13 Oct

Sometimes in life, you feel hopelessly lost.  Like you don’t know where you belong anymore.  Who you are.  Who you are meant to be.  Where you are meant to go next.

Maybe this is the post-race melancholy that everyone says happens after you finish a big goal race.

Maybe this is me when I haven’t run any major mileage in a month+ (except for that one day I ran 50 miles ha).

Maybe this is just the stress of a new, really-important-for-me-professionally school year.

More likely this is just me overthinking things, which is kind of how I roll.

Lately, all I can think about is baby stuff.  We are still on a break.  We’ve been since mid-this-summer when we were pretty much forced to after 2-3 months (I lost count and refuse to waste any more precious mental energy on failed cycles and sadness) straight of nightly stomach shots…for ultimately no real reason other than some “cool” bruises and a whole lot of heartbreak.  It was time to let my body recover before we tried again for our “lucky cycle.”  Luck seems to have evaded us for over 5 years now.  I’m not very optimistic anymore, so the “lucky cycle” is kind of a sarcastic joke at this point.  Our doctor told us we could start trying again in the fall…but we can’t.  Because I have to take so much time off from work to go to the doctor every single cycle (and it’s all “come in right now” based on my blood work the night before, so it’s un-plan-able)–I can’t.  It’s my tenure year–I can’t.  I have a new principal to prove myself to–I can’t.  I feel like I can’t take the time off, especially not for another roll of the dice, one that will almost definitely not work.  And I am so incredibly angry and frustrated by that that it brings tears to my eyes when I think about it too much.  Because “normal” people would just decide to try again and *yay* have all of the fun of trying to have a baby.  But we can’t.  We have to schedule doctor visits, blood work, medication.  We have to have things shoved inside me, undergo humiliating visits, deal with pain and stress.  We can’t “just try.”  So we wait and try not to think about how unfair life is and focus on the good things (and there are so many of them in our lives).  But it still sucks to know you want something and may never get that something, to watch it slip further and further away all the time.  I always dreamed of being the young mom of 3-5 awesome kids.  Now I wonder if I’ll ever be a mom, of even one kid.
Realizing all of this (again) two weeks ago, I sobbed in the shower.  I couldn’t stop.  I haven’t fallen apart over this in so long. I thought I was “over it.”  But the sobbing was a good release, and I felt much better.  Sometimes you just need to cry it all out until you’re too tired to cry anymore.


I am so proud and so happy of what I’ve done the past few months.  50 miles is an amazing accomplishment built over months of training, physical and mental training.  I know I can do 50 faster next time. I know I can do the training.  I want to keep getting better, faster than I was the last time.  So maybe this is my “place.”  Maybe I’m not “meant to be” a mom (P.S. this is one of the worst, most devastating things you can say to your infertile friends).  Maybe I’m just “meant to be” a runner, have my little niche within #TrailsRoc, have fun adventures in the woods.

But then I wonder if this, this running, is just a replacement.

When you read about ultra runners, so many of them are addicts of some kind.  They replace their “harmful” addictions with running.  So maybe that’s what I’m doing.  I can’t get pregnant.  So I’ll just run a lot of miles instead.  I can’t do something important like create and raise a child…so I’ll run a lot of miles, break my body apart that way, give my mind something else to occupy it…something that, at least up til now, I’ve been relatively successful at.  Because success (even at this relatively low level) feels a whole hell of a lot better than all the medical failures we’ve experienced the past few years.

Lately I feel lost–like I don’t have a place.  Like the people who have been “my people” aren’t anymore.  Because I’m not a mom.  I may never be a mom.  So I don’t fit with the “moms,” some of whom have made that abundantly clear to me, in case I haven’t been able to figure it out on my own.  I’m figuring out how to navigate this world of infertility-while-everyone-around-me-gets-to-be-a-mom on my own while everyone else drifts away…not many other people seem to want to be a part of it (and I can’t say I blame them–it’s kind of a shitty place to be).  Sometimes I try to justify it–they don’t know what to say to me because I’m drowning in sorrow while they are trying to decide if the sacrifices of motherhood are actually “worth it.”  It just adds to the grief of this entire thing, and at this point I can’t add any more grief to my plate.  I’m also not a non-mom by choice.  I don’t NOT want kids.  I don’t dislike kids.  I love them.  So I don’t fit there.  I’m not too young to be a mom anymore–that excuse has come and gone.  But I’m not so old that I’ve already mothered and my babies are just “grown” now.  I don’t fit anywhere.  I’m some weird, in-between that I didn’t pick, that I would never have picked, that I would never wish on anyone.


And so I’m lost.  And I run.  And running helps me to feel lost, but in a different way.  In a good way.  Lost in the “Oh look, I’ve just spent 4 hours in the woods and didn’t realize it’s time for lunch” kind of way.  Lost in the “for an hour on Tuesday night, I am caring for people and that’s all that matters” kind of way.  Lost in the “look at this amazing scenery–you are so much smaller than anything else in the world–just be as good as you can possibly be and try to make the world a little bit better while you’re here” kind of way.  And that…that is a lost that isn’t bad.  It isn’t bad at all…


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