It’s been over a month since I’ve written, a long break for such a new blogger. I’ve been missing the writing – and frankly the reading – of all of my fellow bloggers, but haven’t been able to face the reality of what’s been going on at home. Somehow writing it down makes it all more real.
In my last post, I shared some of the struggles the hubs and I have been facing. In this post, I’ll share that they’re looking increasingly insurmountable. It’s been an intense few months of inward focus, long conversations, sharing of hopes, dreams, and plans. Unfortunately after all these years of the baby chase, its like we’ve emerged on completely different paths. As much time as I’ve spent thinking about what I want my life without children to look like, so has he, and I’m here to tell you those lives don’t look at all the same.
I always felt proud that we were not one of those couples who let infertility destroy them. If it were just that, maybe we could make it. But as it turns out, there have been other things lurking that have now found the space to come out in full force. Perhaps they were always there, but were concealed by the singular focus of our married life. Perhaps they’ve found more definition in this raw transition phase. I really don’t know.
We love each other deeply – it would be easier if we didn’t – but find ourselves at this juncture wanting very different things. The problem is, the life he wants would take a lot of sacrifice from me, and I already feel that I’ve given so much up. It sounds selfish, but I don’t want to give up anything else. I’m not sure I’ll recognize myself if I do.
Just when I finally feel that I’ve come close to accepting the reality of life without children, I’m faced with yet another loss. No more taking comfort in the strength of my marriage, or conspiring in the joys that only a life without children allows. No more dreaming of the unexpected pregnancy, or coming around to consider adoption. Now it’s all over. My my six-plus year marriage, and any tiny glimmer of hope of being a mother. How did I get here?
I don’t know how to write about this, but I miss the writing.