60 Days on the Mat – Day 6: Where Are My Familiars?


It’s after midnight in Texas.  I have to start by thanking Clomind and Cabernet for reposting one of my blogs here.  I have been meaning to thank them in the blog for a couple of days and with all the travel, work and yoga — I keep forgetting.  So, Katie, thank you.  Clomid and Cabernet is a wonderful website for readers going through fertility challenges.  I know there are a few of you out there.

I have had a couple of emails asking me about my fertility treatments, and I will never address that because I’m not an expert on the medical aspect of fertility, though I do know my own situation.  I know enough to know every woman is different.  I trust my doctor and I have complete faith in him.  I will not talk about symptoms, treatments, supplements or anything of that nature in my posts because ultimately I do not find that information helpful for the soul.  All it ever did for me was cause a great deal of anxiety.  I also know every single woman going through treatments will do it, even if they say they are not.  You simply can’t help it.  Google can be the devil.

The most helpful things to me are the stories of women dealing with all the challenges of fertility and simply talking about it.  When I talk about it on this blog, I am talking about my emotional roller coaster of the process.  It is ever-changing.  At the moment, I am doing a lot of yoga and waiting.

Today was the most challenging day of my 60 Days on the Mat thus far.  Having 54 more to go, I can only imagine that there will be more challenging days ahead.  I keep thinking maybe I should have started this after all of my travel, after the new year, after Hanukkah or after Winter Solstice or Christmas — but the reality is there is never a perfect time to start anything.  Sometimes we have to just start.

So here I am at day 6.

My Mom and I went to look at neighborhoods in Austin today.  My husband is not here, so I am taking it all in and gathering information.  I saw some jaw-droppingly beautiful places.  When you know what the same money buys in Los Angles, you question your sanity for living in LA at all.  I saw a house with a breathtaking view overlooking Lake Travis on a huge lot with every bell and whistle you can possibly imagine.  I was texting my husband pictures — ready to have someone start sending our stuff, but then reality set in …

We’re actually going to MOVE.  We’re really SERIOUS.

And then the messages in my head went something like this:

Who on earth is going to color and cut my hair? — Will we be able to find a neighborhood restaurant like Nicola’s where the owner knows us and we have “our table” every Friday night? — Can Boomer climb stairs? — What if I get pregnant, where will the baby be born? — I will miss yoga with Chaz and Ellen — I will miss Lori and Heidi and my husband’s aunt and uncle and cousins — What about massages with Gayle? — I really like my dentist — and so on and so on and so on.

Hello, Fear.

It’s not that I am any less excited to move, but suddenly the reality of what moving really does mean started to set in.  So by the time I was driving back from looking at all these fabulous houses I was not only missing my husband, I was missing my familiar.  Moving was going to entail finding new familiars and that had me anxious.

So, in an effort to calm down a bit — I decided to go for a restorative yoga class this afternoon.  I have never met a restorative yoga class I didn’t like.

The yoga instructor was this wonderful aging hippie with a long white beard.  When I first saw him, I was actually excited.  He had bowls, he had gongs — he was going to make relaxing sounds.  Cool.

The room was freezing.  I know it is not supposed to be hot for restorative, but I was shivering — making it hard to relax.  I was able to overcome this by putting on my fleece, but I could not overcome what happened next.

He put on this “music” that was supposed to help relax you deeply, but instead, I felt like I was being tortured.  The best way to describe it is the sound of a plane revving up to take off — over and over and over.  I am extremely sensitive to sound.  So sensitive, I used to cry when they said “Hey You Guys” at the beginning of The Electric Company because the voice pitch was loud and grating.  I have not changed.

Instead of lying there restoring, I was crawling out of my skin.  My face was contorting.  I was begging him to shut it off inside my head.

By the time class was over, I bolted out of there.  I was not relaxed.  I was not restored.  I simply needed a drink.

As I drove to meet my family for dinner, I was trying to figure out what happened today. I called my husband practically in tears.

I wanted my familiar and my entire day was not familiar.  It was not familiar at all.

I woke up in a strange bed at my cousin’s house with someone else’s dogs — it was perfectly lovely, but it was not my bed with my husband and my cat.  Not my familiar.

I drove a rental car that was too big with a GPS lady that did not talk.  Not my familiar.

I saw beautiful places I could see us living, but still not my familiar.

And I won’t even go into that yoga class again …

I ultimately had a lovely dinner with my family and then stayed up too late talking to my cousin — and these strange dogs are back in my bed (apparently, I am the Italian Greyhound Whisperer).

Everything takes time.  Adjusting to a rental car takes time.  Last night I was startled having the dogs in the bed, tonight we’re old friends.  Moving is going to be great when we find the right situation, but you can’t just go somewhere — even a place you love as much as I love Texas — and assume all the familiars are going to be there waiting for you.  They are simply there waiting for you to find them.

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