At some point I am going to collapse from the exhaustion of it all, but not until Day 61.
Today begins the final 20 days. I honestly cannot believe I just wrote that. I am incredibly grateful for my supportive friends and family–because without you–I would have started, but I never would have been able to sustain it without the motivation that someone out there was reading it.
I have never been good at journaling. I would only write during difficult times. By the time I would find myself on the other side of the difficulty, I would throw out the journal thinking, Why on earth would I ever want to read that again? I hated every minute of living through it, I’m never going to want to read about it.
That has been the nice thing about this blog. I’m remembering the things I want to remember and really letting go of that which I don’t. I want to remember the moments that mattered. The moments that built me. The moments that took my breath away.
All that other mishegoss — Let. It. Go.
It’s incredibly grounding. I feel ready for whatever is around the corner; like I’ve passed a test.
Today I went to the mat for eight hours, figuratively speaking. Chaz is hosting a mini-retreat this weekend for a small group. So all day today and all day tomorrow we are ‘retreating’ for eight hours each day in one of the glorious canyons of Los Angeles, away from all civilization (meaning, no cell service).
We arrived at 9:00am. When I walked into the room, I felt like an entirely new person from when I wrote this almost two months go. The weekend before Thanksgiving in El Capitan I had just finished my last failed ivf cycle with my own eggs and I was in pretty empty place.
Even though I have not experienced it yet, I know there is something about the physical longing to give birth that the poor men in our lives simply cannot understand. Jonathan wanted to fix it — but I knew when we got the call telling us the final cycle was negative, I was going to have to find the sunlight peaking through the clouds again for myself.
I was going to have to come to terms with the fact that I had a really great shot at having a baby with a younger woman’s eggs — but I was never going to have this picture:
The truth is, I may not have had this picture even with my own eggs. My parents look like brother and sister, practically. I was bound to be this prefect mixture of two people that looked a lot alike.
Jonathan and I look nothing alike. And honestly, it’s not up to me. It’s not up to Jonathan. Despite all of my struggles with faith, I do know there is something much more divine involved in the creation of life.
There are certain things in life where the only answer is: Have faith.
And I do. For the first time, I really do.
Today we sat in a circle–a much smaller circle than the one in November–and I just spoke openly. It felt good. I teared up for a bit, but I know it had more to do with my collective journey for the past 41 days than it had to do with my eggs.
What’s left of my eggs and I are on speaking terms again. The conversations are not deep, but I don’t hate them and I am no longer trying to fix them. They have thanked me.
Our time here in this body, on this earth is so short — and it gets faster the closer we get to the end. I don’t want to rush to the end filled with bitterness, regret, resentments, anger, anxiety, fear, shame or any other number of useless emotions.
Why would you want to spend the limited moments we have feeling any of that?
Personally, I don’t want to rush at all. I want to slow down and take it all in.
Maybe that’s why I opened when I stopped racing biology? I’m no longer trying to outrun anything. Instead, I have faith in The Girl Who Likes Chicken n’ Dumplings and feel immense gratitude for her willingness to be an egg donor.
I’ll have a picture like that one above in some form or another. Maybe losing the fake tree background. Or not.
At the end of the day — after the circle, the lunch, the yoga, the hike — one of the attendees came up to me with tears in her eyes and basically told me she was adopted and she was incredibly grateful to her adoptive mother. Her adoptive mother and her birth mother are actually friends now.
Life has a funny way of working out however it’s supposed to if we’re open enough to allow it to happen.
She said little spirits come for us to raise in all sorts of ways. She knew my time was coming.
My dear friend Shannon says the same thing. Actually, lots of people say the same thing. Even me.
She finished by saying she was incredibly moved by my story and grateful I shared it. She gave me a big hug. But what she gave me more than all of that, was a piece of truth. A piece of who she really is.
We all spend a lot of time posturing in our alleged perfection, which is an illusion. I prefer basking in the imperfection, it’s absolutely authentic and way more fun.
Anyone remember Glamour Shots?
C’mon, give yourself permission to be a fool.