Perfect Moment: Weeding the Side Stairs

I was sad to learn that Lori’s Perfect Moments is going on hiatus. I totally get why. It’s just, I love the exercise. And, appropriately enough, I finally had the first one in weeks today. So I had to get this one in under the wire…

Yard work and I have a love/hate relationship. Growing up, my Dad assigned me many chores in the yard. We had a pretty large lot, with both a front yard and a back yard dominated by enormous trees. The tree in the back yard shed some kind of debris 365 days a year. Mainly though, it would lose all its thousands of leaves in the fall, sprout many weird fuzzy caterpillar oddities in March, shed those in April, then grow the thousands of leaves back in May. I was in charge of sweeping, bagging and disposing of all this material, a task worthy of a Greek myth. I detested that tree. I had fantasies about chopping that jerk down for firewood. I wish I knew what kind of tree it was.

We spent much of today gardening: planting tomatoes, a lemon tree, repotting some flowers. You know, the fun stuff. Everything looked so pretty and tidy that our side steps began to really bug me. Our pebble-studded dirt side steps go to an unused hillside that I have big plans for someday: it’s a bucolic spot perfect for raised vegetable beds, a chicken coop, a treehouse for the kids. That hillside is raw potential. And the steps had become overgrown with weeds, leaves and grasses. It didn’t seem right, and I decided after I put the kids down for their naps that I would tend to those steps.

It was not fun or glamorous to pull countless green and brown matter from the stepping stones, but there was something peaceful and still about the activity that put my mind at ease. I focused on clearing inches, then feet of dirt free from the ravages of nature. Soon the full eight stairs were finished and I was inordinately proud.

I showed Darcy, who was impressed. At the time, I thought it was the zen-like pattern of activity which pleased my brain so much, and I’m sure that is part of it. But the “Perfect Moment” came when I realized this: clearing those steps was a metaphor. By showing myself I could do something tedious and hard, I was able to understand that if I get through the dull tasks with pleasure, with pride, I’ll reach my raw potential, that hillside full of possibilities.

Like Yoda said: “Do or do not. There is no try.”

Bridging the Divide Between Those Who Have Gotten “The Call” and Those Who Have Not

My readers. My friends. I love you so darn much!! I cannot tell you how much your words, interpretations and commentary have meant to me. Four of a Kind nominated the two-parter about Deepak Chopra on Stirrup Queens as the best post(s) she had read during the week, but your comments are, of course, the main reason why. Here’s what she said:

What struck me as much or more about these two posts, as well written as they are, is the awesome discussion going on in the comment sections of both posts! JJiraffe’s readers have done an amazing job trying to help our friend make sense of and process all of this.

She could not be more right. I have been thinking about what you have said all week. A few notes: I have been diagnosed with anemia, so I am now taking an iron supplement. It will take up to six weeks to work, but I hope it will help me deal with my energy issues. The consensus is that Esperanza’s interpretation of Deepak Chopra’s words seems to be dead on. (She’s so scholarly and wise!) I want to understand more about Buddhist tenets, so I will be reading a few books recommended. More on this later.

I think it is no coincidence that so many in the infertility community seem to gravitate to Buddhist teachings. I personally feel like American culture has no interest in explaining, focusing on or shedding a light on those have gone through hardship. The focus is all on the beginnings: the magical courtships (with comical misunderstandings), the engagements (hubby-to-be drops on one knee in Paris at midnight on the Pont Neuf, cue the Van Morrison), the perfect weddings. (Like mine ;0 ) Grabbing the brass ring in your career, after an easy climb. Giving birth to your children. (In a funny but not scary way.) AND repeat, with your own children as the protagonists. There are few stories I can think of where the focus is on the middle. And most of us are in the middle. The middle is anti-climatic, hard, repetitive, tragic, filled with everyday drudgery. The joys are not as big. They are not in your face like a Vera Wang gown. They are smaller, harder to grasp. That doesn’t mean they are not as meaningful. But we have not been taught to think that they are. I get the mid-life crisis now. When you are in the midst of learning how hard life is, the urge to escape, through silly purchases like a sports car, a toupee, comic books: I totally get it now.

The problem is, the vast majority of people I am surrounded with IRL haven’t received “The Call”, and only know about the Happy Endings we demand as our due in life.

What is “The Call”? “The Call” is a brilliant phrase used by Wordgirl. I’ll let her explain:

I talk about it with X, G’s ex-wife, whose mother died unexpectedly when X was in her late twenties — and up until then her life had been relatively smooth sailing, so to speak — but after that call — it all changed.

She and I will talk about people who we perceive as seeming to guide their children through life without envisioning the worst of what can happen — and she’ll say “it’s because they’ve never had the call” — Whatever the call may be — whatever moment that shakes your worldview — it can be profound.

I know this will change, and as I get older, there will be none of my contemporaries left who WON’T have received “The Call”. I don’t want people to get “The Call” either. It’s just that I have a hard time, right now, relating to people who haven’t gotten “The Call”.

I know I’m not alone. Several bloggers have written about this, this week, like Mommy Odyssey and Esperanza. Both movingly write of their strong identification with “bloggy friends” and how communication has become so much harder with non-blogging friends. I so get this. Y’all have gotten “The Call”. I don’t have to educate you about why what I have been through sucks. You’ve been through similar and worse. And you have wisdom that is actually applicable to my situation. No one would DARE tell me to “just relax” or “just adopt” on here

But, I have to exist in the world of non-bloggy friends, too. I need some coping techniques to strengthen my relationships with people who surround me physically. I need to remember what I was like before I received “The Call”: naive, confident, full of helpful “assvice”. I did not mean harm and truly wanted to help friends suffering, and I said some of the dumbest things. Before. I know that the people who surround me IRL want to help me too.

So, back to Deepak Chopra, again. He said something helpful in my reading:

Judgment is the constant evaluation of things as right or wrong, good or bad. When you are constantly evaluating, classifying, labeling, analyzing, you create a lot of turbulence in your internal dialogue.

Boy, is that right on. I totally judge. Before I judged people about superficialities like what they read and what restaurants they liked. (Also, whether they were kind or good people, so you don’t think I was a total poop.) Now I judge people based on how they react to whatever problem I reveal (not that I reveal most of the crap I’ve been dealing with), which is unfair too.

So my homework: judge less. Be thankful that most people I know haven’t received “the Call”, and understand that they are in a bubble that hasn’t been popped. And maybe, also, some people I know have received “The Call” and are hiding it. Also, maybe some people are just jerks? Just kidding!!

Do you tend to judge people in your life who haven’t received “The Call” and say upsetting things? How do you let go of your judgement?

What the Heck is Wrong With Me Anyway, and What Deepak Chopra Had to Say About It. Part Two.

In part one, I was describing my life and in the later part of it, I felt like one of the ancient Greeks, constantly fearful of the gods’ wrath.

Something the ancient Greeks would do when they had doubt or fear, or needed direction, was go see an Oracle. The oracle, usually a woman, would go into a trance and provide advice that would need to be translated by other temple priests into a practical guide.

I was in need of a modern-day oracle.

Enter Deepak Chopra. If you’re curious who he is, I think this Time Magazine profile does him the most justice. At the heart of his appeal, to me at least, is this:

“Nothing feels more impossible than human suffering,” says a character in The Daughters of Joy. (One of Chopra’s books.) “We get trapped in it because we’ve lined up our unsolved problems like horses on a merry-go-round. Every day the same horses go around inside our heads. Old grievances, unforgotten pain, resentment, anger, failure and insecurity — the circle keeps turning.” Through his books, videos and workshops, Chopra offers a ticket off that merry-go-round. He is hardly to blame if, to date, there has been no shortage of takers.

I need to get off the merry-go-round. I need to let go of my fear. Is it possible?

The ancient Greeks didn’t believe in free will. I used to. I still believe that human beings can achieve great things of their own volition. How much of this is attributable to luck, genetic predispositions, energy levels, skills and hard work is a formula that has been recalculated in my mind in the last eight years.

If I could reinvent my own myth, my own story, I’d love to tell a different story. One that is as true as the current narrative, but one that tells a more hopeful chronicle.

In this story, I would be cast as an Athena-like warrior, who battles through disease, infertility, protects her children valiantly, puts her own physical health on the line as a sacrifice for her family, tells her story in hopes of helping others in their fight for resources to fight infertility. The truth is, yes, a bunch of shit happened to me (and continues to happen to me) but I have overcome a lot of problems as well. Against bad odds (less than a 10% chance) I conceived two wonderful children. I held them in my body, stayed in bed and birthed them. I protected them from harm. I took one for the team and did night duty so my husband could be the financial provider, fully rested. I protected my husband from getting germs. I survived many illnesses and remained standing.

The problem is, in this story, I still am associated with my problems. So, I went to the Oracle.

Does anyone have any smart strategies for not allowing our problems to define us? @DeepakChopra ?—
Too Many Fish to Fry (@2manyfish2fry) May 22, 2011

There must have been other people waiting in line, asking similar questions of the Oracle. So I was lucky enough to get a three-part response from Deepak Chopra.

In response to some questions: Our real identity is a non-local consciousness in which the observer and observed simultaneously co-arise—
Deepak Chopra (@DeepakChopra) May 22, 2011

Both "me" and "other" are subjective feelings or qualia in consciousness.—
Deepak Chopra (@DeepakChopra) May 22, 2011

Abiding in nondual consciousness there is spontaneous experience of love, joy, compassion equanimity, loss of ego identity and fear of death—
Deepak Chopra (@DeepakChopra) May 22, 2011

The responses are as mysterious to me as those that the ancient Greeks must have received. I have to admit that I don’t know a huge amount about Eastern philosophy (something I am going to change) but I know that quite a few of my readers do.

Oh, wise readers: can you help me interpret the words of the Oracle?

I’d like to invite EVERYONE reading to discuss Deepak Chopra’s words. Even if you’ve never commented on a blog before, or read this blog without commenting. Even (especially?) if you are one of my family members! What do you think these words mean? Do they help you to explain how you identify yourself? Can we craft a story together that makes us more hopeful and joyful everyday, in a meaningful way, something I think so many people want, not just myself?

What the Heck Is Wrong With Me Anyway, and What Deepak Chopra Had to Say About It. Part One.

First of all, I realize that I have been abysmal at commenting and posting over the last week. I’m really sorry, and can only say that I am starting to return to form. This is going to be a LONG post, so please feel free to pull up an armchair, pour yourself a cup of chamomile tea. Or, you know. Save yourself. Click out

I think it’s obvious that I have been pretty shaken by recent events. I have spent the week speaking about dark corners and light places with my mom in person, with my dad over the phone and this weekend, with Darcy.

Sometimes you need to spend time with those who have known you the longest to understand that SOMETHING is awry.

My mom talked to me of my past. She walked me through my childhood, my teen years, my twenties, my perfect wedding. I used to sparkle brightly, and no one would bet against my chances of doing exactly what I wanted. I achieved, I was a sunbeam. I had one big setback (a bad car accident when I was twenty) that I overcame. But, in general, I was a child of fortune.

But after I turned thirty, bad stuff began to happen to me.

I haven’t talked about it here, but the first year of my marriage I came down with a serious and mysterious illness which crippled me for about a year. After six months of scary anxiety and physical therapy, I “came back”, but it damaged my belief that the world was good. I now thought there were disasters waiting for me around every corner.

I wasn’t wrong. As soon as I got the all-clear from my doctor, we began TTC. Six months later, I knew something wasn’t right. All my tests were normal, as were Darcy’s, so it was another medical mystery. After rounds of IUIs, Clomid, then injectibles, my RE was puzzled so he recommended IVF. They only retrieved ONE egg from me during my cycle. I was 32. I was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure. I was told that my best chance to conceive was to use donor eggs. The next disaster had appeared. I collapsed under its weight.

But Darcy stubbornly insisted that we continue IVF, trying to use my own eggs. I didn’t see the point, but somehow he believed it would work. Darcy’s weird that way. If things don’t go the way he believes they should go, he will shout, curse, fight and push his way through. He believes this is his right. I had gotten to the point where I would prefer to crawl into a cave, and wait for the world to hate me less.

Those who have followed my story know I was extremely lucky enough to conceive twins on my third round of IVF. Once I received the news I was with child(ren), I crawled into a cave of bedrest, hoping that the universe would forget about me while my pregnancy gestated. I rarely left the house. I probably smiled three or four times in nine months. I rarely took showers. I took no photos of my “bump”. I hid the ultrasound printouts under my bed. When I made it to my 35th week, I was astounded. When the twins were born, healthy, and I was able to take them home with me, I couldn’t believe my fortuity. I gazed quizzically at the sky, waiting for something to strike me down. I had become one of the suspicious Greeks in the myths, awaiting some jealous or angry or petty or mean god to wipe me and my new, precious children off this earth.

The first year I anxiously monitored my twins’ every breath, poop, meal and feeding. I kept two journals for one year, for each child, detailing every bowel movement, ounce of breastmilk, then formula, then rice cereal, then organic strained vegetables that they consumed. I analyzed every inch of their bodies when I introduced a new food, and noted if there was even the smallest bit of baby acne on their skin. I used an “angel monitor” under their beds at night, which checked for movement, and detailed the amount of times it went off. I counted every moment they were asleep and awake. I noted each milestone, noted milestones that weren’t hit. I stood like an careworn centurion over my children, guarding them from harm, ready to throw my spear or wield my shield in the battle for their existence.

As the first year rolled into the second, my fear morphed into exhaustion. Even the most vigilant defender needs sleep. I became ill, and each bout of illness triggered panic that I would be unequal to the task of guarding their little lives from the disasters which, certainly, were waiting around every quarter. I got pneumonia. I had bronchitis five times in one year. Our home developed black mold. We had to move. My daughter suffered from some respiratory problems. Then: I got pregnant, without medical assistance, only to lose the pregnancy in the eighth week. The gods had done it again.

Year two rolled into year three. My dad in October, during a visit, observed my grim visage, my emaciated body. My lack of enthusiasm. My fearful waiting for the gods to curse us, again.

He noted: “It pained me to see that you had become a spectator of your own life. You went through each day, with its grueling demands and physical exhaustion, as if you were just putting one foot in front of the other, with no enjoyment, happiness or expectation that life was anything but something to endure.”

He was right. By December I knew in my bones that something was WRONG. With my body and soul. I created my 365 days of joy project to try to take control of this problem.

I blogged, I made new friends, I gained wisdom and insight from wonderful people. And a stirring in my soul arose. To live life again as a child of fortune. To not expect disaster. But mostly, I just wanted to sleep. My arms and legs felt, every day, as if I had run a race the day before. And when I napped, there was no replenishment of energy or oxygen or whatever. I was not living my life fully, and had become a train conductor to my children, guiding them through the many things they needed to do each day. Eat. Use kind words. Use the potty. Get dressed. Get to the car. Go to the classroom without getting hit by a car. Picking them up. Getting them to nap. Fixing a snack. Taking them to get exercise outside. Fixing dinner. Bathtime. Books. Bed. After which, I would crawl into bed with my computer and eat a meal, consumed with lassitude.

Darcy and I politely and not so politely negotiated a routine, so he would wake up with them during the weekends and take care of them then, and I would wearily join the family in the afternoons for outings and family times. Enduring.

When my mom left and Darcy returned, he told me that I had become “the girl problems happened to”. He said, “If I told anyone we know right now that you fell and broke your leg, they would say, ‘It’s Jjiraffe. Of course that happened to her.’”

This profoundly saddened me. Obviously, shit is going to happen. That’s life. There ARE disasters around every corner. The news about my dad just reinforced that. But how do I get beyond the disasters? How do I enjoy this “middle” that I’m in? How do I teach my children that there are jokes to laugh about, carefree afternoons of reading in the sunshine ahead, lazy rivers to watch, astounding vistas to see? Wonderful delicacies to digest?

How do I go beyond enduring? How do I move past my bodily pain and exhaustion? How do I become a person whose problems don’t define them?

Then I had a weird thought: Deepak Chopra. Now I’ve probably lost you. But, my dad once interviewed him. My dad is a Protestant who is deeply skeptical about “New Age ideas”. But he enjoyed speaking with him and thought him wise.

Someone I follow on Twitter re-tweeted Deepak Chopra’s thoughts on joy. I admired them and became a follower of his. After Darcy told me that I had become “the girl that problems happened to”, I wondered what Deepak Chopra would advise. So I did what anyone would do. I sent him a tweet.

Does anyone have any smart strategies for not allowing our problems to define us? @DeepakChopra ?—
Too Many Fish to Fry (@2manyfish2fry) May 22, 2011

Part Two: What Did Deepak Chopra Advise? And what did it mean? No, really, what did it mean?

The New Normal: Awakening

I’m in the middle of watching Salt with my husband.

Why do I always forget Angelina Jolie has boy/girl twins? She would probably end up being the celebrity in Hollywood I would be able to have the most relevant conversation with. Twins moms are a special breed. I know she has six kids, and probably ten nannies, but she was on bedrest. She had terrible morning sickness. She deals with two year old twins, in some way, shape or form. She’s my people.

Likewise, anyone who has dealt with cancer in any way, shape or form. I’m so sorry you’ve gone through this. I’m so sorry I didn’t have meaningful, relevant conversations with you all. You’re my people.

The “C” Word

…has unfortunately entered my life.

My mom is in town, and startled me with the news that my dad has cancer. He’s been in treatment for almost 5 months. I was wondering why he didn’t join my mom on this visit. (And I was selfishly feeling abandoned). Turns out he can’t be around kids for six months because of the germs.

They kept this news under their hat for more than six MONTHS! They should be spies.

The good news is the treatment appears to be working.

But I am just in total shock.

And I don’t really know what else to say.

Nie Nie Redux: Reflections on the 20/20 Special

I’ve been getting a bit of traffic for an old story I wrote about Stephanie Nielson, of Nie Nie Dialogues. When I did a news search to see why, I saw a link to a 20/20 story that aired about her last night. So I watched the story. And I hope you can watch it too, if time permits.

Stephanie Nielson survived a plane crash with 80% burns over her body. Her husband, who survived the plane crash as well, was faced with the decision to go back into a massive burning inferno and try to pull out his wife (and die in the process) or remain living for his children (he suffered significant burns as well), a choice no person should be forced to make. He chose not to go back. She made it out of the burning plane on her own, who knows how. What I have always admired about Stephanie, and now her husband as well, is the possession of honesty in the face of their great tragedy. She admits that she felt a terrible sense of abandonment. And yet, with no illusions and in the hard, frozen, iron light of day, she (and he) eventually chose optimism. She forgave him. He accepted her changed physical appearance, transformed by fire. And a real love story for the ages was unveiled.

We all have an idealized way we expect husbands and wives to behave. It’s easy to cast blame and imagine the heroic behavior we would engage in if we were faced with a terrible scenario like the Nielsons. But to forgive someone is quite possibly the most difficult thing in the world. To accept that the outside of our facade is only a glimpse of our true self is also incredibly formidable. To be truly honest with each other is almost excruciating.

So, Nielsons, I am so happy that you have held on to your love. Thank you for showing me what real fairytale love is like.

Help Resolve Get Senate Sponsors for Family-Building Bill

One of the big efforts of Resolve’s Advocacy Day was that an actual bill was introduced into Senate by Senator Gillibrand of NY. The bill needs our support to get co-sponsors.

Here’s the deal:

A bill to create a tax credit for the out-of-pocket costs associated with infertility medical treatment has been introduced in the U.S. Senate by Senator Kirsten Gillibrand (NY). Aptly named the Family Act of 2011, S 965, this bill will potentially help thousands of people seek medical treatment that otherwise would be out of reach for them.

Please go here and click on this link to contact your Senator and ask for support. It’s an easy form to fill out. You can add your own personal message.

Here’s what I chose to say:

I am part of the 1 in 8 people in America dealing with infertility. My husband and I are proud Americans who only wanted to be able to raise the next generation of involved, caring citizens. Instead, we were diagnosed with infertility and spent two and a half years and tens of thousands of dollars until we were lucky enough to have our miracle twins via IVF. We were fortunate enough to have the favorable insurance and family financial resources available to pursue treatments, but so many wonderful people I know who would be incredible parents of wonderful citizens can’t because of a lack of financial resources.

America is about equal opportunities for all, and I think building the next generation of citizens should be a priority for this country. Infertility affects so many and it is a disease, according to WHO.

The Family Act would help so many deserving people who would love to pursue their dreams of creating their own families, but can’t because of a lack of funds. I hope that you consider this Bill a priority. So many of your constituents are suffering from this silent disease. It would mean so much to us all for this support.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Jjiraffe

I hope you have the opportunity to sign this form. If you do, can you do me a favor and just write in the comments whether you did so I can keep track?

Thanks so much! Go us!

The Journey

“Life only really has one beginning and one end, and the rest is just a whole lot of middle.”  Will Shuester, Glee

I finally finished the first season of Glee.  I have had my ups and downs with the show: my main complaint has been the series features the same story lines over and over.  The Glee club members finally achieve some success, then get slushies thrown in their faces.  Will manages to scrape together some resources to help the club, then Sue yanks them away.  There have been a few really grand moments, like Rachel singing “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” but for every grand moment there are a million failures and battles to win just an inch of acceptance.

Finally, the season finale featured a really unusual storyline: a rapid approach of failure and the end of dreams.  The Glee Club is going to shut down, the members who found acceptance and talents and joy are getting those things taken away from them.  In the face of this scenario, the Glee Club teacher gives a speech.  Life is a JOURNEY.  There’s a lot of middle before we die.  But:

“Who cares what happens when we get there, when the getting-there has been so much fun?”

I cried and cried during this speech.  I wasn’t sure why it affected me so much.  Then I realized why.

Glee is a metaphor for life.  Life is a bunch of the same battles over and over.  Life is getting a little success before you get a slushie thrown in your face.  If you’re lucky, you find an outlet, whether your job, a hobby or a talent that provides some camaraderie and glory in a tough world.

Then I realized it: the blogosphere is my Glee Club.

Here, I have people who understand my struggles.  Here I get to do what I love: write.  Sometimes I’ll hit a high G, more likely I’ll blow at least a few sour notes.  And, doh: Glee is another word for Joy.  No wonder I’ve been so obsessed with the show.

I have said a few times, I think, that I learn more from my commenters than from anyone else.  I think that’s why I pose so many questions: I know you guys will have the answers.  I have been so touched by what people have said in answer to yesterday’s post:

From Maura:

“Do I think you should continue to try and seek joy? Absolutely! I think we all should – but I also don’t think you should feel guilty if you don’t find the positive in every single situation. For lack of better words, life sometimes sucks.”

From Bodega Bliss:

“And I think the day you stop seeking joy would be a very sad and very dark day. Don’t ever stop seeking joy. Joy is why we get up in the morning. Joy is why we fight the battles we do. Please don’t stop.”

And finally, from Stumbling Gracefully:

Maybe it shouldn’t be just about the joyful things, but about your journey to joy. Or your journey in search of joy and how elusive that joy can be. I think exploring why you find being joyful difficult is just as valuable as achieving it easily. In fact I would say it is more productive, because many people struggle to find joy in their lives and interestingly, it’s usually the people who have very much (like you and I) that struggle the most with that. Those people (like me) would find your journey very enlightening.

Life IS a journey.  We are in the middle.  Thank you, everyone, for being here for me.  It is here, in this world, that I have experienced true Glee.  I have had a few big moments in my life, like Rachel’s “Rain on My Parade,” but every day for the last year, I have been able to joke around, sing, cry and laugh with you.  And it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.

So I hope that you will continue with me on The Journey.

How Do You Maintain Your Blog’s Focus?

Back in the day when traditional media ruled, if writers wanted an audience, they were contributors to magazines and newspapers. In order to get stories published and distributed to an audience, writers would go through a pretty stringent editing process. Beyond the fact-checking and grammatical proofreading, usually an editor would ask the question: “Is this a Vogue feature?” “Does this profile work for Forbes?” or “Is this story about teen fashion edgy enough for Sassy?”

Each outlet would have a tone, purpose and mission which the writer would need to adapt to, a uniformity to assume. The Economist doesn’t even give bylines, that’s how uniform its editorial is.

Blogging changed the game. Now any writer has the ability to write about what they want, and an audience could find them. The blogger could set the focus of his/her writing.

But with an audience comes a certain amount of pressure. You might feel an obligation to tell a certain type of story over and over. I saw a comment by Wordgirl on Stirrup Queens asking whether she felt like she was James Taylor wanting to play new songs, with an audience constantly yelling “Fire and Rain!” Do you feel an obligation to keep your focus narrow? Do you feel an obligation to please your readers? Or do you simply write what you want?

If you’ve been reading my blog, you probably know that there’s an undercurrent here. I chose to call out This House is Now a Home about an audience sensitivity issue. I did this because I had a Mother Bear reaction. I have become quite protective of the feelings of my friends going through infertility, and some were hurt by the essay.

I really have been enlightened by the feedback from Kate, my readers and her readers. My hope is that the discussion made people more sensitive on all fronts. (Me included.) My fear is that I went against my own feelings (stated “editorially”, many times, in many places): be supportive of all mothers and try to bring more joy into my life and inspire others to do so. Maura called me out on this. I even say in my bio to “feel free to keep me honest” if I’m not living joyfully. Well, she did. And she has a point.

Here’s where I am on my big mission of 2011: a little disillusioned. Living joyfully every day may be “the good work, the sweet work”, but damn if it’s not difficult for me. I also have a total bugaboo about being authentic. How can you be authentic about feeling joy if it’s such hard work to get there? I still think it’s possible.

But infertility seems to have taken away my ability to look at any given situation in a purely positive light. I don’t know why: I have children, I’ve crossed the finish line. Darcy doesn’t get it either: he doesn’t want to talk about infertility anymore. (And he was totally annoyed he had to film my NIAW video for Resolve.) Maybe I have some strain of Irish melancholic gene, maybe I see the world the way it is, maybe I have taken on the pain of my friends. I don’t know. This post makes me feel less alone about my feelings of both joy and pain.

I think the best way to take action about the pain and agony infertility causes is for me to be an activist, work with Resolve, and do the March Walk of Dimes next year. Those are action items with a real purpose: items that genuinely can help us win the fight against infertility and pre-maturity.

All of you who have dealt with infertility, however you are dealing with it: you have my most upmost respect.

What makes you feel joyful? Do you think I should continue to try to seek joy? Have you ever wanted to change the tone or focus of your blog?