It just seemed everyone needed something from me and yet I was getting nothing in return.
My friends needed my advice, my support, my company. My job needed me to create documents, get grades in on time, and plan lessons. My part time jobs needed me two evenings a week. My house needed to be cleaned all the time. The groceries needed to be purchased. The bills needed to be paid. The money needed to come in. The family needed to see me. The dog needed a walk.
Are you picking up what I'm putting down?
Here's what I needed: I needed to eat right and exercise. I needed a new car. I needed to do something for myself. I needed a break.
So my brain just went ahead and took one without my permission.
I really feel like that is what happened. But here's how it started:
New Year's weekend, I had a mini-meltdown in the Outer Banks and realized that I needed to let go of the things I couldn't change and change the things I could.
I feel like this is a good idea and the right sentiment, and I have written a great deal on the concept in another blog, so I'm not going to go into a great deal of depth about it here.
I quit smoking, started running, gave up drinking and attempted to eat better.
It went well for two weeks. I was providing everything everyone needed from me and I was taking care of my health.
However, as it turns out, "taking care of your health" is more complicated than avoiding cigarettes and beer.
About two weeks in, I decided to start a diet. Lose some weight. Shed some fried chicken dinners from my thighs.
I drove to the grocery store, parked, and started crying. It was the fifth time I had spontaneously lost it in a week.
And I wasn't just crying. I was hysterically crying.
I left the parking lot. I started to head home, but home felt like it was loaded with land mines. It felt like the lonliest place on earth -- even though I knew Mike and the dog were home. I didn't know where to go. Like the other four meltdowns, I started driving. I wanted to leave. I wanted to drive as far away as possible and just start over. Go somewhere no one knew me or needed me or expected anything of me and just feel free to take care of only the things that mattered to me.
Instead I drove four blocks away to the river. My mom, who had talked to me earlier and the day and suspected something was wrong, called while I was there. I was so upset, I couldn't actually articulate any coherent thoughts. My dad got on the phone and told me it was nicotine withdrawl. I was pretty sure it wasn't. I couldn't have cared less about a cigarette at that moment. It was the last thing on my mind.
EVERYTHING ELSE was on my mind -- all that wasn't done and needed to get done. The dwindling savings account and the guilt of canceling on my tutoring job. The phonecall I hadn't had time to return even though I knew my friend wanted my advice. The diet I wasn't prepared to face and groceries I needed to buy. Looming deadlines at work, and a weekend spent grading instead of cleaning.
And all the things I didn't have: money, a baby, security, peace.
I don't know who called him, but Mike showed up a little while later. He took me directly to the doctor's office, and they immediately prescribed me drugs and a therapist.
And I disappeared for a while.
You may have noticed. Seems everyone did. When I returned to the land of the living, my friends actually said "I needed you and you weren't there."
I said "I needed you and you didn't see it."
They admitted they didn't. It was true. I had to have a come-to-Jesus with a few folks who just didn't realize that they had asked and taken without giving or thinking.
But the bigger come-to-Jesus was with myself. I had let the expectations get to me. I hadn't let go of what I couldn't control.
So I started to. I started to heal and get stronger and feel more like myself. Mike and I made compromises and supported each other and let the little things go. We drank more and smoked more and had more fun.
And slowly the pieces were put back together again.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
helplessness
More blows followed. One by one our friends announced their pregnancies, and every month my period came -- although, gratefully, it started appearing on time rather than spontaneously.
I wouldn't say the news got easier to take, neccessarily. I would say we learned how to deal with it.
Meanwhile, our hopelessness increased.
See, you can't really do anything medical about not-getting-pregnant until you have been trying for at least a year.
And a year is a long time. It is an especially long time if you never thought it would be a challenge to get pregnant. I just wasn't prepared.
Its worth mentioning that this wasn't the only thing beyond our control. In August of 2010, with no job prospects on the horizon and Mike's last day looming only weeks before us, we decided Mike would not return to work, but instead go to school full time and finish his degree.
I think this sounds honorable and wise. As I write it, it sounds like a pronouncement that would make anyone proud.
What is not in that statement is the sacrifices you have to make to live on one income.
I took on additional jobs. I tutored. I did graphic design work. I signed on for any project that would bring in money of any kind -- not matter how small the amount. I took on a sixth class and sacrified a planning period and was forced to bring stacks of grading home.
I sometimes I worked 70 hours a week.
And still, every month I had to take money out of our savings account to cover our bills. Every month, we ate out less, bought fewer things for ourselves and chose to stay home instead of go out.
I stopped talking about getting pregnant, because I was sure everyone was sick of hearing about it, and instead tried to prove that I wasn't bothered by it anymore. I didn't want to seem as helpless as I felt, so I threw myself into being a good friend, sister, daughter, with a kind of gusto that initially made me proud.
I fielded every crisis phonecall. I coached friends through wedding stress, relationship messes, and the fear of change.
We had people over to celebrate their successes, and lament their defeats.
We hosted charity events; we hosted out-of-town guests; we hosted family members during the holidays.
We put up one hell of a front.
But we were falling apart. You can only keep that up for so long.
Mike was miserable. He was home too much, and left to think for too long. He thought too much about his future career and if it was the right decision. He thought too much about not being the bread winner. He thought too much about if were were training the dog properly. He thought too much about what I wasn't getting done around the house.
His implosion was physical. When he finally lost it, it was in the form of an MS symptom that could not be ignored. His face tightened and cinched near his eye, and the nerves and muscles just would not relax. He was uncomfortable physically and mentally because it was impossible not to notice the persistent sneer.
Worse: it was right when the holidays kicked off -- when you see anyone and everyone you haven't seen in months. When you take a million more pictures than you ever take in the rest of the year combined.
And it didn't let up for weeks.
What seems strange to me, is that when I look back on that Christmas, I don't really ::feel:: that tension in the way I know it existed. I remember being tired and busy and I know there was a lot of red wine involved, but I have these warm memories of that holiday. Which I guess is a blessing, because the next month was a nightmare.
When I think about it now, I'm surprised I made it that far before I really and truly lost it. I'm surprised by how well I held it together, because no one ever saw it coming -- the breakdown, I mean. No one. Not even me.
I wouldn't say the news got easier to take, neccessarily. I would say we learned how to deal with it.
Meanwhile, our hopelessness increased.
See, you can't really do anything medical about not-getting-pregnant until you have been trying for at least a year.
And a year is a long time. It is an especially long time if you never thought it would be a challenge to get pregnant. I just wasn't prepared.
Its worth mentioning that this wasn't the only thing beyond our control. In August of 2010, with no job prospects on the horizon and Mike's last day looming only weeks before us, we decided Mike would not return to work, but instead go to school full time and finish his degree.
I think this sounds honorable and wise. As I write it, it sounds like a pronouncement that would make anyone proud.
What is not in that statement is the sacrifices you have to make to live on one income.
I took on additional jobs. I tutored. I did graphic design work. I signed on for any project that would bring in money of any kind -- not matter how small the amount. I took on a sixth class and sacrified a planning period and was forced to bring stacks of grading home.
I sometimes I worked 70 hours a week.
And still, every month I had to take money out of our savings account to cover our bills. Every month, we ate out less, bought fewer things for ourselves and chose to stay home instead of go out.
I stopped talking about getting pregnant, because I was sure everyone was sick of hearing about it, and instead tried to prove that I wasn't bothered by it anymore. I didn't want to seem as helpless as I felt, so I threw myself into being a good friend, sister, daughter, with a kind of gusto that initially made me proud.
I fielded every crisis phonecall. I coached friends through wedding stress, relationship messes, and the fear of change.
We had people over to celebrate their successes, and lament their defeats.
We hosted charity events; we hosted out-of-town guests; we hosted family members during the holidays.
We put up one hell of a front.
But we were falling apart. You can only keep that up for so long.
Mike was miserable. He was home too much, and left to think for too long. He thought too much about his future career and if it was the right decision. He thought too much about not being the bread winner. He thought too much about if were were training the dog properly. He thought too much about what I wasn't getting done around the house.
His implosion was physical. When he finally lost it, it was in the form of an MS symptom that could not be ignored. His face tightened and cinched near his eye, and the nerves and muscles just would not relax. He was uncomfortable physically and mentally because it was impossible not to notice the persistent sneer.
Worse: it was right when the holidays kicked off -- when you see anyone and everyone you haven't seen in months. When you take a million more pictures than you ever take in the rest of the year combined.
And it didn't let up for weeks.
What seems strange to me, is that when I look back on that Christmas, I don't really ::feel:: that tension in the way I know it existed. I remember being tired and busy and I know there was a lot of red wine involved, but I have these warm memories of that holiday. Which I guess is a blessing, because the next month was a nightmare.
When I think about it now, I'm surprised I made it that far before I really and truly lost it. I'm surprised by how well I held it together, because no one ever saw it coming -- the breakdown, I mean. No one. Not even me.
the biggest blow
Damn did this hit hard:
Not suprisingly, we girls chat about life stuff. We chat about our men and our friends and our jobs. We chat about our plans. When we were younger, we talked about getting married. Later, we talked about getting pregnant.
While Mike and I wanted to get pregnant before most of our friends, we all were thinking about getting pregnant that same year.
Our closest friends -- who we refer to as our "same-sex significant others" were kind of waffling about the idea. They took the "Pull-the-Goalie-and-See-What-Happens" approach. They weren't even positive they wanted kids, but figured fate would make the decision for them.
One night, while Mike and I were having a drink on the deck said girlfriend came over to meet our new puppy.
Then she announced she was pregnant.
Somehow I am not articulating how profound this was.
Let me see...
My friend who had claimed throughout our entire friendship that she didn't think she wanted to have kids, stopped taking birth control and got pregnant the next month.
Not quite there.
My friend who had been supporting me through six months of trying -- and failing -- to get pregnant, was now pregnant without even so much as peeing on an ovulation stick.
Closer.
My friend got what I wanted more than anything without any struggle whatsoever.
I think I've just about put my finger on the So-Not-Fair ness of the thing, so we'll leave it at that. Any more and I'll just sound like a five-year-old.
Which, after she left, is mostly how I handled the news.
I totally curled up on the sofa and cried. In my defense, Mike cried too. We both felt the pain of not having what someone else found so easily and the helplessness of not being able to do anything about it.
Not suprisingly, we girls chat about life stuff. We chat about our men and our friends and our jobs. We chat about our plans. When we were younger, we talked about getting married. Later, we talked about getting pregnant.
While Mike and I wanted to get pregnant before most of our friends, we all were thinking about getting pregnant that same year.
Our closest friends -- who we refer to as our "same-sex significant others" were kind of waffling about the idea. They took the "Pull-the-Goalie-and-See-What-Happens" approach. They weren't even positive they wanted kids, but figured fate would make the decision for them.
One night, while Mike and I were having a drink on the deck said girlfriend came over to meet our new puppy.
Then she announced she was pregnant.
Somehow I am not articulating how profound this was.
Let me see...
My friend who had claimed throughout our entire friendship that she didn't think she wanted to have kids, stopped taking birth control and got pregnant the next month.
Not quite there.
My friend who had been supporting me through six months of trying -- and failing -- to get pregnant, was now pregnant without even so much as peeing on an ovulation stick.
Closer.
My friend got what I wanted more than anything without any struggle whatsoever.
I think I've just about put my finger on the So-Not-Fair ness of the thing, so we'll leave it at that. Any more and I'll just sound like a five-year-old.
Which, after she left, is mostly how I handled the news.
I totally curled up on the sofa and cried. In my defense, Mike cried too. We both felt the pain of not having what someone else found so easily and the helplessness of not being able to do anything about it.
thinking about it
When we first decided to try to get pregnant, we were the only couple in our group of friends interested in the concept. Our other friends were six or more months away from the idea.
When I tried talking to them about how bummed out I was, they meant well, but they didn't know what to say.
Who does? What is there to say?
"It will happen."
"Just relax and enjoy the process."
"Once you stop thinking about it, you'll get pregnant."
Good luck with that last one. Look, the fact is, if you know your cycle and you want to get pregnant, you can't not think about it. Because you can count. If you can count to fourteen, you will be thinking about getting pregnant. At fourteen days, you are ovulating (usually), and your body tells you, and then you know you can get pregnant, and then you are thinking about it.
That's it. You can't help it.
Once the fourteen day mark hits, you know you could be getting pregnant any minute now. And if you are me, and smoke and drink, you are thinking about how this is a bad thing that you are doing to your body and your future baby and your are now thinking about your guillt, and about how you should stop doing these things.
Then you stop and now suddenly you are acting pregnant. Which is weird, because you aren't, and people ask you uncomfortable questions, and you tell them, "well, we're trying, but..."
And then we're back to square one with the aforementioned advice-giving.
Its a vicious cycle. Not a joke. A fact.
Thinking about getting pregnant is pretty much unavoidable if you are really, honest-to-jesus interested in getting pregnant, like, soon.
If you are toying with the idea, and you just figure, eh, it'll happen if it happens then I can see how you can keep your mind a bit more at peace.
But that was not the case with us. At least with me. Because I am a woman who likes a plan. And the plan was to get pregnant summer of 2010.
I am still not pregnant. Clearly, I am still thinking about it.
When I tried talking to them about how bummed out I was, they meant well, but they didn't know what to say.
Who does? What is there to say?
"It will happen."
"Just relax and enjoy the process."
"Once you stop thinking about it, you'll get pregnant."
Good luck with that last one. Look, the fact is, if you know your cycle and you want to get pregnant, you can't not think about it. Because you can count. If you can count to fourteen, you will be thinking about getting pregnant. At fourteen days, you are ovulating (usually), and your body tells you, and then you know you can get pregnant, and then you are thinking about it.
That's it. You can't help it.
Once the fourteen day mark hits, you know you could be getting pregnant any minute now. And if you are me, and smoke and drink, you are thinking about how this is a bad thing that you are doing to your body and your future baby and your are now thinking about your guillt, and about how you should stop doing these things.
Then you stop and now suddenly you are acting pregnant. Which is weird, because you aren't, and people ask you uncomfortable questions, and you tell them, "well, we're trying, but..."
And then we're back to square one with the aforementioned advice-giving.
Its a vicious cycle. Not a joke. A fact.
Thinking about getting pregnant is pretty much unavoidable if you are really, honest-to-jesus interested in getting pregnant, like, soon.
If you are toying with the idea, and you just figure, eh, it'll happen if it happens then I can see how you can keep your mind a bit more at peace.
But that was not the case with us. At least with me. Because I am a woman who likes a plan. And the plan was to get pregnant summer of 2010.
I am still not pregnant. Clearly, I am still thinking about it.
what happened
I thought getting pregnant would be so easy. Pull the goalie. Wait a month. Have sex. Bam. Baby.
I was so unprepared to find that it wouldn't be that simple, that I fully melted down the first month we weren't pregnant.
And that's damn early for a meltdown.
But the meltdown was just waiting in the wings. Probably anything could have set it off. There were so many crazy changes going on.
Mike lost his job.
My parents sold their home in Maryland and moved to Richmond (Sidenote: That sounds nice, I know. But, frankly, my mom kind of lost her shit when the reality of the change hit her, and then I realized having my family near my husband -- who doesn't have a whole lotta love for my parents -- actually equaled a giant tight-rope act for me. And my balance sucks).
Mike and I quit smoking. (Sidenote: It didn't work out.)
My family dog died.
The yearbook came in and I recieved more angry phonecalls about it then I have fielded ever before. (Sidenote: One crazy-ass mom actually said "If you have children, I hope this happens to THEM!" I left her daughter's info out from underneath her senior photo.)
Suffice it to say, it was a bad time to try to get pregnant. My body was hyper-stressed and I could barely keep it going, let alone give it time to create another living being.
And as it turned out, my body wasn't really ready to do that sort of thing anyway. It took months for the birth control to make its way out of my system. My cycle was so irregular, I couldn't begin to guess when I was ovulating.
Which meant I peed on a lot of stuff. Ovulation detectors. Pregnancy tests. Sometimes myself in the process.
It got to the point where my urine became a hot commodity. Because not all urine is created equal. For those tests to be any good, you gotta have first morning urine. You gotta have pee undiluted by a venti unsweetened iced coffee. Or three beers. Whatever.
But it didn't matter. I didn't get pregnant. I got defeated.
And I had trouble dealing with it. And that's why I need this blog.
I was so unprepared to find that it wouldn't be that simple, that I fully melted down the first month we weren't pregnant.
And that's damn early for a meltdown.
But the meltdown was just waiting in the wings. Probably anything could have set it off. There were so many crazy changes going on.
Mike lost his job.
My parents sold their home in Maryland and moved to Richmond (Sidenote: That sounds nice, I know. But, frankly, my mom kind of lost her shit when the reality of the change hit her, and then I realized having my family near my husband -- who doesn't have a whole lotta love for my parents -- actually equaled a giant tight-rope act for me. And my balance sucks).
Mike and I quit smoking. (Sidenote: It didn't work out.)
My family dog died.
The yearbook came in and I recieved more angry phonecalls about it then I have fielded ever before. (Sidenote: One crazy-ass mom actually said "If you have children, I hope this happens to THEM!" I left her daughter's info out from underneath her senior photo.)
Suffice it to say, it was a bad time to try to get pregnant. My body was hyper-stressed and I could barely keep it going, let alone give it time to create another living being.
And as it turned out, my body wasn't really ready to do that sort of thing anyway. It took months for the birth control to make its way out of my system. My cycle was so irregular, I couldn't begin to guess when I was ovulating.
Which meant I peed on a lot of stuff. Ovulation detectors. Pregnancy tests. Sometimes myself in the process.
It got to the point where my urine became a hot commodity. Because not all urine is created equal. For those tests to be any good, you gotta have first morning urine. You gotta have pee undiluted by a venti unsweetened iced coffee. Or three beers. Whatever.
But it didn't matter. I didn't get pregnant. I got defeated.
And I had trouble dealing with it. And that's why I need this blog.
a year ago
I actually started this blog a year ago and then deleted it. I wasn't ready to share it with anyone, and, at the time, I really thought that's what blogs were for -- writing and sharing.
Not that they aren't. Its just that they don't have to be.
I think I'll just write this one for myself.
Not that they aren't. Its just that they don't have to be.
I think I'll just write this one for myself.
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