I’m breaking up with infertility.
I’ve already decided on the date to break the news.
Our relationship has always been a volatile one. Only once did we manage to be on the same page at the same time. It was a good stretch of time. For 9 months between 2005 and 2006 we got along great and we did some amazing things. Two, to be exact.
But 9 months in the span of an almost 10 year relationship – well, we just can’t keep going on this way.
Now, even when we do see eye to eye, it doesn’t last long. It shouldn’t be this hard.
For a long time now, I’ve tried to act like infertility wasn’t there. You know how you can live in the same space but not really interact? Once a month, sometimes twice, I’d be reminded that things were futile. I’d see red and be angry all over again. But other than that, I spent a lot of time in avoidance mode.
I know it won’t be easy. There will probably even be times when I wish I could get back together and try again. But I’ve done that before, and it didn’t work out then, either.
It’s weird to think about what things look like without this relationship in my life. It’s been holding me back for a long time.
So, on December 12th, I’ll raise my glass to infertility, give thanks for the two amazing children it gave me, and walk away. It’s time. As with the end of most relationships, it’s been time for quite awhile.
It feels like that episode of “Friends” where the girls all burn things from previous exes to declare their independence from messed up relationships. We all have that box from an old relationship, don’t we? Mine’s filled with syringes and alcohol wipes and a sharps container. It sits on the top shelf in my closet, next to a stack of old photo albums and sweatshirts, and I can’t yet bring myself to get rid of it all.
Remnants of an old relationship. Of who I used to be.
I’m not that person anymore.
I’m a runner, a photographer, a reader, a friend, a daughter.
I am not infertile.