On Christmas day, after an agonizing two week wait following in-vitro fertilization (IVF) treatments in New York, I’ll find out whether or not I’m pregnant. I didn’t plan it this way, my heart palpitating with anxiety during an already tender time, and yet like so many things with infertility, it was outside my control. For […]
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Sometimes I can forget. How long I fought for him. How much grief I endured. This morning I held my son against my chest and breathed in his blonde hair, as if trying to inhale him into my body. He’s 17 months now, he’s a toddler tottering around on beach paths and mouthing words, throwing fits
When we’re in survival mode, self-care can feel like a foregone luxury. However, our mental health is at risk during coronavirus as much as our physical health, if not more so. We often don’t make the time to take care of ourselves. Perhaps we think it’s frivolous or maybe we’ve been taking care of others
5 Self-Care Practices We Need During Coronavirus Read More »
I got to see my baby today. He’s eight weeks and the size of a wild strawberry, tiny as a jelly bean with little limbs. The heart is already flickering at 172. I’d never seen my baby’s heartbeat. I’d never had a happy ultrasound. On the black and white screen this rainbow baby was hanging out upside
It was July of 2006 in Mbale, Uganda. I was 25, single, and about to free fall down the side of a 320 ft waterfall. In the beginning abseiling sounded like a good idea, a way to prove to myself that I could get over any of my fears. But once I realized there was just a skinny, African
I haven’t been writing much lately. Life happened. I’d wanted to fall into summer’s sandy shores and slowed time with abandon. But mostly I got anxiety and tumult. I’m not a busyness lover, I’m a stillness lover. I always know I’m not doing well when the ink from my pen dries up. I hit a deep soul weariness
What to do with all this longing? All of us are longing for something. We’re longing for a husband, we’re aching to have children, we’re aching for the ones we lost, we’re longing to be seen and known by our friends, to feel successful, we’re longing to feel like we’ve finally “made it.” (Whatever that means.)
This year is six years, six years since we lost our first baby, six years since the toilet clotted blood. Last week was National Infertility Awareness Week and it pulls me back to the memories like my eyes to the scene of a car crash. I can see myself on the floor. Praying. Begging. Being willing
Around here lately, things have been tough. One of those weeks where you can feel like you’re losing your mind. I used to be afraid to say that, because aren’t I supposed to have it all together? But it was a PMS emotional migraine, sad I had to move San Francisco and leave all my
I want to stay in bed in the Bible black pre dawn. I want to slip under the grey sheets in waves of dreams and forget that I know the news. Even before I wake, I know the sadness is coming, chasing me like a shadow. “This world will try and break you,” she says.
I never used to think about how Mother’s Day affected some women, that it could be the hardest day of the year for them. Until I became one of them. It never occurred to me that on that special Sunday in church, the red roses handed out, that I would be one of the ones
Sometimes in between the kitchen and the washing machine, doing the same acts over again with seemingly little result, I wonder if my life has purpose. I used to love my job. I used to love what I did with a kind of maniacal passion. I used to stay up late writing blog posts and used to
