Just as Sane as I Am

Ugh. The title of this is such a cliche , but I kind of couldn't help it. It's a question I find myself asking all the time. BTW, here I go judging myself again. I pretty much hate everything I'm about to write. It annoys me. I annoy myself so much of the time right now.  (I mean, and always, but I think that's probably true for a good number of us out there; hence the blog title. I'm trying to make myself feel better by hoping that we're all really the same brand of crazy.) While going through this emotionally fragile period of my life over the last two years, other lives have gone on. Other babies have been born and celebrated milestones. I've been invited to Christenings, baptisms, birthday parties, baby showers. Every. Single. Event. Is Painful. To Attend. I hate that. I hate it so much. These events are joyful, and I should therefore be filled with joy. If my friends are happy, I should be happy for them. Why can I do nothing but wallow in self pi...

Along with all of the terrible physical, medical hardships that infertility brings, there may be nothing worse than the emotional pain that accompanies it. Infertility breeds pain, jealousy, insecurity, and self doubt. (Maybe not for everyone, but certainly for me.) A whole bunch of garbage that no one needs more of in their lives. To top it all off, I feel my emotions passionately, which makes them that much more difficult to share a body with. So I'm going to try to make sense of all of that below. Maybe it'll come out like a genius stream of consciousnesses piece, a la Toni Morrison. Maybe it'll just come out like a hot mess. Let's see how it goes: After much painful screaming, both internally and externally, about if I even really wanted  to have kids, I finally felt that certainty that I was always promised I would feel. It was different than I imagined it would be, though; rather than a happy, warm, familial certainty, I felt a sucker punch to the gut when a...

Let me start out by saying this: you’re not going to like everything you read here. But I’m not writing this for you. I’m writing this for me. I’ve been bottling up a lot for a long time, and it’s exhausting. It’s also unfair to a lot of people - to you, because of how I may have treated you, to me, for not letting you know why, to me again, for the stress it’s putting me under, and to Jon (my poor, unfortunate husband!), who does sometimes have to listen to all of this when it explodes out. Time to share the burden. If you’re reading this, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to peek into my crazy. I’m sorry if it’s a bit blunt, but I’m taking the filter off. I’m REALLY sorry if it feels personal because, I promise, none of it is. It’s all an internal struggle., One of the struggliest (oooh, I like that word- I meant it just as an amped up version of struggle, but it turned into a combo of ugly and struggle, which this definitely is) parts of all thi...