Monday, May 31, 2010

VERY personal post.

I was going to leave the blog uncluttered today, out of respect for the significance of the day, but there's something that I just can't sit on any longer.  I don't know if I owe this sudden bout of emotional turmoil to PMS or lack of sleep, but whatever the cause, it's here.  I cannot smother it, I cannot deny it, I cannot continue to pretend I don't feel this way.  Not today, anyway.  I'm sure tomorrow or the next day I will be able to go back to fooling myself and everyone else into believing that I'm thick skinned, since I hate admitting that I have any vulnerabilities left.

I have a lot of pregnant friends and acquaintances.  Like, at the start of 2010, 15 people I know were/are slated to deliver.  Six have, already.

Not a single one of them is single.  They have loving, supportive partners who have a vested interest in that little budding life.  Doctors/Midwife appointments are attended together, none of these women long for affection or intimacy, and their pregnancies are celebrated and revered by their partners.

While I am joyous for them, I am also slightly... envious?  Hurt, for certain.  It's not a feeling that holds any malice or ill-will, merely a very personal pain that I usually keep shrouded in the shadows.

Neither of my children got to experience such reverence in-utero.  I was never told I was beautiful, never held, never had my growing belly kissed, never made love to.  My aching, swolen feet were never rubbed with care, my shoulders never massaged.

I was an island.

Sure, I had family and friends who showered me with love and support, but that love is a different animal.

I don't know what it's like to have a partner treasure the life growing inside of me, to be proud and joyful that we created it together.

Granted, that is partly my own fault; Kinder Major's father was not someone I was ever interested in a relationship with, and he was in fact was staunchly against my decision not to terminate.  I went into the pregnancy with her knowing full well that I was on my own.  With Bug's father, things were rocky at the best of times, and abusive at the worst.

However, recognizing that I entered into these pregnancies alone and of my own volition doesn't remove the sting, the longing to know what it's like to have someone to love, to love me, to love us.  I daydream about what it's like to have someone join me in the awe that is listening to that tiny heartbeat, that wonders that are those first visible and tangible kicks and wiggles.  Someone to hold me and dream of what is to come with me.  It doesn't take away the fact that I spent those months alone, untouched and kept company only by the deep, aching need for the simplest affection.

I'm unsure of what the future holds.  Once upon a time, I dreamed of a large family with a partner and many children.  Now I fend off nightmares of making yet another mistake when judging the character of another, of letting someone else close who will only serve to hurt me and my children.  My longing to have someone hold me now, for even a few seconds, so that I might feel protected and safe is far overshadowed by my fear of exposing that vulnerability, and my refusal to let anyone see how weak I really am.

In the mean time, I will tuck this away once more, now that I've let it peek out briefly.  I will watch my friends and acquaintances travel their paths.  I will rejoice with them, I will give my support and love as a friend freely and unfettered, and I will live vicariously through their joy. 


  1. Oh, sweetie, this really tugs at my heart. You are very brave to write something so raw and beautifully honest. I would caution you against assuming, though, that your partnered friends never long for affection or intimacy. Loneliness can live in the most unlikely places. Though of course it's easier with two to share the burdens and the joys of parenting. I wish for you all the love, nurturing and intimacy that has yet been absent on your journey. xo

  2. I don't know what to say. Massive *hugs*

  3. It's hard, you can be happy for them and still be sad/bitter/angry for you. I felt like that as we were trying (and failing) to conceive and everyone around me was announcing 'whoops!' pregnancies.

    Now I'm worrying I've said entirely the wrong thing.


  4. I know exactly how you feel. Perhaps not exactly but very, very close.

    I know so many pregnant friends right now (most specifically of which my sister), and I watch every day in envy and awe as her husband caves to her cravings and goes out at 2 a.m. to buy her something, does all the laundry for her, tells her how beautiful she is.

    And then I am reminded of how mine told me he hoped I miscarried, constantly told me not to eat so I wouldn't gain weight, (my parents gave me a birthday cake and he gave it away), got mad at me anytime I had to go to the hospital for a check-up or if I had a pregnancy issue.

    I'm jealous, and I'll never know how it feels to have real support. And I think I will forever have issues and insecurities that cause me to have problems trusting men in the future.

    I know how you feel. I have no advice or words of wisdom, because I'm still trying to figure it out myself. But... I know how you feel.


  5. I don't know what to day.
    This is so sad but beautifully written.
    Thank you for your honesty and sharing.

  6. Thank you all for your kind and supportive words.

    KB: Thank you for reminding me that lonliness can creep into all situations. I think my feelings regarding relationships often cloud my common sense in those regards. As always, you offer me perspective, and I appreciate you for it. <3

    Veronica: In no way did you say the wrong thing. Our hurt feelings certainly parallel eachother in that we're trying to reconcile our joy for those we love with our own deep and private sorrow for that which we've missed out on. I need to remember that it's not all necessarily a lost cause, though. You've gotten your miracle twice; I need to just have a little hope for mine. :)