Call me Suzy

Back in the day, when I was blissfully unaware that bad things can happen to good people, I wandered throughout life with rose-colored glasses.
Yep, long ago I really was Miss Suzy Sunshine.
The nice thing about living that way is that life (generally) seems to be just full of excitement and wonder, and pressure? almost minimal or non-existent. Failures were just momentary bumps in the road. The idea “there’s always a next time” really seemed plausible and in fact, there always was a “next time” right around the corner.
And, with just the right amount of drive and stick-to-it-tiveness, anything was achievable.
And then I grew up.
Scratch that.
I got old.
There’s something about entering your 40’s that slams the brakes on all of that sunshine. And it has nothing to do with life changing or even the people around us… it has everything to do with the change in ourselves.
Infertility gave me a reason to be bitter, and well, I just took it and ran. Instead of looking at the goodness in my life, all I could see was…
Those damn rose-colored glasses turned to grey, and a shitty shade of grey at that. At times, it dimmed e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.  I was damn-near blind.
Suddenly, in my blindness, I became the self-appointed purveyor of fairness. I was insulted that life dealt me a bad hand, and there was (is?) no remedy for that. If you are a family of 4+ you were a target of my jealousy. If you were a family of 4+ and had the nerve to complain about ANYTHING going on in your life you were a target of my anger. If you took pity on my story and made an ass-backwards remark to me in public to belittle what I experienced or felt? well…
let’s just say I prayed the karma police would catch you before I did.
And then I decided one day that I just couldn’t carry the anger around anymore. I grew tired of putting myself in a box and labeling it “BREAKABLE: Please Don’t Touch.” Every day I get a little better. Let’s face it, I’ll never go back to the person I once was, but I will develop into a different and better version of me.  Eventually.
It’s been more than a year since my failed donor egg cycle. When I think back to the feelings of failure then, it saddens me. It DID feel like the world was tipping over. It DID feel like I was never, ever going to heal. I DID feel like a desperate junkie, and when the treatments ended… hell, I felt like I would end too.
But I didn’t.
And I am still here.
And I’ve given up my karma police badge. I’ve come to terms that good and bad happens every day to everyone. It’s not about me being singled out.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again… this journey gave me a gift I would never ever return…


And here I thought I got nothing… 
guess I need to get a new pair of glasses.

Miss Suzy Partly Cloudy Sunny

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Failure is not an option

I was extremely efficient last week.

Remember that list of a million things I talked about? I was knocking them off one by one.

Here’s the thing about lists that is no surprise to anyone- after one list is done another one takes its place. I used to be a woman of few lists. I was so adept at getting crap done, by the time I sat down to make a list I didn’t need to write it down.

Then, over the last few years, I started to morph into a person with multiple lists and post-it notes. It is maddening. Especially when I know I used to be good at it.

I was watching a show on cable not long ago… well, let me digress for a little background… I upgraded my cable at home and now I get e-v-e-r-y channel on earth- even all the pay channels (for a promotional period of course). So when I am wide awake and stressed at night I watch TV, specifically movies and reruns of “Top Chef” and “Say Yes to the Dress”… ummm, yeah…don’t ask about that second one. I got married 15 years ago and yet I still love looking at wedding dresses. Don’t judge me.

Anyway..I had been watching a movie (can’t remember which) and one of the lines from a character in it resonated with me:

“I don’t try anymore, because I am afraid. It is much easier to not try at all. If I don’t bother, I don’t have to worry about being a failure.”


It was as if a giant arrow virtually appeared above my head pointing down at me… THIS IS YOU STUPID.

…Well, damn! No wonder I am procrastinating lately. It was as if that one line was written expressly to me.

(mental note, mention this to Dr. Anne)

The next day I was wandering around the house and looked at projects that were unfinished or never started at all. And it dawned on me that I am my own roadblock to ever being that person from years ago that went missing during infertility treatment. I am letting my failures beat me every single day.  Still.

I won’t try because I am afraid. Every friggin’ day.

Therefore, nothing gets done. And the list grows longer.  And I get mad at myself.

The cycle is never-ending.

Hell, I have a project (related to my biggest failure) that I am not even blogging about here. Why? Because if I commit to it here, in THIS place, it’s as if I am setting myself up to fail.

Finally, it all becomes clear. The tragic part?  My greatest relief, writing, has been a victim of my own crazy neuroses. Somehow I have grown to expect that bad luck is hiding in the shadows, just lurking and waiting to jump out and tear my heart to pieces.

The monster that I blogged about during my egg donor cycle has exacted its final blow.

It seems that I myself have become the monster I always dreaded.

How’s that for self-realization???

I had a dream last night, like many of the ones before it, but this one was different. In this dream I wasn’t running or hiding. I was happy. A person I’ve never met told me a secret, and it was the best news ever. It felt real. I woke up feeling elated. Positive, and with new purpose. Determined to make my dream a reality.

If I can change, I can stop making lists and start focusing on today.

Perhaps I can escape the sense that I am a victim, and start acting victorious.

It’s a tall order, but something I need to do.

I’m adding it to my list, pronto.

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Dreaming of me

I’ve always been a vivid dreamer.

My dreams are in color, I can remember small details, I always “know” when I am dreaming, and most of all… I’ve become very perficient at knowing how to wake myself up from a dream I don’t like.

I’m not sure how I figured out that last part. As a kid, I had a lot of nightmares, and my trick (back then) to waking up was first realizing I was dreaming, and then closing my eyes in the dream and pressing my belly button.

Viola! My bad dream cure.

Except sometimes it backfired (and still does), when I manage to think I woke myself up but realizing I just forced myself into a parallel dream state. Even when I wake from a horrifying dream, I need to stay awake for at least 10 minutes, because I can easily slip back into the same awful dream.  Great, right?

Last night I had a particularly bad dream. I was stuck in some sort of pit, and snakes were chomping on my limbs. You see, I hate snakes. Like Indiana Jones, when I see a snake in my dreams I think: “Snakes! Why does it always have to be snakes?!” It’s my anxiety dream of choice.

So I manage to wake myself up (or so I thought). I sat up in bed, breathed a sign of relief, and just when I thought I was home free, a snake appeared under my covers. Argh! Worse- I had a heck of a time waking myself up. When I did finally, I jumped out of bed and stood in the middle of the room praying that I was really awake. ala Paranormal State without the demon in the house.

I was awake… but the fear of lying back down was too much. So I rocked back and forth and willed the nightmare away before I slipped back into bed.

I’m not sure how I was blessed with such a jabberwocky brain. Or if there are many people like me, or if I am a class unto myself. I’ve pinpointed that my dreams are stress relief for me. It’s a way of my working out the cobwebs nestled in the far corners of my head.

I just wish I dreamed more about good things than bad.

The irony is my dreams have gotten a little more nightmarish in the last 5 years (oh, duh!) no doubt due to the constant state of stress I’ve managed to wrap myself into.

I had always liked to blame the infertility medications on my active imagination, but now that it’s been 6 months without any artifical substances in my bloodstream, I guess I can’t.

The key now is to channel the negative energy away from my sleep ritual.

The problem… I’m not sure if that ever will change.

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Inside Out

I recently attended a local adoption seminar at an agency. I hesitate to write about it, because my reaction to it was unexpected.

I sort of walked into it with the task of obtaining information on domestic adoption. Get in, and get out. I am the sort of person that needs to chew on an idea after I’ve gathered initial information. So the surprise was on me, THIS information session was out of my comfort zone.

When S. and I got there, we sat in a small room with about 6 other couples. I sat with an inch thick folder on my lap which I procured on the way in. I watched the clock. The meeting started late. The social worker, a really nice person, gave her speech which sort of went off the beaten path a hundred times over… that was okay… but of course there’s always the guest who monopolizes the conversation.

I started to get annoyed. The business person in me is thinking, “this is an information session, not a personal one on one interview”. Give the necessary info to the crowd, and leave it up to the individuals to stay and ask questions.

I started to zone out, and fidget. And after an hour had passed, they brought in a lovely couple with their newborn baby to share their own journey. I listened to their story, and as I did I scanned the room and noticed that the other women were almost in tears. I was not. I was detached. I wanted to escape.

Again, I found myself in a place that was unfamiliar. Almost like we did not belong. We seemed to be the oldest in the room. We were the only couple that had a child at home. The other couples looked like Barbie and Ken clones. All I could envision in that moment was disappointment. 

It had nothing to do with the topic at hand… I was very much interested in it. I just felt like I didn’t belong there, like there was a spotlight above our head. The odd couple out.

I also had little interest in dwelling on the obvious emotion that was hanging in the room. It felt cheap.  Unnecessary.  It was just too much. I didn’t come there to be sucked into the vortex they attempted to create.

At the two hour mark I stood up, excused myself nicely and S. and I left. It was a quiet drive home.

I’m not even sure where that all came from that night. The agency seemed great. The employees seemed nice. I came home with more information than I could ever ask for.

I just feel weird about it. Unsettled.

This path is proving to be more than I bargained for.

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