Raging about TTC blaming and shaming. Raging about the whole thing.

I found this in my drafts, and can feel the passion! I am lucky to not feel this intense right now, but I wanted to share because this is something that I have felt consistently!

~-~-~

I need you to stop blaming me for this.

Infertility is not a choice.

It is not something I have come to via hopeless inhibition or inattentive life choices.

I am actively, passively, consciously, subconsciously fighting for fertility with every fibre of my being. In every god-damn way. Every day.

And before you even say it… I can hear you thinking it…  don’t. Don’t fucking say anything about “relaxing” or about how I am “obviously trying too hard”… why not add in a “stop trying” for good measure.

I am lost in an incredible argument that has no win.

If I try anything, it’s not enough.
If I try anything, it’s too much.

Are you kidding?!

No. I will not “keep visualising”.
No. I will not “stop trying”.

Yes. I will have wine.
Yes. I will still talk about this. Again. And again. Repeatedly. Because that’s what I need. And because we are not fucking getting anywhere!

~-~-~

And if you are pregnant, or just had a baby, or have a relation who is afflicted (kidding) with either of the previously mentioned conditions… I need you to stop showing up in my new feeds. Or in text messages. Or phone calls. I need famous people to stop being pregnant and giving birth and shit.

I don’t even know who you are – but I need you to not be pregnant right now.

~-~-~

I need all the voices in my head to stop.
There is so much noise and chaos.

I need the tightness in my chest to ease up a little.
You know, for like, breathing.

There seems to be a massive cognitive dissonance (which is an actual thing, I just googled it) in my whole entire being.Some part of me, some deep, wise part believes that there is purpose and poise and everything flows in perfection. It’s just that I can’t get to that part of me right now.

And it hurts because I interpret this baby-thing non-baby-thing as a failure. As somehow, something to the core of me is broken… because what other reason would there be for still not being pregnant?

The rebuttal for which is perfect timing. And perfect circumstances, and perfect planetary alignments and such…

I just don’t know why I can’t let go of the obsessing, desperately-clutching, psycho-chick that I evidently am a significant proportion of the time.

I don’t know how to step back and “be grateful that I have my period”, or even just “wait patiently” during the horrendous 2WW. O.M.F.G!

I don’t know when this gets easier. Or when it’s enough. Or what the fuck the planets are waiting for on their journey to this apparent perfect alignment.

I don’t know what this desperation says about me. Does it even say anything? Am I not happy in some aspect of my life? Am I compensating? Am I procrastinating? Or am I just super keen to be a mumma-bear?

Right now I just feel sad.
In my heart.

 

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