Category: Mental Health

Infertility is a Trauma

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Dear No One,

I have publicly begged and yearned for the day I would be a mother. My journey to motherhood has been nothing short of exhausting. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

I naively thought once I built my family, I’d sigh a big breath of relief and cruise into my dream job as a mother.

Here’s the thing, though. Infertility changed me. Changed me to my core. For the most part I think it made me stronger. It gave me a deeper purpose. But years of ignoring the mental and emotional turmoil of infertility has left incredibly deep scars.

Scars. “a lasting effect of grief, fear, or other emotion left on a person’s character by a traumatic experience.”

Infertility is a trauma. Yet it is kept behind closed doors. You don’t tell people you are struggling to get pregnant. You don’t tell people you miscarried. Why?

Because the pain is too heavy to put on someone who can never understand.

Because when you do talk about it, you get the comments “You’re still so young,” “just relax,” “you just get to have more fun trying.” And these comments, while meant to be helpful, only further your idea that your deep hurt isn’t valid. That you should be enjoying this journey somehow. That it isn’t that big of a deal.

So you hold it in. You carry the weight of your pain and trauma on your shoulders. But that pain is too heavy, friends. It should not be carried alone.

Infertility is a trauma, and it should be dealt with as a trauma.

Recognizing your struggle and finding validation is the first step in taking control of your infertility and mental health.

Your life is lived in cycles that bring the highest joys and hope followed by despair and grief. On repeat. No one is meant to do this alone.

Find support groups. Find other infertility warriors. Find a counselor. Find someone who understands and talk about your pain.

I admittedly didn’t do this. I kept to myself for a long time, and I’m still working through some of the scars that it left behind.

So I am here to tell you that infertility is a trauma. It is serious. It is deep. Your feelings are valid. You are not alone.

Recognize the depth of the journey you are on. Work through it, whether it is privately with a therapist or publicly on social media. It will not be easy. It is a long road.

But you are more than infertility. You are worthy of help. Your relationship deserves it. Your spouse deserves it. Your future or current children deserve it. YOU deserve it.

Your life is bigger than infertility. Deal with it as the trauma it is, find the healing you deserve, and move forward into the life that is waiting for you.

All my love,

Betsy

This Is Me

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Dear No One,

This is me, and I have anxiety.

What do you see when you look at me?

Do you see a woman crying in bed, not able to breathe, shutting down with exhaustion?

I have always led with my emotions. And those emotions can be big and bold.

It wasn’t until I was dating my now husband, that I even figured out that some of those emotions are led by anxiety.

In one of my many moments of feeling anxious, Marcus said, “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

Which I responded with, “No. My chest is just tight.”

Cue the eye roll. “Betsy. That’s anxiety.”

And then a rewind of some standout moments and memories flashed through my mind, and I realized in that moment this wasn’t a new thing.

Yet, after realizing that, I made no changes and continued to wonder why I was having these anxiety attacks and constantly sick and tired.

No, anxiety doesn’t just affect your mind. It can affect anything and everything.

After getting married, I dealt with anxiety about moving to a new state and city where I knew no one. Fun fact: I’m not really a social butterfly. New situations and people are often a source of anxiety for me.

So I’m alone. In a new state. My husband was in residency and working a lot (A LOT)!!!! Then we decided to grow our family. First comes marriage, then comes infertility. Then the journey of adoption and raising our first son. Then moving back to Iowa (after finally making some amazing friends). Then starting IVF. Then pregnancy. Then postpartum anxiety (my anxiety multiplied by a thousand).

That one paragraph of one thing piled on top of another was over six years. Six years of not taking care of myself and my mental health.

This isn’t easy to write or admit because there is still such a huge stigma around mental health. But after multiple, major panic attacks after the birth of our second son, my husband (an obgyn) nudged me ever so gently to start medication.

I feel like I am finally coming out of a fog. An at least six year fog. My entire marriage. My entire time as a mother.

I can see. I can see what my anxiety looks like, what triggers it, and some ways to manage it. And I don’t say heal or conquer my anxiety because it is me.

This is me.

It is a huge part of who I am. My big emotions. My empathy. My emotional intelligence. Those are big, beautiful parts of myself that I’m proud of, but I think they are directly linked to my anxiety.

I share this today because:

1) May is Mental Health Awareness Month

2) Sharing my story may make it easier for another person to get the help they need.

3) And honestly, what don’t I share with you?!?

Mental health disorders are so common. Yet we keep it hidden. I don’t want people to see or judge my unshowered self struggling to find joy in motherhood that I begged for publicly for years.

But if we don’t step forward and share our stories, how will we make any type of advancement?

So, friends, (cue The Greatest Showman) THIS IS ME. I have anxiety. It is not all of me. It is not breaking me. It is just a part of me. And I am only at the beginning of learning to manage it.

And if you have or even think you have a mental illness, please get help. Work to manage it. Whatever that looks like for you.

It is part of you, but it does not have to control you. And as always, you are not alone.

All my love,

Betsy