In all reality, though, I’m tired of worrying. I’m working on it. However, just as I think I have started to figure out how to control my worries, another worry pops into my mind, and I start to worry that I will never be able to stop worrying. Still following me?
My devotional the other night was all about worry and how God commands us not to worry. It stated that even if killing were not illegal, you wouldn’t do it because God commanded you not to. So why do we worry even after He says it’s wrong?! I don’t know. I worry about that, too. JNow, I’m about to tell you some of my deepest, darkest worries. However, you should also remember that God commands us not to judge one another. You’re going to need to remember that because some of these are a doozy, I’m afraid. Some of these, I haven’t told to anyone but Todd and our therapist. I’m putting them out there because I’m ready to let go of them, and I’m hoping that someone might feel comforted to know they aren’t the only one with these thoughts.
Deep breath…you’re about to step into the inner-workings of my brain.
I worry that I will never get to be a mother.
I worry that going through with another cycle will be a waste of time, money, emotions, and pain. I worry about causing my closest friends and family more pain by them having to watch me have another failure. What if all of the eggs I have left are bad? What if I’m not relaxing enough? What if my diet is killing my chances? What if I’m not taking the right supplements? What if I’m missing something completely that I should be doing?
I worry that Todd will regret having children in his 40’s since his first 3 are just over 4 years from graduating high school. I realize this is his decision, and he has reassured me time and time again that he wants to have more kids. However, it’s still a thought in my head.
I worry that I am putting too much hope on finding happiness and peace once we do get a baby. I keep thinking that if we can just get pregnant and to the second trimester, everything will start to be rainbows and sunflowers. That kind of expectation can be too much to put on a circumstance. Plus, what happened to being content with what you have and where you are?
I worry that we missed our prime time to have a baby. What if I don’t actually like being an older parent? What if our child doesn’t like having older parents?
I worry that we will never get to experience and appreciate grandkids.
I worry that someday I will get to have a child, and I will forget what it’s like to be infertile. I will be so grateful when I can go five minutes without thinking about infertility. However, I hope that I can always empathize with those that are still on this journey. I still want to be an advocate for infertiles, and I want to never downplay the sorrow they are experiencing. My friend, Caroline, sent me a great post the other day that reminded me of this Bible verse:
“A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.”
I do hope to forget the pain of childbirth, but I hope to always remember the agony of infertility. I'm not a sadist; I just want to be able to remain empathetic for those that are still on the journey.
I worry about things others will say. I worry that if I try to open up to a person, they will trivialize my pain and cause me more anguish. This happens on a regular basis. I know this makes people think that it’s probably better that they just not talk to me about infertility for fear that they might say something wrong. However, avoiding the subject makes me feel even more uncomfortable. I feel like people get tired of hearing about our infertility. I feel like they think something is wrong with us. I feel like I’m the one making this relationship more awkward. I feel like they look at me and think how easy it would be to solve my problems if I would just take their advice. I realize this makes the conversation difficult, but I promise this situation isn’t easy for me, either.
I worry that we will only be able to have one child. I have always wanted my children to have siblings. What if they grow-up to be self-centered because they were the only child in our house? What if they are lonely as adults when they have to deal with their ailing parents? What if they don’t have fond memories of childhood because they are lacking the interaction of siblings? What if they grow-up to dislike us, and we don’t have a healthy relationship with them or their children? What if we are able to give them a sibling, and the two of them end up hating each other?
I worry that we will never be able to afford to retire. Selfish? Yes. Realistic in many infertiles’ minds? Yes, and I know that for a fact. Several of my friends play the game of what they could or couldn’t do with all of the money we spend on treatments. You start playing mind games when you think you may never have children. You start trying to find ways to be happy with a childless life. Then, you start to wonder if maybe that is the better way for you to go. This makes you feel like a terrible person for even thinking it.
This is my most vulnerable of all of the worries. If I do get to be a mother, I worry that it won’t be to a biological child of mine and Todd’s, and I’ll always feel like I was given a consolation prize. I realize this one probably sounds the worst. (I’m taking a chance on putting this out here, so don’t knock me.) Now, I have friends that have used or will use egg/sperm/embryo donors. Of those that have successfully used donors, I have only heard them say they were elated to be having this baby and felt like the one and only mother/father in the world to this child. However, when I think about getting pregnant using an egg donor, I can imagine people coming up to me and saying, “I knew it would happen for you” or “Don’t you wish you had just done this from the beginning?” or whatever. I can just imagine them being so happy for me and my pregnancy and completely forgetting everything we went through to get there as if it never happened. Then, I see myself and know that what I’m truly feeling is, “Yes, I’m happy to be pregnant, but I still wish it was with my/his/our DNA. And please, don’t forget how far we have come to have this child.” That causes me to worry that I will feel even more alone in one of the happiest moments of my life.I have been told that when your child is born, you start to worry about them, and it doesn’t stop for the rest of your life. For me, I feel like I started worrying about a child years ago that isn’t even conceived. Mothers of newborns spend every waking moment thinking about the welfare of their new baby. I spend every waking moment thinking about the welfare of a baby that may never exist.
Seriously, I’m aware how I have zero control over most of these issues, if not all of them. I realize how ridiculous they sound, but as my therapist says, "Pain has no logic." I’m aware that my hormones are still really out of whack, exacerbating the affliction of it all (more to come on that later). I’m also aware that worrying does me no good. I’m aware that worrying will only lead to stress, which is bad for my cycles, my wrinkles, my sex life, my weight, my anxiety, my acne…shall I continue?
Most importantly, I’m aware that I should be putting all of these worries into God’s hands. That’s really why I wrote this post. If I put it all down in writing, I feel like I can imagine the physical process of letting it go into His control.
Therefore, as I hit “Publish” on this entry, I will take a deep breath, say a prayer, and give these worries over to God.
And tomorrow, when one of them enters my head, again, maybe I’ll remember more quickly that I already let go of that worry and not waste any more time on it.