and owe the doctor $125. Oops…
I figure that my whole life, I have been trying to be perfect, and because this whole mess of infertility is deemed a flaw, I have been trying so hard to make up for this lack. My body is betraying me. I ache so much.
Still, I trust what my doctor tells me to do. Therapist and fertility specialist. I take the pills, I inject the HCG. I schedule the next appointment and hug my husband.
I hope it works.
I started this blog of mine back in 2016, when I was a newlywed 20 year old. I mostly wrote about my experience overcoming an eating disorder, but now, 5 years later, I’m here to talk about something I didn’t ever really think about until this year: trying to conceive my first child.
We’ve been trying since February of 2021, so it hasn’t been too too long, objectively, but we thought it would be simple and quick, and that nine months later, hopefully sometime in 2022, we’d have a baby in our little family.
I didn’t think it would be this emotionally and physically draining. I didn’t expect to feel heartbreak when I get my period, instead of a mild annoyance like before.
I was naiive to believe that sex equals pregnancy and pregnancy equals a baby. It’s so much more complicated than that, and I feel like we should teach our children that instead of basic sex education….but that’s an entirely different blog post 🙂
The bottom line is, yes, this is difficult for us, and waiting and trying is not fun or easy, but I know it will be worth it. Whether we conceive naturally, through scientific intervention, or adoption, we will be parents one day. That’s what really matters.
I’m grateful to have found an online community that thrives on vulnerability. We can cry together as we menstruate, commiserate as we watch our friends announce their new bundles of joy as we ache for our wombs to be occupied by our own precious children. Most importantly, we encourage each other and help keep up the hope for the future. Thanks for being here with me. 💙
I wish abortion didn’t have to exist.
Because it’s killing a life, a life that could change yours and mine. A life that deserves a chance.
The first thing that people say to argue is almost always about rape. I’ve known people who have been raped. Everyone has.
But there’s another question: Do you know anyone that has been the result of rape? I think everyone does without knowing it!
Do you look at them in any other way than you view someone born into a happy family with parents who love each other? I doubt it.
But in order for a woman to be able to choose life for her baby after such a horrifying, life-altering event, she needs to be given so many options and so much support that having an abortion won’t be at the top of the list. We need to turn her to pregnancy centers instead of abortion facilities. We need to refer her to therapists who can help her through trauma. We need to help fund her supplies and hospital stay. We need to be her friend, her advocate, and support even if she does choose to end the life inside of her. And of course we should endorse giving her child up for adoption if she wishes. WE ALSO NEED TO HOLD RAPISTS RESPONSIBLE. Abortion helps them to continue their crimes.
But how can I say this? If I’ve never had an abortion, how can I have this opinion?
Because no matter what circumstances of our conception, we are all children of God. We deserve to live, even before we’re adopted, or poor, sickly, or any other adjective.
God bless,
Avery
All right, here goes. Pretty much this whole year I’ve kept quiet about how I really feel about reactions to this pandemic. I just saw this little “challenge” on my Facebook feed and it sort of sent me over the edge.
Not everyone can stay home on their couch and look at a computer screen and earn their money.
Not everyone has been able to earn money this past year.
It’s not funny or cute or whimsical to joke about how quarantine is just about zoom meetings and grocery delivery.
Did you know that Salem Hills high school has had 12 student suicides just the semester? Isolation is literally killing us.
Why aren’t people talking about this?
The fact that quarantine isn’t just a fun excuse for everyone to binge TV shows and stay in your pajamas all day.
My husband’s clients and their children have been extremely disadvantaged. Most of them work blue-collar jobs. And for a few months earlier this year they were not allowed to step outside of our homes except to grocery shop, much less go to work and make a living.
Not to mention that these children are left home with parents who are battling drug addictions and mental illness, leaving them vulnerable to abuse and neglect.
So, when you see people rioting, it’s probably because they aren’t as privileged as the celebrities mocking them are. They’d risk getting a virus if it means being free. They want to feed their families again.
Please don’t think that everyone’s situation has just been minorly inconvenienced this year.
Pray for them and donate money and supplies to those less fortunate than you.
Merry Christmas 🙂
I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating a turkey sandwich. It tastes good. It will give me energy. It will keep my tummy happy for a few hours.
That is it. That is why I reject diet culture.
Diet culture tells you to limit the number of calories you consume because if you don’t burn them off you will accumulate fat and look bad.
What I say? I’m eating a sandwich because I need to be kind to my body. I need to eat calories in order to feel healthy and enthusiastic about my day. I can’t spend the day micromanaging my macros and weighing every single ingredient to make sure I don’t eat too much.
I love eating. I love the way it makes me feel because it is natural to want to nourish myself.
I love walking. I love the way it makes me feel because it is natural to want to nourish myself.
I love sleeping. I love the way it makes me feel because it is natural to want to nourish yourself.
Diet culture is backwards and tells you to deny or severely restrict your basic needs for fats, oils, sugar, carbohydrates, salt, etc.
Instead of cutting out the “bad things”, why not indulge in the “good things”? A warm chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven, a crisp apple, a beading glass of cold lemonade.
Seek out the sources of good. Eat lots of sweet fruits and fleshy vegetables because they are beautiful and they make your mind sharp and give your body nutrients and vitamins.
Eat bread and pasta because it keeps you full and it’ll alleviate your annoyances with an empty stomach when you neglect your need for carbs.
Listen to your body, of course. If you are full and satisfied, you don’t need to eat dessert if you feel pressured to by someone else. There are two sides to this ideal.
Leave diet culture behind because all it ever gave you was hunger, a void, a bottomless pit in your heart.
Embrace your body and TRUE sense of health by choosing what to consume with care but not to the point of anxiety and calorie-counting catatonia. Cherish being human! Relish every bite, every drop, each sip.
I love you guys. Hang in there 💖
In honor of NEDA week, here is something I’d love to share! If you or someone you know is battling an ED, please read and I hope my advice proves helpful.
Six years ago when I was seventeen, I developed a purging disorder. Before recently, I thought I had had bulimia but upon further research (and new scientific information that has come to light) I realized that it was not bulimia, but a purging disorder. I did not consume large amounts of food to the point that my belly felt like it was going to explode; I didn’t eat to fill an emotional void. I figured that since I forced myself to vomit, I was bulimic.
There are other posts about this that explain it further, so for now I’d like to tell you more about the recovery I’ve experienced.
For me, I have found that the only way I could fully recover is to REPEATEDLY and BOLDLY REFUSE to listen to the voice in my head telling me to do myself harm. How does one do that? Honestly, I don’t know how to explain it. You just DO. You learn how to say NO, to ignore, and ultimately DEFY your former authority. You become your own boss! It’s awesome.
When I’m at a birthday party and there’s cake and ice cream, and I honestly WANT to eat it because it tastes good and it’s a way to bond with friends, I EAT IT! When it’s Thanksgiving and I’m surrounded by loved ones and delicious comfort food, I ENJOY MYSELF. If my ED tells me “no no no, don’t do that. You’ll get fat and you will no longer be worthy and you’ll not be pretty or happy”, I reply without a word but my response is strong: I eat.
In the past I could not even fathom doing this. It took time and I couldn’t do it all at once because part of being good to yourself is not overwhelming yourself.
I believe that the only way that I can keep on this path of happiness is consistent, honest disobedience to my past dictator, my ED. It’s really hard sometimes! I want to slip back into my old ways when I feel overwhelmed. I’ve just got to hold onto these compassionate habits I’ve taken up for my body and my mind. It’s the only way! 💙
P.S. Miriam Castle inspired me to use ALL CAPS to EMPHASIZE certain words and phrases and now I read a lot of things in her voice if they’re capitalized.
Two days ago I saw stories and posts on Instagram about a new rule regarding weight loss promotion advertisements: they would be blocked from view from users under eighteen years old.
My first thought was this: that is going to be a difficult process.
What counts as an ad? A sponsored post? A mere shout out to a local grocery for their healthful produce section?
Obviously blatantly fraudulent ads with weight loss promises (lose 20 pounds in 24 hours!) attached are stupid and honestly, we should just ignore them. They’re a waste (waist…haha, get it) of time.
But I don’t see why we need to ban these things if we can see right through them.
The more important point I want to address is that we don’t need to ban them because we are responsible for how we respond to things.
I have talked a lot about my eating disorder in previous posts. I have discussed my battle with obsessive compulsive disorder, anxiety, depression, and body dysmorphia.
I have also expressed my desire for a change in the way we talk about body positivity and body image.
No one can tell me that I shouldn’t say or think this because 1) I am educated on the subject and 2) even if I wasn’t, I still have years of experience with eating disorders personally. Everyone has different situations, and I understand that. So many people have died because they felt they weren’t beautiful enough and put their bodies in danger and it ultimately proved fatal.
Does that mean we should hide weight loss promotions? Should we obscure everyone’s vision when a lingerie model appears on a screen? Does this mean we have to blind ourselves to what triggers us?
No. It doesn’t.
It means we need to change the conversation from, “This image/post/ad makes me feel self conscious so I shouldn’t have to see it” to “This image/post/ad makes me feel self conscious so I’m going to keep scrolling or close out of the app.”
WE are the ones that need to change. Not media, not celebrity endorsements, not “society”.
We are powerful, and condoning this kind of censorship undermines that belief and truth.
Let’s remember who is in charge. Us.
elska 