This week my acupuncturist, a woman I trust more than any doctor I have ever visited, suggested a new track for me. A year ago I would have nodded my head politely at the words soul guidance and just said "thanks for the idea" and left it at that....
By way of preamble: My last miscarriage was finalized (I hate the word "resolved") by a D&C in April of 2015. I jumped on the horse of Not Trying, Not Protecting, in June of 2015. NTNP is a funky place to live for me - because, well sure, we're not protecting. But we're also, for all intents and purposes, continuing to TRY. Let's just say that we never miss a fertile window in my cycle and leave it at that.
I am over one year into NTNP, and (of course) not getting pregnant, and lo and behold I am falling back into despondency. I have shifted from a (natural) fear of pregnancy, to a WTF, am I now well and truly infertile? frame of mind. I can't for the life of me figure out how to climb out of this hole. I am 42, well past the age where someone should expect to get pregnant. And yet, I was pregnant at 41. And 40 and 39 and 38. That's a lot of years to crave mothering another tiny person.
But I stare at the (many) pregnant bellies in my office (so many). And I still find myself imagining myself as potentially being one of them, joining their ranks with my own swollen belly. I have spent money and hours sitting with a therapist for over a year now trying to rid this image from my brain and I can't. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many times I rationally tell myself that my fertility story has come to an end, it doesn't go away. It's like there's this little ping deep inside my core, and it keeps fucking pinging baby baby baby. You want a baby. You know you want a baby. But hey now: You fool. You are not one of them. They can have babies. Babies are not for you.
And then you fall back into old patterns, that may or may not be destructive. You're being johnny on the spot with your vitamins and supplements. You're drinking wheatgrass shots again. You shrug your shoulders when your acupuncturist says it wouldn't hurt to take royal jelly and surreptitiously hop on amazon to order some. You're like some fertility crackhead, lurking back into the alley, not wanting anyone to spot you in your ridiculousness.
Admitting that you want this baby is awful because then you have to face the reality that NTNP is just an acronym for begging the universe for a miracle. And you don't like to beg when there's people who have a whole lot more to beg for than you, and yo, just shut down your facebook and twitter because what you really need to do is crawl and hide under a rock. Enough with your baby baby baby pangs.
So, when you realize you're stuck.... it's time to unstick yo-self.
On Monday, my acupuncturist recognized that this internal monologue is slowly destroying me. And she suggested that I seek help. Of the spiritual and metaphysical kind. From a woman who may be able to tap deeper into why I have hit a wall. And maybe provide guidance for me on how to tear it down and move forward.
I am not prepared to go into a ton of detail about the appointment I have just set up for myself, partly because I have no idea what to expect. All I can say is that two ballet classes a week, zumba, massages, therapy, acupuncture, hugging the fuck out of Niblet and my Viking, and counting my numerous blessings have not made a dent in my own personal existential crisis.
I'm open to anything.