The Truth

I'm not good with feelings.  I'm not good with emotions.  I'm absolutely terrible when it comes to opening up and describing what's going on in my head.  Timmy and I have been married for almost two years, have known each other for four, and I still have difficulties being completely honest with him.  Not that I lie; I just don't want to talk about anything serious.  But between him, my mom, and my best friend, I manage to do so a little.  Not a lot.  That's where this comes in.  I'm trying very hard to change this fact, mostly because I know I can't deal with everything on my own, and know that there is no one in my life that can relate to what I'm going through.  But perhaps somewhere in this blogging community, I can find support.

This blog post has been sitting, waiting for a few months now for me to build up the courage to release it to the world.  I'm terrified.  I'm shaking.  I'm admittedly crying, but just a little.  I'm resolved.

I need to describe a little back story before I get to my issue.

Timmy and I married on July 20, 2010.  We eloped in a small town in Northern California, just a little over a month after he proposed.  It was quick, it was small, and it was perfect.  One month later, we started to try for a family.

Before you say anything, I know: we're too young, it's too soon, we're not ready.  I've heard it all, and maybe you're right.  But I don't agree.

I was fastidious in the effort.  I kept track of everything on calendars, I watched for any little sign that could indicate we had succeeded, and I raced to the bathroom to take a pregnancy test every month.  And every month it turned up negative.  This effort, this future we would share together, became almost unbearable.

A year goes by.  I'm heartbroken, ashamed, desperate, and angry.  I lost a great friend because I was envious and resentful of her life, and couldn't understand why I couldn't have the same.  I cried, I begged, and I shouted; Timmy was there through it all, but I don't think he ever understood just how deep it went.

After we left California last September, I pushed it all down.  If I was honest with myself, things had actually worked out; I couldn't imagine moving to another country with a baby, or while pregnant.  It didn't change my feelings though.  But instead of talking about it with anyone, I decided it was best kept to myself.  Previously, having been open with a small group of friends at our last base, I had let on about the basics.  It ended up with some being genuinely sorry for our ordeal, and others starting to keep their distance.  No one wanted to mention children around me.  No one understood what I was going through.  Everyone tried to tell me it would be okay, everything would work out, it just needed time.  What I needed was for people to stop talking to me like that.  So I just quit mentioning it.

When we arrive in Germany, I made a small group of friends.  They know that we've been trying, but that's all.  I pretend like it doesn't bother me, and they leave me alone about it.  If there are any questions, I brush it off or lie.  I don't need to lose anyone else because of my selfishness.

The truth of the matter is, it's still hard.  I don't track anything anymore or take pregnancy tests because I honestly just can't handle it.  I pretend that it doesn't bother me when I hear someone got pregnant, or that I hate seeing women who are 15-18 years old and have children.  I make jokes about how happy I am I don't have my own little rugrat running around to clean up after, and that I'm so much happier the way my life is now.  None of it's real.

I feel ashamed that I can't perform a very natural biological string of events.  I'm ashamed that I'm so angry and selfish.  I'm ashamed I can't fulfill my husband's desires to be a father.  I'm ashamed that I let my personal feelings ruin one of the best friendships I ever had.  I'm angry that I have let this turn me into a monster, albeit a hidden one.  I'm angry that I resent the people I love for being so lucky.  I'm angry that crack-whores can have children so easily while I have such a difficult time, but that one doesn't bother me as much.  I'm angry that it's been 21 months and still nothing.

Timmy finally convinced me to see a doctor about it.  I was absolutely terrified; they say ignorance is bliss, and in this case it was true.  I don't want to know that something is horribly wrong with me.  I'd rather be ignorant.  I've been diagnosed with possible endometriosis [which can cause difficulty getting pregnant], and the only way to find out for sure [and to fix the issue] is by exploratory surgery.  I don't want surgery.  I don't want to have to go to a doctor.  I want to be normal.

I deal with this on a daily basis.  Some days aren't so bad; I can honestly see it being just Timmy & I for the rest of our lives, and being okay with that.  Other days are horrible; I lock myself in my house to hide from the world.  Other days are in between.  A mixture of good and bad and a mask that I put on.  Maybe I shouldn't let this effect me so badly, but I can't help it.  I can't let it go, I can't be okay with it, I can't help thinking about it every single day.

I understand that I haven't been trying for 15 years to have a child, and that it's much more difficult for other women.  I'm not trying to take away from those who know they can't have children at all, or who have to do so with IVF or surrogacy.  I get that I only feel a fraction of what they're going through.  Despite all of that, all of my emotions run so deeply and I can't shut them off or feel better about the fact that others have it worse than I.

I have to see a fertility specialist when Timmy gets home.  My recent visit to the doctor raised enough concern to send me off base to a local German doctor to figure out what's wrong.  I'm terrified, anxious, hopeful, despairing.  I'm amazed I can feel all of that at once.

I don't know what the issue is, nor do I know what the answer will be.  I do know, however, that no matter the outcome, this will not define me.  I will never simply be "the woman who can't have children." I am so much more than that.  I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, a dog lover, a bookworm.  It won't be easy, but this issue will not control my life.  I refuse to let it take over.

This post might be a one time deal, the only time I open up about my personal issues.  It may become a regular outlet, a way to get everything off my chest.  Whatever the case, I do hope that letting this out will relieve some of the stress and anxiety that has been plaguing me since 2010.

I don't want your pity.  I don't want your insincere support because you feel obligated.  I'm honestly not looking for anything.  I just needed to talk about it, openly, for once in my life without getting sneers or angry replies or that look of discomfort because of the topic.  Mostly, I needed to admit to myself that I have a legitimate problem that is ruining me.  Maybe this will help me heal.