Dreaming with a Broken Heart

Oof, I know it’s been awhile, y’all. I’m sorry for that, but also not that sorry? I know that (to the right people) I never have to apologize. (Sidenote: if you are finding yourself in the constant need to apologize or explain yourself to “your“people, thems NOT your people, friendo. Cut ’em loose, & watch yourself blossom & grow in their absence.) I think a monthly post is really all I can handle at this point. Maybe that’ll change. But emotions through infertility, especially infertility after loss, are complicated & complex. Add in a dash of the deluge “Mother’s Day is coming up” media marketing bs & a sprinkle of “Cool, Mother’s Day happens to be THE day we found out that our baby would never BE…” & I’m just simply tapped out. All the way out.

So, Mother’s Day is coming up. And it’s May 9th this year. And another big day, holiday, moment, anniversary will come & go with me not pregnant (including my 31st birthday). I don’t know why I’m surprised at this point; that “possibility” glimmers ever more dully with each passing day/holiday/moment/anniversary. This is, undeniably difficult, & I am going to pull a Luke Danes & have my own “Dark Day” that day. My apologies. Argh. JK. Not apologizing…if you’re offended that day: yous not my people. Deuces. (Why are we so conditioned to apologize to other people for our feelings & grief? That’s dumb. Let’s stop that.) I don’t like to think about the days that followed May 9th, 2019. I stayed in bed & cried a lot. I couldn’t do much else. I held onto my husband, literally & emotionally, HARD. He’s my person, & that was the right & healing thing. But shoo, I was broken, y’all. Shattered into a million little pieces. And I had to walk around like that & be a productive member of society & do my stupid job like it mattered. It didn’t. Nothing did. I had to walk around like I was pregnant, knowing I wasn’t, until May 21st when multiple blood tests confirmed what I already knew deep inside of me. It was…torture. Horrifying. A living nightmare. I went to sleep with a broken heart. I woke up with a broken heart. I walked around & “lived” with a broken heart. Having to relive all of this complex & complicated feelings & emotions ON Mother’s Day just feels & seems unnecessarily cruel. Because it is. One day, I’ll talk about the actual dream I had that morning that told me I was no longer pregnant. I don’t have the energy for that now or here, but it’s valid & needs to be shared. But, when you’re dreaming with a broken heart, waking up really is the hardest part. Because you have to sit up & walk away from the cushy dreamworld & land & pretend like you’re not dying from the inside out. You just want to go back to that place inside your head & in the clouds. It’s so much nicer than reality. Which is, unmistakably, a living hell.

When last month didn’t work – again – even though we’d taken a break from fertility treatments…of course I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, we were part of that lucky group to have “just relaxed,” or “stopped trying” & then *bam* BABY! Ah, nope. Silly, Alex. No such luck, of course.

Last month/cycle was incredibly devastating for a myriad of reasons, none of which I will share or bore you with. Ultimately, it led to us deciding to not do anything this cycle. Meaning, no meds for me. And let me tell you something: I feel more myself, more ALEX than I have in 34 months. You read that right: THIRTY. FREAKIN‘. FOUR. I know many go through this infertility – loss – infertility sandwich for much longer with much more tragedy & pain; but, if this journey has taught me anything, it’s that all of our pain & loss is valid & is not to be compared. Not only do I feel like myself, I feel…happy. Not just okay. But HAPPY. I feel like I can breathe & that I’ve found peace within me, myself, & I.

I have to hold onto this feeling, y’all. With all that I’ve got.

I am more than my infertility.

I am more than my loss.

I am more than what my body cannot do.

Why?

Because my body actually has done quite a lot for me.

She’s been resilient & strong as hell through years of emotional & physical pain.

So, eff this internal narrative & monologue that my body cannot, & that I am less than.

I’m not.

I am powerful.

I am strong.

I am broken.

I am recovered.

I am resilient.

I am ALEX.

Small but mighty, size matters not.

When you’re dreaming with a broken heart / The waking up is the hardest part.

John Mayer “Dreaming With a Broken Heart.”