Infertility is trauma.
I repeat. Infertility IS trauma.
I have moments when I just can’t keep my emotions in. I think about my daughter and feel an overwhelming amount of shock and awe, that it brings me to tears. It’s like I’m outside of my body, trying to get back in. I cry when I hear the words “my mama”, or when she wants to hold my hand from the backseat of the car, or by the smell of her sweaty feet.
When these moments happens, I tell her it’s just because I love her so much. It happens more often than I’d like to admit, and I can see the effect it has on her. When she sees a kid crying, she will turn and say to me “he’s crying because he loves his mommy so much”. I guess it’s not a terrible association with crying, but this is a part of motherhood I never expected.
I wonder if this feeling will ever wear off, or if I will one day comprehend that she’s here to stay - with me.
Infertility is trauma. And although, infertility was not life threatening, it often felt like I was dying. 8 years of watching friends and family have baby, after baby. Sometimes with some effort, sometimes by accident. Feeling left behind, alone, unwanted, undeserving. Constant fear, anxiety, panic.
.
This is trauma, and as my friends @uniquely_knitted explain it - your life isn’t at risk, your livelihood is. Living in perpetual fight or flight. They give the analogy of a typical traumatic experience as seeing a bear in the woods and running from it. And with infertility trauma the bear comes to live with you.
Imagine living with a bear for 8 years and then being told he is finally gone and that you are safe. It’s impossible to believe that. The first year of Florence’s life, I thought the bear was gonna take her away from me, and I still feel his presence, 2.5 years later.
Now, when the bear comes around, I hold her tightly, look him straight in the face and tell him I see him. I let him do his thing and then ask him to go. Because, I’ve got this.
I recently met a young woman who’s mother conceived her via donor eggs, and she shared something with me that I can’t get out of my head. She can’t ride a bike! She’s 27 years old, and afraid to ride a bike. She’s afraid to do a lot of things actually, because her mother was always protecting her from things that could potentially hurt her. Her mother must have had a lot of the same fears I did. I get it!
This young woman laughed as she told me about her bike riding fears, and said that she understood why her mother protected her. She told me that there is no other relationship more important to her than the one she has with her mother. Their love for one another was so raw and real.
It was like peering into the eyes of future, Florence. I learned a lot from this young woman, and actually took Flo out to try her bike that day. I have to constantly remind myself that I can still protect her and push her to take risks, even if it’s scary for me. It’s a balance, and easier said than done.
This is a motherhood you can’t truly understand until you have been thru it. It’s brutal and beautiful in its own way. No one will ever protect her the way I do. No one will ever love her like I do. I love her like my life depends on it, because it does.
There is no greater love than this.
It’s important to know that babies don’t cure infertility trauma. Sometimes they heighten it, actually. And even though I wanted so badly to have more babies, I was equally terrified of having to keep them all safe.
If you are a mother after infertility, and feeling any of these feelings, please know you aren’t alone. Trauma is a very hard thing to go through, but we can do hard things.
