I wrote in detail about our second miscarriage, every up and down and the emotions that came with that experience. I mean good friggin' gravy, our baby DIED INSIDE ME and I still managed to write about it, so why the heck can't I get out a few sentences about adoption?!
I wrote about having false hope during treatments, the sometimes hurtful things people say, and the feelings of helplessness that come with the mess of infertility.
So what is the problem?
When I started this blog last year my infertility wasn't anything new. I was diagnosed with my endometriosis in 2005, seven years before I started telling the world about it (it wasn't really a secret either though). I had had seven years of treatments. Seven years of explaining to people what it was, what it felt like and what it was doing to my body. By the time I put this blog out there it was "oh yeah I have endometriosis. The tissue that is supposed to grow inside my uterus is growing on the outside of my internal organs and in my tubes. Yes, it's horribly painful. I have a lot of scarring inside my body, want to see my awesome surgery pictures?! You should see the tissues holding my bladder and uterus in place they're a gnarly MESS!" I could make light of it and really it didn't bother me one bit, I was comfortable talking about it.
We had already been going through three years of fertility treatments off and on by the time I started putting it on this blog. Three years of failure after failure (with one beautiful success :) ) but really it was the same kind of repeated failure. Does that make sense? I mean it really sucked having this heartbreak every month but it was the same kind of heartbreak of a failed cycle. Every month it was the same thing of medications, hoping for ovulation, having timed intercourse, going through the two week wait, taking five failed pregnancy tests and then having a period. It was hard every time but at least it became a familiar hard. You know that saying "better the devil you know than the devil you don't"? Yeah, that idea. It's easier to deal with difficult situations that are familiar than ones that aren't.
So anyway, writing about our infertility wasn't as difficult because we had been doing it a long time, it was familiar to us and it was a lot of the same, and therefore mostly predictable, stuff.
I've realized that is the issue. We haven't been in the adoption ring a long time (we started in May of 2012). Every setback or bad experience is new. It's a new kind of hurt, its a new kind of heartbreak and its a new experience we couldn't have been entirely prepared for. I'm going through the shock, the settling in, the mourning and the dealing for new situations. I'm having to learn how to cope all over again.
I had no idea when we started this that I would have to deal with being called all kinds of "evil" and "baby thief" by the anti-adoption crowd. I'm getting a thicker skin and learning the best ways to deal with it but it's still so new. Then there are the scammers. How can you fully prepare yourself for people who are going to pretend to be pregnant and enjoy causing you and your family pain? The waiting is similar to the failed treatments in not knowing when things will work out but different in that there isn't really something new you can try, a new treatment, some way to feel like you're making progress.
And that's the other half of why it's so hard to write about adoption. I'm not ready to get on here and say, "hey everyone, this is the new way I learned my heart could be stomped on today. Enjoy!"
I don't want to only write about the good things and paint some untrue picture of sunshine and rainbows but I don't want it to seem like it's all sad faces and difficulty either. Generally things are good but that's because of who we are as individuals and as a couple and because of our faith that things WILL work out, not because our situation is fantastic. I'd be lying if I said this experience wasn't incredibly difficult.
Writing about our infertility I was ready to get it out there to help the next group of people coming after us be a little more prepared and ready. With adoption, we are that "next group". I'm having to rely on people who have already been through this to help me stumble my way through all of it. For me though it's new and with it comes a new kind of hurt, a kind that I'm still not fully ready to be completely open about.
P.S. Talking about why I shared our infertility and how we're now that "next group" with adoption reminds me of a poem called The Bridge Builder by Will Allen Dromgoole. It's one of my favorites.
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim, near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?"
The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him."