I Want Out

No one in my real life knows about this blog. This is good for me as it means I can express myself freely without fear of what my Dad/ex colleague/friends will say.

So I’m going to lay it on the line for you all here. The absolute truth on how I feel. If I write all this down then I think it might be clearer in my own head. Apologies in advance for boring the pants off you all and going on and on and on about bloody pregnancy.

I want out.

I want out of this crappy, depressing, TTC journey.

Like a relationship that you know isn’t going anywhere, I know that there’s no future for me here. I may never get another baby and while I keep trying and trying I am destroying myself slowly. I’m allowing myself to be consumed by a relationship that is all give, give, give.

I have withdrawn from my family (not difficult in my case, hah), and more importantly, from life-long friends over this issue. Because I suffer from secondary infertility, I am in a position that is not really recognised. For women who haven’t had any children and are struggling like me, I am an alien. I can’t know the pain of wondering if I’ll ever be a mother (although with 2 miscarriages before DS1, I do know a bit about how that feels). For women with families, like me, they don’t understand why I need more children. Aren’t the ones I have enough?

It is almost impossible to talk to anyone in real life and quantify how heartbreaking and all-consuming it is.

A pregnant friend of mine recently said to me, after I mentioned we’d now been trying for 15 months, well you WERE pregnant for some of that time remember.

Er yes, I remember, I lost a baby at three months. Does that not count as trying?

I think she was trying to make the point that the number of actual cycles we had tried to conceive was less than 15, but her remark hurt so much I cried on the way home in my car.

Anyway, I’m getting off the point.

The point is I want out, but getting out is not easy.

Getting out, stopping TTC, means the following:

  1. I failed. Everybody knows we want three children. Everybody will forever remember that. In decades to come I will still be the woman that wanted three children, but gave up in the end because she couldn’t have the third. I don’t really do failure. I was a bright kid, I went to a selective school (ya ya, I know people love or hate these), I have two degrees, I have cycled massive distances, run races, danced in competitions, lived abroad, travelled the world and loved my life all the way. I don’t do things by halves. The only other thing I have ever failed on was breastfeeding. And trust me, I STILL cry about this and can barely bring myself to speak about it.
  2. All those people that thought we should stop at two, including my mother-in-law, will be pleased. Yup, they will be happy that I failed.

And you know what?

That’s about it.

I think in time I would get over the pang I feel when I see pregnant women. I think in time I’d move on from babies and relish the time to myself and time to do things independently again.

And I am not big on regret. I’ve made a shedful of mistakes in my life, but really, if I hadn’t made all those mistakes, I’d be a different person and I like being who I am. I like knowing what I know. I like that I have survived mistakes and learnt from them.

So I think I’d be OK. Maybe at 80 I’d look back on my life and wish I’d tried longer, but really I know I’d forgive myself and know that I already tried hard enough. I’ve already tried hard enough. I wouldn’t wish the last 15 months on anyone trying for a baby. People give up after less.

So. How do I deal with points 1 and 2 above?

The way I see it, my options are limited. I can:

  1. Move somewhere far away, cut all ties with former friends and see family once every five years. No more pity, no endless years of talk about my struggle, no reminders of how desperately I wanted something I ended up not being able to do. No more judgement over how stressed I am and “if you just relax it will happen!”.
  2. I lie and tell everyone there is something horribly wrong with me and I’ll never be able to have more children. It takes the failure away from ‘me’ and puts it on a handy, incurable, but non-threatening, medical problem (hey, this one might actually come true next month anyway).
  3. Adopt.
  4. Get pregnant.

Not much in the way of choice is there?

So, which would you go for? Bearing in mine number four is only on the list because it would answer all my prayers, and not because it is actually anything that might ever happen.


13 thoughts on “I Want Out”

  1. I had a massive freak out last night bc I pretty sure I have failedy second Iui and my clinic will only do three before Ivf. I am a widow and a teacher and I live in an incredibly expensive town so I really dont have the now $ for Ivf unless I borrow against my house (which I also can’t afford). Soooo hence the massive anxiety attack and no sleep. Wtf am I going to do?!?! I now am mad at myself for my starting this sooner but I had my hands full with my dying husband during my
    Mid thirties. So I guess I saying that I
    With you and I get it. Hugs from across the pond.

    • Oh gosh – it makes me feel I am complaining about nothing when I think of what you are working to achieve. I saw your second line and my heart sank when you said it hadn’t got darker. I have cried and cried over the same thing here. Even bigger hugs back – you are a braver woman than I am X

  2. I think about your situation a lot, actually. I sense the pain in your words. The hunger for your third comes through so strongly. That ache to do what you said you would do because hey, disciplined, driven people can do anything. But we find our limitations. And when we do, it sucks. I don’t have answers for you. As much as I hate for people to have to do it, I think this is one of those times that you must push your way through the chrysalis. Whatever you choose, you will be a changed, beautiful butterfly because of the struggle.

    If I could, I’d reach across the ocean and give you a hug. I’d play with your kiddos for a few hours so you could grab a cup of tea and write your heart out. Or cry. Or sleep.

    Is a fifth option possible? What about just taking a break from trying? Give yourself six months (or more). Ditch the “perfect” diet. Sign up for a 5K run. Have sex for fun. 😉 Look yourself in the mirror and say nice things like “I love you just the way you are” or something like that. Just give your mind and body a little break from the pressure…

    This is just my heart-felt two cents. Hang in there, Rose Who Rocks (that is your American Indian name, by the way…). This situation is making you stronger. You are not alone. There is a crazy, quasi-minimalist, clothing-obsessed Texan who thinks of you often and hopes great things for you…

    • I just cried reading this. Thank you. That is a better message than anything anyone in the real world has ever said!! Maybe option 5 is the one I hadn’t thought of that is the answer. You are a wise owl indeed young lady X

  3. I love Ginny’s response: “Is a fifth option possible? What about just taking a break from trying? Give yourself six months (or more). Ditch the “perfect” diet. Sign up for a 5K run. Have sex for fun. Look yourself in the mirror and say nice things like “I love you just the way you are” or something like that. Just give your mind and body a little break from the pressure…”

    I am so sorry, Rose. Nothing else I can even think of to say because I have been where you are. I was there for seven years. I know. xo

    • Valerie – 7 years! My goodness that must have been hard, hard work. I guess no one really knows how or when or if it will happen. Maybe I need to get a little more perspective on things and back off. It’s always hardest at the end of the month!

      • Oh my, yes, the end of the month is always hardest! Hormones are at their lowest and you are the farthest away from getting to test again. I know. 😉

  4. You haven’t failed Rose. All those achievments you’ve described are achievements because they have required either your intelligence or or you physicality to achieve them. Here you have no control over the outcome despite your efforts because what happens within your body is not up to you. Can I ask how you are TTC at the moment? If it’s naturally you could consider IUI which is less in invasive than IVF (professional turkey basting in fact lol). The other option you have is to tell people the truth. We tried for a long time and were unsuccessful. Use the wasn’t meant to be line there. People get that. Maybe it would be restful for your mind, and body to at least break for a month or two anyway??? I Obviously I have no idea. I’m just trying to throw suggestions out there. Thinking of, you.

    • Yup, we’re still doing it the old-fashioned way. Maybe that will change when I hear what the hospital have to say. I’m just so upset at the thought of people judging me and feeling sorry for me. I know that those opinions don’t matter but it’s hard for me to accept that. Wah, I don’t know any more. I think I do need a break though. Hah. I’m gonna run all my worries away. Or should that be run away from all my worries, ha hah 😉

  5. My heart broke when I read your post. It kills me to hear someone else in so much pain and it amazes me how your words have already played out in my own head a million times even before I read them.

    And I can’t make you feel better or alleviate your pain but I understand. Although I can’t relate entirely as I haven’t been able to have a child of my own, I can understand your exhaustion, your feeling of incompleteness, your grief and your inability to relate to others. The feeling of letting everyone down including yourself. The loss of yourself. The sense that you’re being swallowed alive. The horrible comments from friends and family that make you feel worse. The need for anonymity/privacy to be yourself. How else can you let out all this pain? The feeling of hopelessness at the options. You shouldn’t have to explain to anyone why you need that child. You just do. I understand. All of it. And it totally stinks.

    I hope you soon find some peace. Big hugs.

  6. Hugs. It’s a really hard situation. Mine is not the same, but our two babies are IVF ICSI. In the year while we were TTC #1 people (my sister mostly) would say things like “you know you really should have a baby, you’re 38 and time is ticking…” In the end I fessed up, instead of trying to hide the truth and said “actually we are trying and we’re about to go find out about IVF”. She was then so much more supportive and careful with what she said or assumed.

    Once we made the decision to see a specialist everything just started to feel better and there was hope. We were on the road to creating our family and they really understand what you’re going through. I think the advice to take a break from it all for awhile, to give yourself a break will work wonders too.

  7. Hugs. I’m glad you found blogging as an outlet. It seems like what you must do, for your own mental health, right now is find what brings you joy (apart from getting pregnant) and reconnect with that iner joy and peace and happiness. You sound like a spirited and capable woman, so I do not doubt you will be able to do this. Good luck!

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