I believe we all have a "thing", could be something big, could be something small, that has made us feel alone, isolated or like we're the only person in the universe who is going through this thing. And we're all unique, so that could very much be true, but the beauty of being a human is that, through storytelling, we are all connected. So while my story may not be the same as someone else's, the ability to share my story may, just in fact, help someone else feel less alone and that's why I wanted to break my silence. So that others could feel less alone.
For me, "that thing", was my journey to motherhood. I'm now the mama of two amazing little humans. But my journey to get there was long, windy & f'ing hard. There is one moment I'll never forget that I'd like to share...
Standing alone in a sea of dozens of other commuters, I stared at my reflection through the EL window. I look like I do every day - hair tamed, make-up on, work clothes on, headphones in - check, check & check. Eyes slightly tired, but whose aren’t on a Monday morning commute? No other commuter would ever suspect by looking at me that earlier in the month, my husband and I went from being elated that we’d hit the 12 week mark of our first, hard fought, pregnancy to having to make medical decisions that would ultimately save the life of our daughter but cost the life of our son.
As I stand staring at myself, I think back to all the moments that got me to this place — standing, commuting, as if a life altering moment had not recently happened. The failed IUIs, the canceled IVF cycles, the numerous shots, vitamins, powders, acupuncture, womb massages (yup, that’s a thing. Google it), gentle yoga which got us to a place of ‘success.’ A positive pregnancy blood test - with twins no less. No one prepares a person dealing with infertility that even when you reach the ‘holy grail’ - the positive pregnancy test - things may not be perfect.
But that was the case for us, and I dealt with that news, like I did all the other blows before it. I put on my big girl pants and carried on. I dug deep - you know that feeling we all have that gets you through those nights studying for finals, the big deadline at work. I soldered on and went back to work, my daily routine. I didn’t give myself the time or the space to grieve and I put on the face, the armor, and did all the things I was supposed to do. Out worldly, I celebrated the little girl that I was carrying while inside I struggled with resentment, shame, guilt, anger - both for the process of even getting to this spot and for the decisions we had to make.
To anyone looking at me without knowing me, they’d see a pregnant woman, celebrating her pregnancy. To anyone who knew me, they’d see someone who just bought their first ‘adult’ house, who had just been promoted at work - who by all of society’s standards - ‘had it all.’ What they didn’t see, what I didn’t let anyone see, was the night creeping into what would be my daughters room and lying on the floor in the fetal position looking at the grey walls (because it would be great for a daughter AND a son) but not letting myself cry. They never saw the heartache every time I looked at the Bugaboo Donkey Stroller, that now only had one seat, instead of the twin extension. They never saw the ache in my chest any time someone with twins brought up how difficult it is to have twins. They also never saw the shame, the guilt over the decisions we made or why we made them. On the outside, I had it all. On the inside, I was crumbling, a shell of myself.
As I stared at myself in that subway car window, I recall thinking that no one would ever guess what my husband and I just went through, but how would they? I never took off my armor, not once. Not even to those closest to me or my husband. How many of my fellow commuters that day had their own stories? Their own armor that they put on each day? What stories are not being told because we’ve all put on our armor for the day?
For me, there was a lot of shame tied to my journey to motherhood and the subsequent decisions I was forced to make. I felt that my body had 'failed' me and I couldn't do the "one thing" that I was supposed to do naturally. I come from a large Italian family and had always assumed I'd be a mom. It felt like, at the time, I was failing at both my natural ability as a woman and I was failing my husband. In addition, once we finally became pregnant & it became clear just how fatally ill our son was in-utero, and the impact that could have on his twin sister & myself, we had to make decisions that I also held a lot of shame around. Again, I felt like I had failed "being a mother" because I couldn't keep my son safe.
I'll be honest, it took me a long time to overcome the mental gymnastics I played with myself. I played the 'woe is me' card for quite some time, because it was easier then having to deal with it. I just shoved my feelings down real tight, and threw away the key. However, I always felt that there was a part of me not being true to myself by keeping those emotions locked down. So I started to journal, I started to write about 'moments' of my journal. For me, it was so healing to be able to write down my story and it helped me recognize that there was power in owning my story, which led me to becoming more vocal about my Truth.
My daughters have, by far, been the most influential people in my life. While only 4 & 2, I want them to be able to look at me many years from now and know I did everything I could to model the values/behaviors I want them to emulate - courage, strong, kindness & respect. I will not always succeed, but I will always try to lead by example and they are the driving force behind that.
In the past, I was driven by ego. By that I mean, I was motivated by titles, by labels, by monetary gains. And while I would be lying if I didn't say I don't think about those things at times, it's no longer what is motivating me. I would now say I'm driven by being true to who I am, what I need and how I can be in service to others.
We are so much stronger than we give ourselves credit for. We all have hardships - big, small and everything in between. There is magic in owning your story instead of having your story own you. And I am now living proof of that. I am freed from the enormous weight of my stories, weight I didn't even know I was carrying. Now I can look at situations and can have empathy for each person because I can understand that I will never understand where that person is coming from, but I can hold space for that person to feel seen & heard, even if I don't agree with them. Imagine if we could all approach situations with that mentality. That's the world I want my two daughters to grow up in. A place where people can have constructive conversations with people of differing viewpoints but still have everyone feel seen and heard.
