The Waters Between

 

It’s not a question as to whether life is meaningful or meaningless
but rather an opportunity to create meaning out of meaninglessness.

An expectation is like a coin, it has two faces. How do you mean? you might ask. Well, in one hand they do give you something to get out of bed for, to sail towards, but if the radder fails its flip side can have you lost pretty quickly.

I like knowing how long something will take, I even don’t mind investing a lot of time when I know my efforts will be fruitful but when I give a goal the effort and time I think is due and it remains unmet I find myself in the waters of disappointment. For the most part, I am able to pull myself back on board and try again but something about failing to conceive a child had me contemplating abandoning my ship.

As I voyage through concurrent disappointment, my store of hope depleted, I shipwreck on failures shore. This place, though painful becomes a significant destination on my itinerary, it became the place I survived, between who I was and who I am becoming.

Planing holidays often brings on anxiety within me. I wonder; will we get good weather, will I pack everything we need, will I forget my razor again or god forbid the dry hair shampoo? These concerns are nothing to sweat about by any means but until we get there and back home it can be difficult to detach from the fears the unknown washes up.

Living infertility is not unlike planning a holiday during a pandemic. You are constantly rebooking cancelled appointments, preparing for the destination (a future with children), whilst knowing there is a possibility it may not happen at all.

“Stay positive," they say, but little do they know the corrosion of spirit these words effect each time they are uttered. All this weary sailer desires is a silent and affirming embrace.

Nothing in trying the conceive with medical intervention happens quickly, it’s rather painstakingly slow. When you have a set back mid cycle, in most cases it’s followed by the words “let’s try again next month,” and so it begins again; the wait for aunt flow to arrive, planning treatment around work and family responsibilities, holding a brave face at social events, stepping inside the ring of emotional punches fertility medication likes to throw to the gut, not to mention, the faux symptoms of pregnancy they induce… slow torture is one way to describe it.

The dream island I seek is yet in sight and its direction no clearer but the waters around me have calmed and so I continue to navigate my same circumstances not needing to know where I’ll end up.

I still see children in my future, whether I catch them or they escape me, their game of hide-n-go-seek is perhaps gestating a more interesting story than I could have written myself and just maybe I’ll birth a purpose wilder than I ever imagined.

I know the person I’ll become is far off still, many more steps to be made yet, but I am closer to my eden than when I started. At least at this port, I can accept what I see in the waters reflection; not a disappointing unloved woman I expect to one day become a mother but rather a loved and worthy childless women discovering her superpowers.

I have the waters sailed to thank for the lighter load I carry, the shells of meaning I discovered and the gifts of self love I brought home.