The day I realized I was selfish

Two days ago.   That's how long it's been since I realized I am a selfish person.   K has pointed it out before but I never believed him.  "Selfish!", I'd state incredulously, "ask anyone. They'd never describe me that way" (that's a direct quote from these lovely and humble lips of mine).

As we are prone to do, from time to time, we got into one of our arguments...the kind where he shakes his head at me while I cross my arms at him and we wonder if the other person will ever understand us.  Lying on our bed, hours after we'd begun, he admitted that I made him feel as though I value other relationships more than I value our marriage.  It was in attempting to explain to him why this wasn't the case that my selfishness was undeniable.

I didn't feel that he was asking me to realize and act like the value of my marriage is beyond that of any outside entity.  I was sure he was telling me to choose between what he wanted versus what I wanted, to decide between him or me.  And if those were my options, I choose me. I choose to protect myself, to do whatever I need to make sure I feel okay, to do what makes me happy.

I choose me.

Has there ever been a more selfish sentence uttered or written?


There's a whole list of reasons why I choose me, none of them pretty, but it all comes down to my lack of trust, especially in God.  How clever of a design that my marriage relationship reflects my spiritual one. 

Here's to being less selfish, more trusting, and strengthening the two relationships that matter the most to me. Cheers. 

I'm a writer

I'm not a talker.

I could sit with you for hours, listening to you speak, offering small words here and there if you need them.   I'll joke with you, laughing readily and heartily because I enjoy you and the way it feels when we laugh together.  I'll offer advice when you're confused and need a fresh perspective.  And forever I will encourage you because I think you're great and worthy of all the things you desire.   

There are a hundred thousand things in my life that are cause for celebration.  I have a loyal husband. One of those types that always forgives and always loves, even if I make it a bit more difficult than either of us expected.  There's a tried and true best friend that has taught me it's safe to be vulnerable and honest, even if it's a little messy.  Beyond that, there are a handful of people I call my favorite in all the world.  My group, my net, the upholding hands of love and trust and faith that I've been blessed to call friends. Some live so far away we haven't seen each other in years. Some live so close I see them almost every day.  A few I've never had the pleasure of meeting face to face...pen pals, but blessings nonetheless.   Finally, and a thing I realize is quite rare, our families. Both his and mine.  They are wonderfully diverse and always accepting, a safe place no matter what. 

I am happy.  We have a beautiful home, in a handpicked neighborhood, literally right across the street from some of my worlds favorites. We travel, hand in hand, learning more about each other as we discover the world together. We discuss adoption like it's a sure thing, a desire of our hearts since we were young...a child that is both ours and someone else's, made and grown with a love big enough to fill multiple hearts and families. 

But I'm not a talker.  Sometimes what I'll want to say is that everything is beautiful and I'm excited about all the prospects of what this world and our Lord has to offer. Sometimes what I'll need to say is that I'm hurt, bruised by the realities of a life not gone according to plan.  That's the point of this blog: a place to write down all of the things I don't know how to say. 

Living life in measured time

Days and weeks: I realized I was infertile by the time April 2013 rolled around. I hadn't yet been trying for a year at that point so I couldn't officially get the diagnosis attached to my chart, but I knew it was coming.  It didn't really matter, either, that it hadn't been a year. I was already deeply entrenched in the heartache of infertility. I now lived life slowly counting away cycle days, marking away weekly increments on the calendar to explain my life in terms of before and after ovulation.

Months: On to the next cycle.  That's what we, the inferts, say to ourselves and one another when our period arrives to prove to us what we already know.   Another cycle, another chance, another month (after month, after month, after month).   Each month is its own odd little torture.  It progresses so slowly as I try to fill my time with anything that might keep my mind off of the thing we're working to achieve.   And then it moves on suddenly without me. Boom, another month, another cycle. These things add up before I know it.  Which brings me to my next point....

Years: There have been nearly three of them so far. Oh, folks, those three years. There won't ever be enough time to tell you what they've done to me, to my marriage, to every relationship I have with every person I know.  Things have been good and things have been bad, as life goes, but infertility has been my constant companion.  I either fight against it, to ignore it and live joyously in spite of it, or else it clobbers and overwhelms me, leaving me feeling confused, longing, and irritated.