I have needed to write this post for months now, but I’ve been hesitant. Due to the subject matter, it is going to be difficult to write in a positive manner, to make it seem as if it’s not just one giant wall of complain-y text. Plus, more and more keeps happening to add onto my ever-growing hatred of this year that I’m not sure if writing it now would even matter. It all may change tomorrow.
It started earlier this year when I was diagnosed with PCOS as discussed in this blog post. If you had told me a year ago that I might not be able to have kids, I probably would have given you a high five and praised the Good Lord Baby Jesus for His divine favor. I had already told myself that I didn’t want kids, that they were messy, annoying, and all around terrifying, so no biggie…
Over the next few months, I found myself spiraling at dangerous speeds down this cobwebby vortex of self-hatred, and I not only couldn’t but wouldn’t stop it. I recognized that it was happening, but I did nothing. If I want to be completely honest here – and you all know I love the honesty like a fat kid on a diet loves cake – I allowed it to get worse. I wanted to feel bad about myself. I wanted to play the victim, to wallow in self-pity in hopes that someone would pay attention to me and offer a helping hand.
Of course, this backfired simply due to the fact that I didn’t actually let anyone know that I was having a hard time needed help... you know... the part that is actually needed in order to get help. I expected my friends and family to read my mind and force me to get out of my house, to slap me in the face and say, “So what? You’re still the same person. Get over it and move on.”
Oh, good gravy. I just realized that I pulled a Harry Potter. You know how, in one of the books (the 2nd one, I think?? I’m not a Potterhead, forgive me.) Harry gets all bejiggety because he doesn’t get any letters from his friends over the summer? Instead of trying to contact his friends and ask, “Yo, what the frizzuck is up? I miss your faces!” he plays the victim and hides away like a little Nancy. Way to be, Harry.
I totally did that. I ostracized myself and expected people to reach out and help without actually asking for help. So many facepalms…
At any rate, I have been in Poor, Pitiful Stefers mode for quite some time now, wishing that the PCOS would just go away, that I knew I could have kids, that I could prove to the world that I am, in fact, a woman instead of a walking dead uterus and would be more than capable of being an absolutely amazing mother.
All of that being said, I feel like I’m starting to deal with it in a more positive manner now. I have my bad days, of course, but generally my outlook is just a twinge rosier. Not by much, but even miniscule steps forward is progress.
I’d like to say that this is the only trouble I have had this year, but no. Not at all. 2013 has shaped up to be one of the worst in my life (a symptom of that is my lack of posting here on 52 Weeks), and you’re going to get to hear all of it over the next week or so.
Aren’t you excited?