Better, but not cured

Okay, so it's been a while, and the last two posts I've made have been about the whole issue of having babies. Quite honestly, this has been because of two main things: One, frustration with the reproductive state I find myself in and the crappy ways people have tried to approach it. And two, the vast majority of my time being eaten up by grad school. I always say I'm going to try to be better, but let's be honest. The things I want to talk about with people probably won't end up here because who would read it? For example, different theorists and their impacts on modern therapy techniques. Who, outside of a social science nerd like me, would want to read that?
I suppose I could post about an accomplishment of sorts that I've kept quiet because I've always been embarrassed by it. But maybe somebody who shares my fear, as I've never met anyone else who does, will stumble upon this and find it helpful. For pretty much as long as I can remember, I've been afraid of taxidermy. For those unfamiliar with the name, this stuff:

Stuffed, mounted, DEAD. ANIMALS. Severed heads with cold, dead, glass eyes endlessly staring staring staring. Yes, I know it can't hurt me. I know they're not going to come back to life or fall on me or anything like that. Honestly I don't know where the fear came from. As I've gotten older, it's turned more into disgust and sadness that some people kill just to put a trophy on their wall. But as a kid, into my teen years and adulthood, it was fear. I remember being startled by (I believe) a very menacing stuffed badger on my high school trip to Europe and going completely white. Like ghostly. So much so that a friend had to kind of lead me out of the store we were in to get back to normal. I also remember going into a friend of a friend's house in high school only to be greeted by the two biggest moose heads I had ever seen, and immediately running back out. There were childhood experiences too, like pretty much any place my family went into in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I hate that place. And when I turned to find myself shoulder to nose with a deer at a restaurant that has since gone out of business.
As a kid, (and teen) my strategy involved freezing and staring at the ground when I encountered this stuff. Now, if I'm caught off guard, I tend to swear. Sorry, but it's true. But then I can usually handle it slowly. If I know it's coming, I can do a little better. Back when Husband and I were first married, my sister wanted to go to Texas Roadhouse. Everybody knows what's in there, and what's above the door when you first walk in.

I knew and was warned there would be mounts, but still I wanted to try. A lot of my motivation was all I had heard about their fab rolls and cinnamon butter. Okay, let's pause here for a sec. OMG their rolls and cinnamon butter! Drool....Anyway, Husband and I met my family there. I was able to keep my head down a bit as we walked to our table, and hold Husband's hand, and survive dinner. Go me! I was pretty proud of myself. Fast forward some time later, Husband's family invited me to dinner (again at Texas Roadhouse) for his sister's birthday. He was traveling for work, so I was on my own. I used my head slightly down technique again, silently praying we wouldn't get stuck right underneath anything. We didn't, and I was able to enjoy dinner with my in-laws.
Definite progress. Recently, I've been going to Scheels a lot with Husband since we got him a pistol for his birthday. Scheels also has a mountain like Cabela's, but it's smaller. I often refer to Scheels as baby Cabela's.

Past the mountain is where they keep their guns, targets, ammunition, safes, ear protection, all that good stuff. Past the mountain is A LOT more intense. I wish I had an accurate picture of the gun counter area, but I never bothered to take one. Piece together these from Google images:

I know you can't see much in that second picture, but the very bottom of some are on that pillar. There's a lot of those pillars with something on every side, plus those rams, and lines of different things on the back wall. Yikes. A lot in a rather confined area. I'm not going to pretend like it didn't take me probably a good half hour to get the nerve to attempt to go over there. Because it did. But you know what? I made it. I was able to look at the pistols with Husband without losing my mind. However, I did eventually get very antsy with the need to get out. That's why I do kind of like Scheels. There's none of that stuff on the main level. So if Husband wanted to quickly grab a box of ammo, I would just wait downstairs in the women's clothing area. Win win. Side note: Holy heck, why are all the cute workout clothes so expensive?! For real...$60 on sale?? No thank you.

Now, I do need to make something very clear. I am not totally cured. I still won't go to Cabela's. So don't think hey, let's take Lindsay to this place and not tell her there's mounts because she's done all this. Nope nope nope. I need to decide on whether or not I think I can handle a place. Cabela's is still out because I need to know I have an escape. There is no escape in that store. It's literally everywhere, I've seen pictures and don't try to tell me otherwise. To me, it's everywhere. Speaking of that, clearly pictures don't really bother me. That first picture I posted did make me gasp at first, though, and I do see some that are still just a giant Noooope. But...I've gotten so much better!! I've wanted to share my victories, but hesitated because I don't want it to make people think I'm completely normal with it. I'm not sure that will ever happen, but I am much better and that makes me want to share.                  

Understanding

With Mother's Day right around the corner, a few thoughts have been swimming around in my mind. Please don't wish me a happy Mother's Day or say you know I'll be a mother someday. However sincere you may be in saying these things, they feel empty. They feel like the words you say because the situation is uncomfortable and you don't know what else to say but think you still have to say something. This day celebrates what so many assume to come easily. Yay for you, you had unprotected sex! (If this is news to you about where babies come from, then....damn) I know someone who conceived her second child because there was nothing good on Netflix and she and her husband were bored. True story. I also know someone who sent me three different invitations to her baby shower, ignoring the fact that we haven't seen each other in years. And oh yeah...the fact that I've had two miscarriages in two years and a baby shower is the last place I want to be.

I don't have a perfect solution for how I would like people to approach this holiday with me. Quite frankly, I'd rather spend the day curled up watching Hannibal and waiting for it to end.

I know this doesn't make sense. I know it sounds weird to be in so much pain for what I've lost yet not giving it all I've got to get it again. Except I am giving it my all in my own way. And all I ask is for a little understanding in return.

Understand that this day sucks for me. Plain and simple.

Understand that I probably won't want to talk about it.

Understand that in my eyes, you mothers have absolutely no idea how lucky you are.

Understand my wishes not to go see specialists or take supplements. My reproductive health is none of your business, so don't ask me about it.

Understand that I am working through this the best I can.

Things I wish I didn't have to say

Going through something like I did gives you a different perspective on a lot of things that most people probably don't think twice about. Society's view of how to handle grieving, and "appropriate amount(s) of time" for healing are bogus. It's been two years. So logically, I should be all better. I should have no trouble going to friend's baby showers and seeing sonograms and gender announcements nearly every time I open social media. I can hold it together 95% of the time, so therefore I'm fine. Right?

WRONG.

I partially hate that I have to say this, but here I am. And here's the deal: I'm not okay with what happened. I don't think I ever will be. But I can handle it most of the time. I don't ask for sympathy or pity, just some understanding, and maybe a little more pause for thought. Having a child is something I want more than anything, and all those sonograms and gender announcements and shower invitations cut like knives. That being said, I do not want to throw all my time and resources into getting pregnant. In my opinion, that would just make me more unhappy and stressed, and just add to the pressure I already feel to pop out a kid. I don't want that endeavor to be the all consuming focus of our lives. So I started a master's program. Not just to take my mind off of things, but because it is something I want to do. I want to have a career, and maybe use my experiences to help others in similar situations. I would love for people to understand that. Yes, I want kids. Yes, it is difficult for me to deal with those around me having kids. But I don't feel like it is the right thing for me to throw everything at having a baby at this time. Sure, people say if there's something you don't like, do everything you can to change it. But not at the risk of my psychological and emotional health. I can't and won't do that.
On that note, I don't want advice. I don't want to know which doctor helped your cousin's best friend, or which supplement helped another person, or about your sister who tried for 10 years, or be told to see a specialist because clearly there's a problem. I'm working through this in my own way. Don't tell me to go see a therapist, I already have one. I've felt good about my decision to get my master's and what I'm doing multiple times, often to only have those feelings shot down by someone reminding me of my "true" calling. I know this may not make sense to some people. It doesn't necessarily have to. I just would love some understanding that this is how I'm dealing with the cards I was given, and it's not a bad way of doing so. Understand when I turn down an invitation to a baby shower or blessing, don't make me feel guilty. I do feel bad about not participating, but I know myself and those events would be too painful right now. I know that someday everything will be made right, and this chapter will have completely closed. But until then, I'm working through it as best I can and this is how I've chosen to do so. Please respect that and think before you speak or post.  

Closed book

I've been thinking a bit lately about this new culture of oversharing we seem to have now. I'm trying to understand the appeal and quite frankly, I'm not really getting anywhere. I can totally understand sharing big, important things, but what you had for lunch or what color your socks are isn't something that I would generally share. But incase you're wondering, my socks...haha kidding.
That saying of being an "open book" has also been floating about my thoughts composing this post. As far as I've understood it, being an open book is considered to be a good thing. Right? Someone like that is easy to get to know, and they'll tell you whatever you want to know. But in this time where we can see so many details of others' lives so easily, I'm not so sure I want to be a completely open book. I think I want to be closed.

Now, let me explain what I mean when I say that. I don't mean closed and kept behind locked chains like in this screen cap from Dr. Strange. I would like to be closed, but easily opened. At least when it comes to social media. I don't want every little detail about my likes and dislikes, and thoughts on certain subjects to be readily available without conversation. If there is something someone would like to know about me, I would much prefer to have a conversation, rather than them hopping online and doing a little digging. Social media can only paint a very one dimensional picture. Having to condense a long, deep discussion into a two or three sentence post is bound to misrepresent exactly what you want to say, and leave you (or at least me) feeling a bit dissatisfied. It's an illusion of being in touch. I may say that I'm super excited for Halloween because it's my favorite holiday, but not why Halloween is my favorite holiday. The depth is gone. You may know facts about me, but not the layers underneath them, and essentially, what makes me tick. And there are certain things that I wouldn't post on social media, but I would talk about if you were to ask me. Like exactly what miscarrying felt like physically. Or my thoughts on Piaget, Freud, and/or Maslow. Or why my absolute favorite quote from my favorite movie is what it is. And why that particular movie resonated so strongly with me when I first saw it.
Sure, there is some irony posting this on a blog, but I like giving people something to think about. We are all so complex and have so much more to us than social media allows us to share. So we resort to posting about things like sandwiches and doing the dishes and ultimately still feel lacking. The want to share and converse is real, but when actual conversation seems to be fading, we're left with less than our whole selves. So here's what I would like to ask of people: lean less on the person you appear to be online. Don't only post the big things online, talk about them with people when you're out to dinner. Don't worry so much if you haven't posted your daily update on Facebook or Twitter. Worry more if you haven't called or texted your best friend in a few days. Let's bring real conversation back. It feels so much better.      

In a galaxy far far away...

Most of the time when people ask me for book recommendations, I tell them I'm pretty sure they wouldn't like what I'd suggest. My favorite fiction author is Stephen King. My favorite nonfiction author is probably Malcolm Gladwell. So we've got the king of horror, and psychology/sociology nerdiness. That pretty well sums up the types of books I like to read. (I haven't seen The Shining because I love the book so much.)
It's no secret that I love Star Wars and was crushed when Carrie Fisher passed away last year. That dang ending of Rogue One gets me every time now. Even the little clip of her saying "May the force be with you" in The Force Awakens that they showed in a tribute to all the actors we lost in 2016 at the Oscars last night hit me right in the feels. Damn you 2016.
Anyway! I decided I wanted to read one of the books she wrote, and picked Wishful Drinking since it seemed to be the most autobiographical; which was what I was after. First of all, I have so much respect for those who can be open with their struggles with mental illness. Especially when they're in the public eye. For any who weren't aware, Carrie Fisher was bipolar and also had some issues with drugs and alcohol. She is very candid about these subjects in the book and I adore her for that. It's not easy to be open about these things sometimes. There's that stupid stigma that I've referenced time and time again that makes absolutely no sense to me. Actually, it didn't make sense to Carrie either. In the author's note of the book, she said this:

"One of the things that baffles me (and there are quite a few) is how there can be so much lingering stigma with regards to mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder. In my opinion, living with manic depression takes a tremendous amount of balls. Not unlike a tour of duty in Afghanistan (though the bombs and bullets, in this case, come from the inside). At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you're living with this illness and functioning at all, it's something to be proud of, not ashamed of. They should issue medals along with the steady stream of medications one has to ingest."

It's such a strange feeling, and I feel a bit weird saying it, but I have tremendous respect and admiration for this woman I've never met and never will in this life. She was dealt a difficult card to play, and if you ask me, she played it with dignity. As is true with any mental illness, there is so much that we don't know about that goes on when the cameras are off. Yes, there were the drug problems. But she also worked to fight that temptation and to feel better through healthier means. And the fact that she was willing to be open about these things just shows an inner strength that is admirable. I encourage anyone who enjoys Star Wars, or just wants to hear another perspective of someone who dealt with bipolar disorder, to read this book. It's also hilarious. I laughed out loud more times reading this than probably any other book. (Alert: she is a bit crude at times, so if that bothers you, don't say I didn't warn you.) Carrie's approach to the topics she talks about is open, honest, and often times just fantastically funny. Wishful Drinking has easily become one of my favorite books, and as I've previously stated, when I find something I really like, I want to share it. May the force be with you, Carrie. You're beautiful.