I desire to be loved but maybe I don't deserve it.

I desire to love and be loved but there have been times in my life when I felt I didn't deserve that privledge.  

Before meeting Josh, I allowed myself to be in unhealthy relationships. These relationships didn't lift me up, and if I'm being honest, I didn't lift them up either. In fact, sometimes I replay incidents and words that came out of my mouth during those days. I'm embaressed to admit it, but my words and actions were borderline abusive. 

Then I met Josh. I wish the story ended here with me saying, "And he changed my outlook on relationships by bringing out the more loving, compassionate side of me." Unfortuantely, I didn't allow that to happen.

Josh has always had an unconditional heart. From the get go he knew the right words to lift me up even when I was convinced I didn't need a "man" to help me. For the first years of Josh and my relationship I didn't lift him up, I didn't wholehearted believe in us and I found every excuse to test his love for me. I easily got defensive and would quickly jump to anger. Oftentimes I felt he was purposefully pushing my buttons just to get me to react. In fact, early in our marriage I had a suitcase packed by the door, ready to make my escape when a disagreement or conflict ensued.

Then infertility happened and I was forced to reflect on the way I love on others, and more importantly, the way I love on myself. 

I realized I wasn't allowing Josh to really love me. I wasn't allowing myself to accept his love. Why? Because I believe I didn't deserve it.

If I'm being truthful, the negative self-talk that I allowed to run in my mind was self-distructive.

“I’m not pretty enough.
I’m not skinny enough.
I’m not smart enough.
I’m not tough enough.
I’m not perfect enough.”

The reality is, I didn't think I was good enough. I truly didn't believe I was good enough to be loved, especially not by the special love Josh provides.

I'm still working through the journey of feeling as though I'm enough. Every day I have to make a conscious decision to allow others to lift me up and love on me. Most importantly, I need to love on myself and trust, even through infertility, that I'm enough. 

I didn't connect with my baby right away.

I dreamt of the day I would give birth to a child years before I fell pregnant. In doing so, I created an expectation of what that day (notice I called it a single day) would look and feel like.

So many specific details were thought out ahead of time that my written out birth plan was pretty specific. I knew what types of drugs I wanted (ideally none!) and when to offer them to me (and not a cm earlier). I was so consumed with having a natural birth I even had a doula who worked with me months before I was due and provided me support, breathing help, imagery and massage during labor. The last thing in my birth plan read was something to the effect, "It's okay if steps outside of this plan need to be take to keep the baby and mother healthy." But my over controlling nature knew I threw I didn't really think things would go differently than what I had planned, wanted or expected.

I imagined my labor to be short (I'm a dancer after all, won't the baby just slide out?). I desired to have that quality skin-to-skin time while my child looked into my eyes and experience that insta-love so many of my friends talked about.

Aiden's birth story is anything but what I described above. My water leaked, it never actually broke, but leaked for a few days. I went into labor and after 7 or 8 hours had contractions that were 2 mins apart. I remember thinking, "I knew it! I knew this would be a short labor!" Only to go to the hospital to find out my kid was sunny-side up and I was only 2cm dialtated. After 32 hours of labor (yep, multiple days in labor!), I had a c-section. I couldn't do skin-to-skin time because my arms were strapped to a table and I had no sensation in half my body. 

I hadn't even researched what a c-section involved because I was convinced that would happen to me. 

I got to hold Aiden for a few brief moments in the recovery room and it felt like I was holding someone else's baby. He was cute, smelled good but I didn't have that insta-love I expected.

As Josh took Aiden to the nursery to get his first bath I remember thinking, "I love my babies in heaven more than my baby on earth? What's wrong with me?"

24 hours passed and I continued to struggle with our connection. I felt like I was taking care of a baby that wasn't mine. I had trouble breastfeeding, I still couldn't feel the lower half of my body and I had a stupid compression contraption on my legs to help with post c-section blood flow. I feared I would never connect with Aiden and I feared he would resent me for not giving birth to him the "normal" way. 

Almost 48 hrs later we were in the NICU after Aiden stopped breathing. It was at point that my life stopped. I actually don't remember the next few days very well. It's a blur.

But I do remember crying out to God, "Please don't take another baby from me! I promise to love him just as much as I love my babies who are with you in heaven." 

It was at this point that I realize I DID love Aiden just as much as the babies that came before him. What I didn't love was that my expectation of his birth story was different than what actually came to fluition. 

That's the thing about expectation - when not met, it can deprive you of finding the JOY that surrounds you. For whatever reason, I felt like not having a natural birth would decrease the connectivity and love Aiden and I felt for one another. The reality is, I was the one blocking that from happening. In fact I missed out on the JOY of the first 48 hours of his life because I was so consumed with not have the perfect birth story I dreamt of.

So while I didn't have a natural birth that included Aiden going through the birth canal and I didn't have that insta-love, I no longer let it define the connectivity we now have for one another, and it certainly doesn't mean I love him any less. 

The Forgotten Wedding Vow

Our wedding, Saddlerock Ranch, '09

Josh and I find ourselves in an interesting fertility predicament. I'm not sick per se, but I have several things wrong with my body that are preventing me from holding onto a pregnancy. I had a slew of immunology testing done over the summer. Results came back and I have a list of issues:

An overactive immune system

Genetic mutation for blood clotting disorders

High levels of natural killer cells

Low serentinine levels

Genetic mutation for thyroid disease

All of which equates to a radical protocol BEFORE we even get clearance to try and conceive.

So am I sick? I don't really know how to answer that. I guess technically I have more than one autoimmune diseases. All that's to say my emotional state was in a deep dark place after receiving the news.

I began to wonder what I did to my body to make it not work properly. Why do I,  dancer who uses my body every single day for work, not feel connected to it anymore? Why is my body forsaking me? Why can't it just work the way it's suppose to?

A slew of questions, all unanswered.

With each unanswered question came another penny in my negative self-worth jar. (It's not really a jar but you get the imagery attempt, right?)  Pretty soon that jar was so heavy that I began to think irrationally.

I began to think my husband and son didn't deserve to have a wife/mother who was broken. They both deserve to expand their family and they should be able to do so without such obstacles in their way. I began to think how easy it would be to pack up and leave, only to shoot myself down by realizing Josh would beat me to the front door and insist I stay. In that case, if I can't leave I decided to make it really easy for HIM to leave ME. I started treating him poorly, pushing aside our relationship, not speaking to him except when Aiden was around and going to sleep before he even realized I was in bed. If I couldn't leave the marriage very easily, I was going to make it easy for him, give him excuses, to want to leave. The more he didn't budge, the more disrespectful, and desperate, I became.

When we got married we made a vow to stay with one another in "sickness and in health, till death do us part". I always thought of that vow from the perspective of the caretaker - as in, if Josh got sick I wouldn't leave him. Which is true, that thought wouldn't even pass through my brain.

Then it hit me, like a ton of bricks. It's obvious to me I wouldn't leave our marriage if Josh got sick but what if I got sick? That vow goes the other way, too. According to our vow, if I where to get sick I'm not to leave him either.

May seem obvious to you but this was a game changer. I not only take my marriage vows seriously but I whole heartedly believe in them. By shifting my mindset just a wee bit, I started to see the clouds open up and I no longer was in a deep dark place. The reality of what it's going to take for us to expand our family is going to be a journey, but it's one that I wouldn't want to do with anyone else but Josh.