Week Three in a cast, and I'm finally able to sit at a computer, albeit only for a short time. Even now I feel my toes and foot going numb. So I'm catching up on some reading and commenting, and obviously, writing.
I've just read several posts in which the writer has felt happy and free, even if just for a few hours with a friend, or days away in another environment, or have imagined being away in another environment. The feelings of liberation, of worries falling away, of awareness that they are more than just their infertility, is wonderful.
I remember several experiences myself where, perhaps because of the environment I was in, or the people I was with, my infertility or status with or without children was wholly irrelevant. The relief of this is both mental and physical. I remember feeling my shoulders drop and straighten, my neck lengthen, my eyebrows lift, and a smile come to my face. I remember feeling open to the world, and knowing that I had a real, happy - in other words, normal - future in front of me.
It also made me remember the times I have met up with other No Kidding bloggers or online friends, or those who had been through loss at the same times as me. I remember being surprised that we barely discussed our mutual infertility or losses. That, we recognised, was part of us, and what had brought us together. But we'd dealt with that online. So when we met, we focused on other issues, getting to know each other in real life. It was totally normal, even if the circumstances of our friendship was so abnormal.
I think that's what special about the relationships we develop here. We get to know each other by those shared experiences, sure. After all, I often quote my friend Sarah, who said "we get to know each other from the inside out." But then we are able to move on, realising that those shared experiences are only a part of us, a part of our friendships. We celebrate new houses and jobs and adventures, and we commiserate losses (of family members, friends, pets). Our relationships grow.
We grow, individually and together, emerging from the losses and sadness, into the rest of our lives. That makes me happy.