Do you remember the days when your entire beings were consumed by their infertility, your quests to become parents, or your grief knowing that it would never happen? Maybe you are still there. I am pleased to say that it passes, in fits and starts, till one day you can barely remember it. Even if the pain returns, it is no longer that all encompassing emotion it once might have been.
However, my recent reality, with my husband's serious diagnosis and prognosis, has reminded me of this. It helps me to understand that it will pass, eventually, whatever the outcome, although the fits and starts might last the rest of my life. It helps too to remember the nature of grief, of worry, of irrational thoughts, and know that it is all normal.
Sarah Roberts of The Empty Cradle posted this the other day, and it spoke to my situation now, and in the past, pretty perfectly.
A poem, by Brittin Oakman, a Canadian poet:
I lied and said I was busy.
I was busy; but not in a way
most people understand.
I was busy taking deeper breaths.
I was busy silencing irrational thoughts.
I was busy calming a racing heart.
I was busy telling myself I am okay.
Sometimes this is my busy -
and I will not apologise for it.
Some of my thoughts are irrational, but many are not. They are just me coming to terms with a new situation. But still, silencing some of them definitely helps. That is a skill I have learned through infertility, and I know I've written about it here a lot. And I do not apologise for doing it again. I also might not be telling myself I am okay, because I'm not, really. But I am telling myself I can get through it. Even if I don't want to. So actually, I am not lying if I say I am busy. I am doing all I can to keep myself together.
Someone suggested recently that maybe I should be doing a lot of things that need to be done now, rather than putting them off. Yes, getting them organised now would be great. But I just can't. The same person was surprised I couldn't read much lately, as they thought escapism would help. Escapism would help, but so many books are so full of gloom, of difficult circumstances, they are not escapist. Besides, reading takes concentration. I hadn't seen this poem at the time, but I am thinking maybe it would be an idea to send it to them.
Anyway, I leave the poem for anyone it might help feel validated and less alone.
