Redefining Success

As I sat in spin class the other morning, attempting to huff and puff up a hill, the instructor said, "Nothing and no one is standing in the way of your success. Only you can create that success for yourself." That's when it hit me, I've been defining success all wrong.

Ever since I was little I defined success as accomplishing a goal where time, hard work and determination (mixed with stubbornness) helped me achieve things like graduating UCLA with honors, getting into NYU for grad school and achieving not 1, but 2, dream jobs in my career. As I've gotten older I find it harder to find satisfaction in moments of unsuccessfulness. The disappointment is more grand, the sense of defeat more deflating.

So there I was in spin class having an ah-ha moment realizing I've been handling my unsuccessful moments ALL WRONG!  Only I can create success for myself. Only I can determine what is successful and what is not. Only I have the strength and ability to decide if my successes are only successful when meeting certain criteria or if the lesson learned along the journey is enough.

The thing is, I'm quick to see the failure and the disappointment. I'm even quicker to feel the defeat, and I allow that defeat to become negative self talk.

As I apply this shift of thought to my infertility circumstance I feel a sense of weight lifted off my shoulders. I can choose to see each month that I'm not pregnant as a failure or I can reflect and find the pockets, the small moments, that taught me something - therefore, finding success within that.

So while I'm not pregnant this month, I'm choosing to look at this month through a different lens. I'm not pregnant, but I can successfully list an abundance of joyful things in my life with whole hearted appreciation - which is not normally something that comes easy to me. In addition, I'm not angry at my body for forsaking me once again this month. While these two things might seem small to some, they are huge successes for me.

My hope is by redefining success I can start to see and believe that I AM ENOUGH.

A forgotten journal entry.

Truth. 

A year ago today I found out I was having another miscarriage. I'm usually really good at remembering when my miscarriages occur. As the anniversary of each lost baby gets closer my body remembers, it recalls the sensation of loss deep in it's bones.

This anniversary is different. To be honest, I forgot this happened a year ago today. My body didn't remind me by giving my a deep sense of grief like it normally does. My mind failed to replay the memory in my dreams. 

Do I care less about this pregnancy?  

Are my pregnancies starting to matter less because I've experienced so many?

Am I become numb to this infertility journey? 

Reading my journal entry from a year ago was eye opening to me. I'm reminded of a quote my friend shared with me, "Grief never ends, but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love." 

So although my body and my mind didn't remind me of the anniversary of losing my 10th pregnancy, it doesn't mean my grief has ended. No! My grief has simply changed, it looks and feels different a year later. 

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Journal Entry: December 18th, 2015

10 miscarriages.

Today Josh and I are left grieving another baby.  Another pregnancy, another baby that went straight to heaven.  It's odd to reflect back on our other 9 losses.  Somehow this one feels different.  My emotions are slightly more neutral, almost like I've been in this exact place before.  Oh right, I have.  It's like groundhog day - repeating the same chain of events over and over.  I wish for a different outcome, yet I'm left with the same experience. I'm left grieving a lost baby and grieving what little faith I had in my body.

It's not a coincidence that a lovely friend of mine sent me a necklace this week that is the daintiest guardian angle wing.  With it, her wise words:

"Grief never ends, but it changes.  It's a passage, not a place to stay.  Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith.  It is the price of love."

So I'm gonna put one foot in front of the other, take one day at a time, making my way along this journey.  I know that God is tenderly holding my babies in heaven.

Side note: I also know God won't judge me for the McDonalds large fry and strawberry milkshake I'm about to devour.

A Christmas funk.

When I was a little girl I absolutely loved the Christmas season. I have fond memories of going to the Christmas tree lot and watching in amazement as they flocked our tree. My mom would go all out with decorations, decorating inside and outside to the extreme! There was always something magical when the Christmas tree was lit and no other lights in the room were on. I remember sitting on the floor, basically under the tree, looking up into the tree and watching the flicker of the lights glimmer on each branch, from one pine needle to the next. And the music! There's something about Christmas music that made my heart leap for joy. 

When I got married the Christmas season continued to be special. I attempted to decorate as elaborately as my mom, never quite meeting that level of expertise. Regardless, I would relish in the moments of the lit Christmas tree and my husband and I would snuggle on the couch in newlywed bliss.

Then infertility stuck! The Christmas magic was lost. I would listen to the music of the season, the same songs that use to make me smile, and feel nothing. For over five years I dreaded Christmas. I dreaded feeling that heaviness of something void in my life.

I remember one Christmas in particular I was setting up the mantle, arranging and fluffing the garland. Then came time to hang the stockings. There were only two to hang, one for my husband and one for me. I remember thinking how lame the mantle looked. I began to cry, the hard sobbing kind, wishing there was child's stocking to bring completion to this holiday tradition. I wished there was a child to bring back the joy to this holiday.

I've spent three Christmas seasons, this being my fourth, as a mom and you know what? Up until this year I had a similar empty sensation over the holiday. Just last year I put up our, now three, stockings and cried because I couldn't help but think of my miscarriages and the babies that should be with us. I had a son, I had that extra stocking to hang, yet it wasn't good enough.

This realization about the Christmas funk has only come to me recently as I reflect on why this year is different. I actually expected it to feel void given the passing of my father-in-law a few months ago and the fact that my dad continues to struggle with cancer.

But you know what? The magic is back. The joyfulness that I felt as a child has returned. Maybe it's the Chinese herbs my acupuncturist has me on (thanks Ease Plus!) or maybe it's because for the first time in a long time I'm no longer waiting for infertility to go away. I'm no longer waiting to get pregnant again. I'm no longer anticipating or counting the days of my cycle. For the first time in months, in years really, I'm at peace with what my life. I'm actually able to relish in the moments of the season. I'm able to say with confidence, my life has enough and I'm enough.

As for the stockings on the mantle? I haven't put them up yet. Not purposefully but in hindsight, probably the best decision of the season!