I know I have mood swings. I know my husband sees the anger, the depression, the frustration and defeat without my confirmation, and I know our infertility journey creates more worry in him about me than about actually procreating.
This, I believe, is the largest contrast between the way women and men deal with infertility. Women focus on the end result; men are shocked at how their partners have changed.
But I only know because he told me.
Women focus on the end result; men are shocked at how their partners have changed.
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While I can’t say I’ve become certifiably obsessed with conceiving (as I’ve read is common), I can say an hour doesn’t go by without me thinking about what’s to come. IVF. Thousands of dollars of medication, constant appointments and transvaginal ultrasounds. Hormones. Surgery to retrieve my eggs. Surgery to put them back in my uterus (IF they are viable). Another exhausting wait to see if – this time, for the first time ever – I’ll see a positive pregnancy test.
I’m willing to go through all of this, but the hard fact that it doesn’t guarantee pregnancy sometimes makes me resent how much I have to put my body through while my guy, my loving, amazing, generous husband, gets to shoot his seed into a cup and call it a day.
But he only knows because I told him.
He’d never truly understand what it’s like to sacrifice his body in an effort to grow our family. While I realized this, obviously, was of no fault or choice of his own, it’s still present, alive and hard to come to terms with. If I could force it out of my head forever, it would already be done. Just as I know if he could force his fear of losing me to this insanity out of his head, he’d do it too.
His eyes are a mirror when I’m aggrieved. I see it in him before I feel it. And then I know I’m at fault; I’m the reason we aren’t as connected as we used to be.
Does he just want it to be over?
Does he care more about me being “normal” than he does about becoming a dad?
The guilt and shame we both feel has torn at the fabric we are built upon, and that is more heartbreaking than the thought of being childless.
I think what scares me more than anything is that he will never look at me the same. He’ll never want me the way he used to, never believe I’m strong and confident (since he’s now seen the opposite), never believe our magic can return.
But I now know this isn’t true because we are a team again, not isolating our feelings in an effort to protect the other one from more pain.
♦◊♦
Dear Husbands,
We know you’re scared, too.
Your stress might surface in the newly grayed hair lurking behind your ear, or we might feel it when you wrap your arms around us and hang on just a moment longer than usual, trying to infuse your love through touch. Our fear of you falling out of love might be irrational, but there is one simple thing the majority of women need from our partners that we’re likely not getting and can help us let go of the terror:
Validation.
No, there is no true way for you to “fix” what we feel, and we will likely never truly know what you feel either, but if you’d tell us, we’d listen, we’d learn, we’d love your honesty.
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Your fears are not an extra burden on us but, instead, a way for us to find a common denominator inside of a really difficult, possibly insolvable, formula. No, there is no true way for you to “fix” what we feel, and we will likely never truly know what you feel either, but if you’d tell us, we’d listen, we’d learn, we’d love your honesty.
Tell us if you feel helpless because you can’t do more. When we ask you questions, answer them with specifics instead of blanket statements you think will help us feel better. Be compassionate toward yourself first, so you can attempt to empathize with us through the process. Know that the pain and suffering we are enduring is not some selfish conquest to motherhood but, instead, because we love you and our partnership and believe the next place we should be together is parenthood.
Try, as hard as you can, to hear the things we tell you (when we aren’t in a Clomid rage). Try even harder to give yourself permission to be vulnerable (especially when we are).
Just try, no matter how much you think you’ve already done.
There is always more we can do for our partners.
Our relationships are worth it.
Photo—Jamie/Flickr