Nothing profound here. Just somewhat overwhelmed by my feelings. I had an intense weekend reconnecting with some out of town family, including some little ones. Little ones and babies and moms, including my younger sister. Especially now, since the Great Escape, I don’t really know if I’ll ever get the chance to be a mom. When I was still with Mr. X, I figured I’d get to one way or another despite our fertility challenges, though I do recognize that probably was fairly arrogant of me.
Back when I had my old blog, there was something I couldn’t bring myself to write about (and probably a good thing, seeing as X was reading that blog) that happened a couple of weeks before my Big Realization (that our “problems” were really verbal/emotional abuse). I had been thinking about his unwillingness to seek help for his problems and just how HARD everything was for me with him. I was also thinking about a recent trip to visit my family and about how my sisters’ husbands were with them and their kids. I tried to imagine what my life would actually be like with Mr. X and a little one and it just hit me smack!: I knew I could never have children with him–regardless of fertility treatments, adoption, whatever. I knew that it could never happen with him as he was. I knew I could never do that–I didn’t know how I was going to avoid it, I just knew that I. could. not. do. it.
So, for those of you who “knew me then,” obviously I didn’t write about that, but it was pretty big. And a couple of weeks later I read The Verbally Abusive Relationship again, and the veil of denial came off for good.
But this weekend I was at my nieces’ birthday party and was around for the first time in a really, really long time a bunch of little kids, and babies, and moms and something inside me twinged. Or more than twinged, actually, more like crumbled. Since the Great Escape I hadn’t really been thinking about my need to have a child so much, which is good as I need so much of my energy right now just to take care of myself. But it became really real to me that I might never, really might never, have my own little one. It seems like I had my best shot with X (which we all know would have been a disaster), and now it’s gone. So I wasted my best years, my best shot on him, and who knows how long it will take for me to get my shit together to even be capable of being a mom, and now I feel like with all that he’s taken from me, wait!–here’s one more thing.
This wasn’t what I wanted to write. I wanted to write something about how, you know, it’s ok, really. I might be a mom someday or I might just be the greatest aunt ever, and I’m ok with that, but that’s not true. What I would have told you up through last month was that the greatest pain of my life was infertility–the pain of not being able to have a child. Now that I’m aware of all of this emotional abuse craziness, those two pains may be neck and neck for the Worst Pain Award, and I don’t know, the jury may be out for a while on that one.
So that’s where I am right now. And I know that I have so much good in my life. I have four beautiful nieces and one beautiful nephew. I have two amazing sisters. My parents have been more than I ever could have asked for. I strangely ran into an old friend this weekend in this strange town far from home and totally spilled my guts to him in the middle of a bookstore about what’s happened this last month and he was amazing and sent me the greatest email yesterday. A few people have contacted me to check on me and show their support once I let them in on what’s going on. I have wonderful friends who have all supported me. I have this blogging community, which helps me more than I can express.
And at the same time, I have this pain that seems to seep in through the cracks, it seems to reach up and grab me just when I’m letting the happiness take over.