Monday, August 29, 2011

A letter to my friends

I've been writing this letter over the past couple of weeks as I sort out my feelings, figuring out what I would want to be able to say to friends about what's going on if I had the guts to just let it all out there. For my real-life friends, this isn't meant to offend or make anyone feel as though they've done anything wrong. It's just me being honest and as open as I can be.



Dear Friend,

I may or may not have shared this with you, but Dan and I have a sort of secret. We are two of 7 million Americans (one in eight couples) with fertility issues. Both of us are affected – not only do we each have our own issue, but even if it was just one of us, we’d still be in the same place. One of us can’t make a baby without the other, so we’re in this together. We’ve been through testing, we have diagnoses. We have a realistic understanding of our options and our chances. What’s going on isn’t a result of not relaxing or not doing something right or not wanting or praying hard enough. It isn’t about timing, positions, or old wives’ tales. It can’t be fixed by adopting or not trying. I know it seems that everyone knows someone who got pregnant when they stopped trying or started the adoption process, but it’s not the case for everyone. Adoption is not in our cards, nor is IVF. For a number of reasons, Dan and I have made a decision we feel is right for us for the time being, and that’s to not move forward with any testing or treatment. Because of fear of miscarriage made more likely by my issue, we are actively avoiding pregnancy while not in the care of a specialist. We are in full agreement in this decision, and it’s a necessary break to get us to a point where we can re-evaluate if we will be trying again.

Please understand that though we made this decision together and are confident now, it wasn’t easy and it’s still very raw. There is a lot of grief in our home right now. Our hearts are heavy. My emotions are intense and irrational at times. There are good days and awful days. I want you to know, friend, that despite all this, I am happy for you as you grow your family. I am excited for you as you announce your pregnancy, and I look forward to spoiling your child and seeing you as a mom. That said, it isn’t easy for me to watch you experience things I long for. I fear I won’t get to tell my husband we’re expecting, see the ultrasound, hear the heartbeat. I may never get to decorate a nursery, feel the baby move, or give birth and hear that first tiny cry. My husband may never be a father, and my parents may never have grandchildren that aren’t my sister’s kids. So while I am happy for you, dear friend, my heart aches when I see your announcements on Facebook. Baby shower invitations make tears spring to my eyes. Pictures and videos of your little one, though sweet and appreciated, often make a lump rise in my throat. Little moments and glimpses into your life as a mom-to-be can make a good day go bad in a matter of seconds through no fault of your own.

My goal through all of this has been to grieve privately, and celebrate your joys publicly. It doesn’t always work that way, though. While I may not appear sad when you show me pictures or share something cute your husband said about the baby, inside I’m just holding it together. I would never want to take away from your moment. I will not skip baby showers, and I will not dismiss you as a friend for having what I desire. But sometimes, I need time. Sometimes, I may cry – know that if I do so in front of you, it means I trust you with my feelings of grief. Please understand that if I have to walk away or take a day to myself, it isn’t because I don’t love you. It’s because I need that for me. I’m constantly torn between not wanting to be handled with kid gloves, and needing some sensitivity. I don’t want you to not feel free to express your joy and share this experience with me, but I need you to know that sometimes it’s too much and I need a minute, an hour, a day to hash it out. I’m very conscious of my fear of becoming jealous or “bitter.” I’m not asking you to change how you express your happiness and share your family experiences, just to have a little awareness and understanding of how I may react if my emotions get to me. Because it truly is a case of “it’s not you, it’s me.”

There may be times when I withdraw into myself. I go through periods of days or even a week or two where the safest place for my emotions is within me. I may not call to hang out, or talk or text. I may be vague on Facebook. I may just be generally distant. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you or hang out, I just feel that I lack the energy and motivation to make the effort. I want to spend time with you, chat, and have lunch. Sometimes, though, I feel that I’m experiencing more reminders of our infertility and keeping to myself means less opportunities for that to happen. Sometimes, not talking about IF is achieved by not talking, period. So please, don’t mistake my distance for lack of care. Your friendship is still important to me. I’m just being guarded, and I’ll come around if you just give me time.

I value you, friend. I’m excited for you, and happy for your family. That happiness for you is a distinct emotion from my sadness, yet the former often reminds me of the latter. I will do my best to be a supportive and loving friend as you prepare for and experience motherhood. Just please understand that I am mourning something I never had, and even if Dan and I are successful in having a baby one day, this will have forever changed us. We’ve already had to accept many changes and losses since we started trying to start a family. I fear that everything will change, in fact, including my friendship with you. I worry immensely that you being a mom and raising your family will create a divide between us. I don’t want to lose my friends, too. I don’t want to be left out and left behind. Both Dan and I want to be special people in your kids’ lives and spoil them and love them, as we know you would do for our children.
Thank you for being a supportive and wonderful part of my life.

Always,
Brooke

10 comments:

Kathy4678 said...

Sending you lots of ehugs.

Dee Stephens said...

WOW.. powerful stuff Brooke. Praying for you guys. I know some of what you are dealing with.
Hang in there.. reach out if you need to. :)
xoxo,
Dee

BrownEyedGirlsMom said...

Aww buddy - you know I am here for you anytime you need to talk!! Love you lots and sending you lots of hugs!! Sorry i don't sit right by you anymore!!

Anonymous said...

You are brave and courageous and I love you. Thank you for sharing your most intimate feelings. This is all part of grieving and I know your friends and family and anyone who reads this will has great compassion and admiration for you. Hang in there babe.

ShellyTalks said...

I love you Brooksies!

Anonymous said...

Hi Brooke, I saw your post on Band back together, and it brought me here. You brought tears to my eyes because I am also going through something similar - but what you express in your letter to your friends is exactly what I would like to say, but have kept inside so far. I really admire your courage and attitude to moving on. You're an inspiration.
Kate

Wendy said...

Thank you. I followed your post from Band Back Together and am going through something similar (3+ years, hubby found out he has low motility, count and morphology just a few days ago). I wish I had the courage to write a letter like this. More, I wish I had the courage to be this strong and rational. I feel like my life has become so full of hate and resentment because of our struggles. Like the previous comment said, I admire your courage and attitude to moving on and you are truly an inspiration. Thank you, again.

kallaydoscope.com said...

This is a beautifully written, honest post, Brooke. I'm so sorry you have to experience the kind of pain a woman like you should never have to endure. I admire your strength and will to accept what is, but to have the faith and peace to still have hope? Brooke, that takes something they don't even have a word for. You are a wonderful person, and I pray that whatever drives you to be such a strong woman continues to stay by your side.

Allyson said...

So, as I was moving all of my new blogs over to my old Google Reader at Mags & Mims and was reading through anything that popped up as unread, I came across your 2011 recap and realized I had somehow missed this post.

Usually, I am not one to be at a loss for words...especially when I'm writing. No one accuses me of not being able to express my feelings. Except when I have to sit back and watch everyone (and sometimes their mother) announce their pregnancy on FB (and consequently post belly pictures, birth pictures, status updates about EVERY LITTLE THING). Last year it very nearly drove me off FB except that my business fan page was linked to my personal page. Unfortunately. I had finally gotten to the point where I was no longer giving pregnant women the evil eye, but it seemed like every time I logged on, I was visually assaulted by THE ONE THING I wanted that everyone else had. And you have managed to sum up nicely every single feeling I've had for 2 1/2 years now. That, my darling, is amazing. I would love to say that once we spring past our 30's, past the point of child-bearing age, that it will get better. But after that scene in "Julie and Julia" where Julia gets news that her sister is pregnant and she breaks down crying in her fabulous Parisian apartment, I know that it won't. Not really. It will be with you always and it will be a minute-by-minute battle. I wish to the moon and back that there was something to be done. But no drink, prayer, or wise words will make it better. It is what it is. And it is tragically unfair. Life is unfair. God has a plan, blah, blah, blah. But I don't understand why it has to hurt so much...
xoxo

Anonymous said...

Beautifully expressed. I don't know you, but you brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing.