One year anniversary

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Tomorrow marks one year since our decision – The Decision – to give up trying to get pregnant.  In some ways, I can’t believe it’s been a whole year already; in other ways, December 3, 2008, seems like a lifetime ago.  There are those days in life, those moments, when everything changes.  One moment things are one way, and the next moment everything is different, and you know things will never go back to the way they were.  You know *you* will never go back to the way *you* were.  The Decision was one of those moments.  One of those life- altering events.  Things will forever be “before The Decision” or “after The Decision”; that line is there.  It will likely fade over the years, but it will always be there.  This year it feels especially deep and jagged.

I’ve gone through really hard times in my life before – dealing with severe depression when I was in college.  There were plenty of times when I felt like my life was over, like things were just too much to handle, like I was just going to break into a million pieces.  But I don’t think any of those times were like The Decision.  They were drawn out over periods of time, and they were part of the ebb and flow of how my life was during that time.  Kind of like how infertility was for me before The Decision.

After The Decision, after that one moment, I felt like my world was ending.  It was such a huge loss.  I’ve waited to be pregnant since being in high school.  Part of me wondered how I could voluntarily make a decision to let go of something that was so important to me.  Part of me wondered how I was going to keep living.  There were times when I felt like I couldn’t even breath.  And I felt such an overwhelming, almost crushing grief.

So, what did I do with all of that grief and pain?  I somehow managed to keep going, and even maintained some semblance of a normal life.  How can something so intensely painful, so earth-shattering for one person, be so invisible to the rest of the world?  It doesn’t make sense.  Yet that’s how it works, especially with invisible wounds, like infertility.

And now, a year later, the pain has lessened, but it’s still there, and it still feels just as invisible to the world around me.  The grief is less intense, but it remains part of who I am.  The moment doesn’t really become any less momentous with the passage of time.

One year since The Decision.



  1. You describe the pain so well. It is crushing and it is invisible. Sometimes I felt like I would scream because it hurt so much, but I’d be in the middle of a conversation with a group of people and they had no idea what I was feeling inside. I couldn’t believe my heart kept beating and the world kept turning. It’s been almost two years for us and the pain continues to lesson, but I’m not sure if it ever goes away. I love my son, and I can’t imagine a different child than the one we have, but that doesn’t mean giving up the dream of being pregnant doesn’t still sting. Every once in a while, usually when I hear someone complain about their baby belly or talk about feeling their baby kick, I feel the pressure in my chest and I think “Oh yeah, that’s the infertility again.” But it’s not as often now.

    ((Hugs)) to you. I hope you continue to move toward healing and that your dream of becoming a mom comes true soon, even if it doesn’t involve pregnancy.

  2. I agree with Karen. You describe the pain so well…crushing, overwhelming, feeling like the world was ending and yet it is hidden from the rest of the world. Even those who know of what we are going through have no idea what we are really going through.

    My therapist (who has 1 child via adoption and another via donor ovum) tells me that over time IF becomes less “front and center”, but out of nowhere it will tap you on the shoulder to say “Hello, old friend.” It will never fully go away…

  3. Hugs to you. I love you very much. You know that. I am here for you whenever you need me.


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