And more importantly, why on earth would I write about this on the web to share with millions of strangers?

{March 30, 2009.}

These were the first two sentences I wrote on my blog, nearly 3 years ago, in a post titled “More Than [...]]]>

So how exactly did this all happen?

And more importantly, why on earth would I write about this on the web to share with millions of strangers?

{March 30, 2009.}

These were the first two sentences I wrote on my blog, nearly 3 years ago, in a post titled “More Than You Ever Needed to Know About Me.” It’s funny. They’re valid questions, one that many infertility bloggers face.

Why would we put all of this information out in such detail, out there for the world to see?

When I started this blog in 2009, blogging was such a foreign concept to me even though I’d been LiveJournaling for years. While I kept this blog anonymous for a year, there were plenty of friends and family who read my blog in the early days. But in the wake of learning at age 26 that my eggs were virtually dust, I felt compelled to write.

And write I have.

But today, I want to take a look back at the blog post that started it all.

In the Beginning

My very first post on this blog has no comments. I’m sure it’s due to the total lack of dedicated readership at that point and perhaps because of its content. I spend a little over 1200 words giving readers the oh-so-detailed story of my reproductive system from my first period to my infertility diagnosis:

But my whole story starts well before last September; in fact, it begins on May 21, 1992. I am 9 years old, and it is 4 days before my 10th birthday. It’s a Saturday (yes, I still remember this) and I got my first period.

I began my blog just a couple of weeks after I was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure and for me, I was still very much in the mindset of “how did this happen?” so that tracing my entire reproductive history was an important first step in establishing just how the hell my lady bits got so fakakta.

Even then, just twelve days after being told that no, you can’t have children, I felt compelled to share my story:

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the short time since my diagnosis, it’s that hearing other women’s stories, other voices, is so comforting, supportive, and helpful. My hope is that my story might help other women, other couples struggling with infertility and their family and friends.

It’s funny to me now to go back and reread my first blog post, only to see how this believe – only my third paragraph in to my blog – has become central to not only who I am, but to the work that I seek to do in this world.

It’s this guiding belief – that our infertility stories matter – that has led me to create The Infertility Voice.

Coming Full Circle

It’s been almost three years since I began this blog and a lot has happened in my life. We bought a house, we lost jobs, we quit jobs, we got new jobs, we traveled, we lost family members, we gained family members – not necessarily in that order. But it’s been an incredibly busy three years for Team Zoll. And we were worried there for a little while, in the early days of 2009 after I was diagnosed as infertile and a week later, my husband got laid off from his job.

With each word, I’ve written myself closer and closer to the future I want to make for myself. That’s the incredible power of writing; I said this to a friend on Twitter yesterday:

Writing brings you one step closer, word by word, to whatever your imagination wants to create.

For me, the future I’d love to see – and help create – is one where infertility is free from shame, stigma, and cultural silencing. It’s unfortunate that I have to have infertility in the first place, but it’s this confluence of diagnosis and self-discovery that’s put me on this path.

It’s a path that exists because of this blog, and by extension – because of every single person who reads and comments here.

All Good Things…

Everything has to end at some point, right? There are few infinite things in our Universe and I knew full well that my blog would not be one of them.

So even after all my lovely redesigning and the arduous move from Blogger to self-hosted WordPress this summer, it’s coming time to close up shop around here.

On March 5, 2012, Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed will close.*

What’s Next for My Blog

All of my blogging will be done over at my new digs, The Infertility Voice. So, update your readers now (new RSS feed here) and make sure you go like the new Facebook page (because yes, that’s moving too).

And while you’re waiting for The Infertility Voice to launch on March 5, you sign up for nifty email updates here. I’ve sent out 2 already and they’ve had special goodies for early adopters.

I know change sucks. We all hate change. But it’s for the better – I promise! And my blog at The Infertility Voice is just the tip of the iceberg. Like I said – those email updates? Sign up for ‘em so you can get all the sneaky peeks before I go live on March 5th.

*It won’t necessarily disappear from the internet. I’ll have the domain forward from hannahweptsarahlaughed.com to TheInfertilityVoice.com; also, I’m migrating all of my posts from here to the new place, so you can still find all of my content from the past 3 years.

It’s amazing to look back on that very first post and realize that ultimately, it’s guided me to where I am today:

“…why on earth would I write about this on the web to share with millions of strangers?”

Answer: Because infertility stories matter.

Because we need to tell those stories, advocate for awareness and facilitate a culture of compassion.

I hope you’ll join me in this work at The Infertility Voice.

This post is part of the Time Warp Tuesday Blog Hop hosted by Kathy at Four of a Kind. Swing by her blog today to see who else is participating and join in the fun for next Tuesday.

No related posts.

Realizing this has left me a little contemplative about growing up, aging, expectations and mortality. It’s not all doom and gloom, but as I let my thoughts wander on these subjects, I’m struck at the diversity of my opinions and experiences on the whole matter.

I’m turning 30. [...]]]>

100 days from now, I’ll turn 30.

Realizing this has left me a little contemplative about growing up, aging, expectations and mortality. It’s not all doom and gloom, but as I let my thoughts wander on these subjects, I’m struck at the diversity of my opinions and experiences on the whole matter.

I’m turning 30. What’s the big whoop, right?

I’m not really sure. And while I know that I feel very strongly about this upcoming milestone in my life, I’m not really sure what exactly I feel. So let me give you a peek at what’s been going through my head the last few days.

I have had exactly 2 grey hairs.

One discovered many months ago in the bathroom at work: a single silver thread sticking straight up from the crown of my head. Its silvery glimmer in the fluorescent lighting is what caught my eye. I pulled it out and looked at it for a long time before washing it down the sink.

The second was found just two weeks ago by my husband while we were Skyping with my parents. He took particular satisfaction in both finding and plucking it, as he’s had a smattering of grey for years now (that I constantly rag on him about). I had missed this one, hiding on the back of my head.

I have found these two singular grey hairs to be like some mutant growth on my body. They repulse me and I hope I don’t have to see them again for another 30 years or more.

The Asian Aging Process

I’m half-Japanese. My grandmother (father’s mother) is 94? 95? I’ve lost count. Anywho, she’s up there and yes, has a head of ghost-white hair. She also rides her bike several miles everyday and plays croquet every morning for 2-3 hours with her buddies (and having seen this when we went to Japan, it’s adorable). This woman is still kicking ass and taking names like she’s 25.

But this totally happens:

Source: Emiko Sawanobori

For me, this gets complicated. Because that big MENOPAUSE! burst? Slip that in between age 20-30 and 30-50. Hopefully I don’t look like the age 60-70 panel.

Sometimes I feel like it though. Hearing my knees crack and creak in yoga class doesn’t make me feel good about myself. Nor does the fact that I need to take calcium supplements and hormones to keep me feelin’ fit and fine.

Or otherwise I might start to shrivel up and start looking like the 120 year old.

“You’re not old enough yet.”

Growing up with a sister 8 years my senior lead to some interesting fights with my parents growing up.

Me: “Why can’t I stay out late? Yuko does!”

My parents: “You’re not old enough yet.”

Me: “Why can’t I go out to the movies by myself? Yuko does!”

My parents: “You’re not old enough yet.”

Me: “How come Yuko gets to [insert teenage activity here] but I don’t?”

My parents: “You’re not old enough yet.”

You get the idea.

So when I turned 18 I felt like I was such hot shit struttin’ around because hey, I’m finally old enough to do stuff now. When I turned 21, hell yes I was going to Atlantic City for my first (legal) drink and to gamble at the casinos.

When I turned 25, I was excited I could rent a car. It stops being fun after 25.

It’s like, I’m 30! That means I get to…

…pay my mortgage? File my taxes? Get my car inspected?

Pretty lame all around.

“You’re so young.”

When I told people I had premature ovarian failure at 26, I would get the whole, “Wow, you’re so young” routine. Let’s face facts here: anything less than 42 is young it comes to POF. And then when we tell them we’re going to pursue IVF with donor eggs, I get the “Well, it’s good you’re so young” comment.

I don’t feel young at all. And what does that comment even mean? Like I’ve got time on my side to have children?

Because time is not a factor once you’ve been hit with the POF hammer. In fact, the doctor who diagnosed me said we could take our time building our family since donor egg and/or adoption were our only options. The only reason we’ve taken our time is because having babies through ART ain’t cheap.

If I could have had a child at 26, I would have.

There are plenty of women my age – and younger – who already have a child. Who might even have, oh, I dunno, 4 already? I can think of at least one person younger than me with 4 children. There’s nothing like getting lapped four times by someone a year younger than you.

100 days and counting.

100 days, 100 opportunities. 100 chances to do all the stuff I always said I wanted to do in my twenties.

Go to college: check.

Get a job: check.

Get married: check.

Get a house: check.

Have a family:

…

…

Right. About that.

I’ve said before how I thought we’d be parents by now and that I have this weird thing where I really wanted to parent before I was 30.

So unless through some science-fiction miracle I can conceive, gestate, and birth a child in the next 100 days, that’s simply not happening.

Reading back through this post, its sounds like I’m facing a little disappointment going into my thirties. Maybe a little. But I’ve also got a lot to celebrate that I’ve managed to accomplish in my twenties.

As for the rest of these little vignettes… I’m still unpacking all of that emotionally.

…All while I search my scalp in the mirror, frantic with paranoia as I keep a lookout for any more stray greys, watching the calendar page flip another day closer until I turn 30.

No related posts.

Sex is so complicated. I could write dozens upon dozens of posts about sex (and, maybe I will in the future). Sex is one of those things that factors into the most basic of baby-making formulas:

Here, let’s share this earworm together:

Just the two of us
[...]]]>

It’s the funniest thing this morning: after reading a couple of articles about three state legislators’ attempts to fight back against absurd, anti-women measures in their own states, I simply cannot get “Just the Two of Us” out of my head.

Here, let’s share this earworm together:

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us
You and I

Now imagine a single sperm serenading his intended egg, a love song for the embryo-to-be. The image is all the more hysterical.

(You’re welcome.)

Last week, in the wake of the SGK/PP debacle I posted about The State of the Uterus. About how I hate how politicized women’s healthcare has become. About how some days, I kind of just want to head-desk repeatedly at the madness of what’s being proposed regarding women’s healthcare around the nation. And then I read about the amazing actions of three legislators who like me, are fed up.

Unlike me, they have a little bit more power to truly fight back on their own legislative turf.

It started in Virginia last week. State Senator Janet Howell introduced an amendment to a bill that proposes requiring women to undergo an ultrasound prior to having an abortion. She turned the bill on its head by adding that men who wish to seek a prescription for drugs like Viagra, to treat erectile disfunction, would require both a rectal exam and a cardiac stress test.

Zing! Nice work, Sen. Howell.

Just the week prior, Oklahoma introduced a personhood bill that attempts to “do right” where the Mississippi personhood bill failed. (If you have 5 minutes, click over and read for all the details. This bill is legits scary.)

Next up to bat is Oklahoma State Sen. Jim Wilson:

Another pro-choice legislator, Democrat Jim Wilson, attempted to add an amendment to the bill that would require the father of the child to be financially responsible for the woman’s health care, housing, transportation, and nourishment while she was pregnant. (Source)

But it’s State Sen. Constance Johnson who knocks it out of the park. Fighting back against the clearly misogynistic agenda of personhood legislation, she threw this amendment to the bill out there:

However, any action in which a man ejaculates or otherwise deposits semen anywhere but in a woman’s vagina shall be interpreted and construed as an action against an unborn child.

BAZINGA!

While Sen. Wilson’s amendment failed and Sen. Johnson later tabled her amendment, both admit they threw these amendments out there to make a point: you can’t keep punishing women with personhood and anti-reproductive choice legislation.

It takes two to make an embryo.

(Or, if you’re the 1 in 8 with infertility like me, it takes you, your egg donor, your husband, your RE, and a team of embryologists.)

You can put in all the language you want about what constitutes killing an unborn person to protect things like IVF and miscarriages, as the OK bill is (horribly failing at) trying to do. But in the end, all they do is punish women for a) having wombs and b) having had sex in the first place.

There is zero accountability for the sperm that made it all happen.

When I was looking through my photos for a picture to accompany this post, I came across this one from the Boston Walk for Choice last winter:

Notice the woman in the bottom left corner.

In CSI fashion, allow me to ENHANCE!

Her sign: "Because you don't force boys to become fathers."

This picture sums up perfectly the inherent bias and sexism that exists with measures that seek to restrict women’s access to healthcare, be it through personhood amendments, banning birth control funding, or other anti-choice legislation.

While their actions might be viewed as snarky or childish, what Senators Howell, Wilson and Johnson have done with their crazy amendments is help illustrate just how crazy this kind of legislation is to begin with. Their actions shine a laser beam on exactly who this kind of legislation targets.

It’s not those precious unborn people. (PS: embryos =/= people.)

It’s women.

The actions of these senators paint that fact clear as day for all the world to see and I imagine, it’s making some people uncomfortable to have their agendas totally called out in such a public fashion. Because, let’s not forget: when you introduce amendments, they go in the public legislative record.

So Friday kudos to Senators Howell, Wilson and Johnson, for bringing some much needed common-sense discussion into the personhood and anti-choice debates, in the craziest ways possible.

And how sad is is that we have to resort to these kinds of antics to protect women’s access to healthcare in the first place.

No related posts.

I wiggled my toes together.

बद्धकोणसन

Supta baddha konasana.

(Previously, on Keiko’s Uterus: An Overdue Post About My Lady Bits.)

Since we changed health [...]]]>

So when I’m not posting about the State of THE Uterus, I thought it was time for an update on the State of MY Uterus.

(Previously, on Keiko’s Uterus: An Overdue Post About My Lady Bits.)

Since we changed health insurance providers in November, it was time to see a new doctor. As much as I would have loved to stay with previous doctor, he wasn’t covered under our new insurance. So I scheduled my first physical for last week that turned out to be both “getting to know my new doctor” and “follow up to random ovarian pain two weeks prior.”

Enter: Dr. Hipster.

An artist's rendition of my new doctor

To be clear, she wasn’t walking in with a iPod blasting Lana Del Rey or anything; but she’s got these horn-rimmed glasses and a proclivity for skinny jeans that weren’t jeans more like dressy slacks but still skinny jeans? and I dunno. I just thought to myself, “Wow, my new doctor is a hipster!” when she walked into the examining room.

Thankfully, she didn’t laugh at me sitting there in my paper gown, turquoise socks on my feet and iPad in my lap. In fact, she smiled and said she likes a patient who comes prepared.

And prepared I was. I had a list of goals I wanted to accomplish under her care and a list of questions outlined by diagnosis/medical concern area. Because I’ve spent so many hours in doctor’s offices in my life, I’m a firm believer in getting to the point and not wasting time. I also want to make sure that my concerns are heard, so it’s important for me to come in with an agenda. To some, I might seem like a needy patient.

For me, it’s both peace of mind and let’s my doctor know that I’m not just another patient who will simply nod and say “okay” – I’m not just an observer of my own health but rather an active – and proactive – participant in my healthcare.

My health goals:

1. Do what it takes to accommodate living with thyroid disease and premature ovarian failure (beyond infertility concerns and focusing on lifelong health with POF).
2. Achieve as reasonable a weight as I can living with both of these conditions.
3. Do whatever it takes to get my body baby-ready: from implantation to gestation to birth.

Dr. Hipster thought they were all valid goals and was just as committed as I was to making them happen.

So, on to the reports from the front lines:

• We don’t really know what’s causing the systemic itching. Most likely it’s my thyroid but there’s no way to no for sure.
• Speaking of thyroid, my TSH is through the roof. 5.29 to be exact. That’s pretty high for someone who seems to function best in the 1.0-1.2 range.
• Yep, it’s a fibroid. Only 1 cubic centimeter and most likely attached to the back inside wall of my uterus. Since it’s pedunculated, they couldn’t tell if the doorknob part was facing my uterine cavity or the back wall of my uterus. Awesomesauce.
• I need to clean up my diet and exercise (shocker). My cholesterol was high-ish, 215, which for me is actually lower than I’m used to. My HGA1C was also 5.9. And when 6.1 is considered pre-diabetic, my heart skipped a beat seeing those numbers. With a family history of heart disease and type II diabetes, I do not want to fuck around with this.

For my thyroid, she wants to take my off the Armour Thyroid I’ve been taking and up my Levoxyl dose in stages. So for now, I’m going off 88mcg Levoxyl/30mg Armour and going to 100mcg of Levoxyl. We’ll retest my thyroid levels in 6 weeks and then hopefully up my dose to 112mcg, retest and then see if we need to bump it up to 125mcg. I’m laying money that I might have to go up to 137mcg, since that’s the dose I took for the longest amount of time before dropping back down last year.

Unfortunately for the itching, she recommended I take the Atarax as needed. I had another episode this weekend, but managed to stave it off with just a Zyrtec, so we’ll see.

As for the fibroid, since I filled her in on the whole “we’re going the donor egg/IVF route” and stressed that yes, we need to make sure my uterus is pristine by the time I’m on the transfer table, she said she would defer to my as-yet-to-be-determined RE* (more on that in a bit). Her opinion is that it should be fine, but after attending RESOLVE New England’s Donor Egg Seminar last month, I’d rather err on the side of caution and medically intervene if needed.

As for diet and exercise, I have some good news to report. I told Dr. Hipster that I was eating 3 small meals a day with light, healthy snacks in between. I told her I was trying to go to the gym 3 times a week: 1 yoga class and 2 nights of cardio for at least 30 minutes. I told her I was paying more attention to the variety of foods and nutrients I put into my body across the day and had begun taking calcium, fish oil, and women’s multivitamin supplements daily.

The good news? “You’re doing all the right things. Keep it up.”

Yes! A gold star from my doctor for once!

In terms of getting myself baby-ready? Continue doing the above and make sure I’m getting 1mg of folic acid daily, so I just need to add a folic acid supplement.

And I have to say, since making these lifestyle changes: breakfast, vitamins, gym – it’s made a huge difference. I’ve lost 8 pounds since December. My energy is magnificent. I don’t get winded going up and down the stairs. I just feel good. It’s a nice change.

So that’s where I’m at.

That as-yet-to-be-determined RE I mentioned? You might remember I got a second opinion on my POF diagnosis with Doc Awesome, the doctor I was hoping we’d go with from the Big Fertility Clinic in Our Area. At the Donor Egg Seminar I went to last month, I got to meet a doctor from a much smaller clinic local to us that I want to get to know a little better. There was just something about his warm candor and approachability that really resonated with me, so Larry and I are going to schedule a consultation and see what they’re all about. They are vastly different in approach from the Big Fertility Clinics and I’m willing to hear them out.

Better to be over-educated than not enough, right?

And there’s a reason that perhaps we might want to find an RE and soon… ladies and gents, Team Zoll’s Family Building Adventure officially begins this year. Full details in a future post as there’s still a lot of personal, behind-the-scenes conversations happening, but we’re thrilled to announce the ball officially begins rolling in 2012 for us

PS: You should totally check out RESOLVE New England’s new website. Yes, I work for them, but I’m sharing it because I’m doubly proud of its new look and feel… since I built it! I love being able to show off shiny new things I made so check them out and tell your New England friends.

So yay for feeling good. Yay for doing good. What’s good in your life, right now? Even if it’s been a crappy Monday, surely there must be one good thing for you, right now. Share in the comments!

Related posts:

• An Overdue Post About My Lady Bits
• Makin’ a list and checking it twice.
• Questions for 5/29 Appointment

My Fellow Women.

I wish I could come here before you today and tell you that the State of the Uterus is strong.

But at this time in our history, in this country – I worry for each and every one of my sisters out there, for each and every uterus out there. [...]]]>

My Fellow Women.

I wish I could come here before you today and tell you that the State of the Uterus is strong.

But at this time in our history, in this country – I worry for each and every one of my sisters out there, for each and every uterus out there.

The State of the Uterus in America is not well, my sisters.

We have become divided. This division has etched deep chasms in our bodies, our psyches, our souls and our purpose. And when our purpose becomes divided and weakened, how easy it becomes for others to assail us.

We’ve let our guard down.

My sisters, we have become divided at the navel, a thick Belt of Politics wrapped around our waists, cinching tighter and tighter until we can no longer draw in a breath.

We’re forced to make a choice between our breasts and our wombs, as if somehow, they are mutually exclusive.

But my sisters: how can we thrive and prosper as Whole Women if we are being strangled by someone else’s politics?

Shouldn’t we be asking ourselves: from where did this belt come and why have we become so complacent to letting the buckle catch tighter and tighter? Have we become dizzy from the lack of air, from the lack of reason?

My sisters I want to exhale a sigh of relief, to fill my belly and lungs with that invigorating inhalation of promise and opportunity. I have Women’s Work to do.

When two pro-women’s organizations are thrown into the ring like fighting dogs, it makes me wonder: has our orchestrated downfall become a spectator sport? And to whose entertainment does our in-fighting benefit?

My sisters, the State of the Uterus is tired and weak. We have faced relentless attacks, we are constantly doubted and I wonder what ever happened to trusting women.

When did Women’s Intuition become a threat?

We are each powerful, beautiful, strong creatures. We are intelligent. We are loving. We are sensual and emotional and capable of boundless, fierce love. Such love.

And yet, we simply can’t be trusted to do what’s best for our bodies. Can’t be trusted that we know what’s best for our bodies. Can’t be trusted to have full ownership of everything that makes us powerful, fierce, unique and beautiful. Can’t be trusted to cherish, celebrate and protect our bodies.

It shouldn’t matter where you get screened for cancer. It shouldn’t matter for what cancer you’re screened. What matters is that we keep women healthy, we keep women alive.

What matters is that every woman in this country deserves equal access to healthcare.

Because all this politicized bedlam only obfuscates the greater conversation, being held behind closed doors and even openly on the floor of Congress: there exists a movement in this country to strip women of their rights.

My sisters, I fear for the State of the Uterus in America.

And you should too.

We need to set our politics aside, we need to stop navel-gazing at this Political Belt that would sever us in half if allowed. We need to free ourselves from this political shackle and unite in one Voice:

Trust women.

Trust us.

Trust. Women.

Sisters, I come before you with such fire in my belly, such spirit in my womb though it be barren, such utter desperation and exhaustion. It’s not about party lines. It never has been. It’s not about key players and titles and positions and politics. It’s not about drama or controversy.

I come before you sisters – as I have in every post and word and effort I have ever given to this blog – with one purpose:

To serve you as my sisters.

I seek to empower every woman, infertile or otherwise, to be her most authentic, strong, brave, beautiful self. To raise my voice when you can’t so that we are ALL heard. To ensure that every one of you gets the support you need – and has the access to do so.

My heart has room for every one of you, my sisters. Because we matter.

Because YOU matter.

Because women’s health matters.

We must come together, as Whole Women calling for change. Demand that we be trusted. Shout that we may be heard.

It is our duty to preserve for our daughters – for the next generation of American Women – to preserve the foundation laid for us by the women who came before us. We owe it to them. And if we don’t unite to protect women, all of the things our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers have achieved for us will begin slipping away through our fingers.

And soon, we will be left desperately reaching for the rights we once had.

I for one, could never look my mother in the eye knowing I had a chance to make a difference – a chance to stand up for myself – and didn’t. And I fear the kind of nation my country is becoming for my someday children.

And so I ask you sisters, to join me.

To join me in standing up for women. To join me in standing up for your sisters and mothers and daughters and aunts and nieces and grandmothers.

To join me in making a commitment to protecting women’s rights and women’s healthcare in America.

To leave your titles and politics at the door and come together in common purpose, in empowered sisterhood, and in numbers so great there’s no way we can be silenced.

Because we have Women’s Work to do.

No related posts.

To say it’s been busy around these parts is kind of an understatement. Between building a new website for RESOLVE New England and building two more of my own, I’ve had a lot on my plate. Not to mention [...]]]>

I feel like I blinked and January was gone.

Why I’ve Been Somewhat Off the Radar

To say it’s been busy around these parts is kind of an understatement. Between building a new website for RESOLVE New England and building two more of my own, I’ve had a lot on my plate. Not to mention I’ve picked up some new writing gigs and have been working on some social media projects for Words Empowered. Oh, and I’m writing a non-fiction book proposal I hope to be able to have finished by the end of March and plan on writing and self-publishing 3 – yes 3 – eBooks this coming month.

Did I mention I’m moving this blog and starting a whole new website & business on March 1st too? The Infertility Voice – y’all should check it out and join my e-list for updates as I move to launch.

Jesus, I’m exhausted just writing about all of this!

And yet, in the middle of it all, I made a promise to myself for 2012. I made a commitment to live a fertile life in 2012. It was simple: 12 months, 12 challenges.

Checking in on January’s Challenge

I made January’s challenge a relatively simple one: eat a solid food breakfast every morning by 10am.

So… how did I do?

I’m very proud to say that I managed to accomplish this challenge every day in the month of January! Some breakfasts were light: perhaps just a muffin or a piece of toast. I took a little liberty with weekends, since I rarely get out of bed before 10am, but made sure to eat as soon as I got up.

There were a couple of hectic days where I inhaled breakfast at 11:45am, just because in my head, anything after noon is lunch. But those days were the ones I ended up eating lunch at 3pm and dinner not until 8 or 9pm, so it all worked out.

Lasting Impact

It’s kind of ridiculous how much difference eating breakfast every day has made. I feel like committing to this one simple act has had a profound effect on, well – everything.

You see, I went from a regular 9-5 office job to working from home. I cannot stress the importance routine must play in making working from home productive. I lost one routine: rushing out the door, sitting in traffic for an hour while listening to NPR – and replaced it with another. Getting up a little later, getting showered and dressed for the day, grabbing a bite to eat and firing up my computer for a day of work.

Breakfast became my morning constant, to help me adjust to my new working environment.

But it also made me think about everything else I put into my body for the rest of the day. If I was carb or grain heavy in the morning, it made me reconsider lunch. Should I grab a slide of pizza or make myself a salad? The same thought process goes for dinner: what didn’t I have at lunch or breakfast I want to make sure I incorporate at dinner time? Eating breakfast made me more aware of the nutrients I was putting into my body and what I needed to add throughout the day.

One of the better lasting impacts is that by putting my own health and nutrition at the forefront of my brain each morning, it made a ripple effect throughout the day in thinking about what I can do best for my body each day.

All this from toast, bagels and clementine oranges. Crazy, right?

But this just speaks volumes to the power of turning resolutions into goals, and breaking them down into Bite-Size Chunks of Attainability^(TM) – suddenly it’s less of climbing a mountain and more of going on a power-hike with a rewarding view at the end.

It’s amazing how one simple thing like eating breakfast every day has changed my outlook on life and made me think proactively and positively at the start of each day!

Coming in February

Pardon my crassness, but wow, what a poorly worded section header. In short: me. February’s challenge is a little more… intimate.

I plan to (insert euphemism of your choice for sex) with my husband every day.

I will go into more detail (but not THAT kind of detail) about it all tomorrow. But suffice it to say, if I’m not answering my phone or responding to your email next month, well… I might be busy

How are your resolutions and goals coming along for 2012? How are you committing to living a fertile life this year?

Related posts:

• Living a Fertile Life in 2012
• Living Half a Life Together
• RESOLVE of New England Annual Conference Recap

Tonight’s plan: dinner at Cafeteria on Newbury Street in Boston. Celebrating ourselves and just how much we’re still head over heels in love.

Still can’t believe it’s been (only) four years.

Happy Anniversary, love.

No related posts.

Living with a chronic illness is not easy.

This post isn’t about the Pain Olympics. I’m not here to say that one chronic illness is worse than another. It’s just like our infertility diagnoses; there isn’t truly one that’s “worse” than another because it’s such a [...]]]>

This is a difficult post to write today.

Living with a chronic illness is not easy.

This post isn’t about the Pain Olympics. I’m not here to say that one chronic illness is worse than another. It’s just like our infertility diagnoses; there isn’t truly one that’s “worse” than another because it’s such a relative term with the same result.

In the case of chronic illness, different diseases and syndromes and conditions present themselves on a wide spectrum of often debilitating symptoms and that fall to the same end:

We feel like shit sometimes.

I have struggled with writing this post because I know a lot of you look up to me for being this strong, empowered woman. There are weeks and days where I absolutely feel like that woman.

And there are days, like today, where I feel meek and small and not strong at all, because the days that turn into years of living with chronic illness just pull the rug out from under your feet.

Infertility affects me every day. But it’s there more in this intangible, emotional sense. I’m not sticking myself with needles. I’m not in the middle of an IVF cycle. It looms large and ever-present, but doesn’t really make going through my days physically difficult.

My thyroid is another story.

Last night I spent three hours in the ER because my body would not stop itching. Not “oh, I have bad winter dry skin” itching. Think of the worst sunburn you’ve ever had, the peeling and itching that follows and then layer it with poison ivy and cover that with mosquito bites. Now imagine that it just won’t stop, no matter what you do.

I’d had systemic body itching for close to 48 hours by the time I went to the hospital. My feet would itch so bad I could barely walk. As soon as I reach to scratch them my scalp would start itching. Then my arms. The insides of my legs. My face, my neck, my finger tips, my ears… and it just wouldn’t stop.

I collapsed on the couch, sobbing. My husband held me, helped me undress and get into bed as I writhed, shivered, and squirmed, my chewed-to-the-quick fingernails raking across my body, leaving little red trails wherever they went, small raised welts rising in their wake.

Sobbing, in the darkness as I whispered all these awful things to my husband about how I hated constantly having to deal with something wrong with my body. Confessing that I was terrified the itching was indicative of something truly and horribly – systemically – wrong with me. Confessed to him I was terrified of being sent for a psych eval if I went to the hospital because I literally felt like I was losing my mind.

Pleading with him as he held me:

“What did I do to deserve this?”

I was lucky that it was a quiet Monday night, and was seen almost immediately at the ER. I explained to the nurses and doctors that no, I hadn’t changed my routine. That no, I hadn’t switched detergents or eaten anything different. That no, I’m on the same medications with no changes other than adding some vitamins. That no, I haven’t been bitten by anything or come into any contact with any known allergens. And that yes, I’ve tried Zytec and Benedryl and hot showers and warm oatmeal baths and sleeping naked and sleeping covered and changing clothes and trying deep breathing and that no – none of it helped.

I did explain that yes, my TSH was high, my free T-4 low and that I was likely having a “thyroid storm” where my anti-thyroid antibodies were eating away at my thyroid, causing my TSH to skyrocket to be followed with most likely plummeting TSH values in the coming days and weeks. To swing wildly from hypo- to hyperthyroid in a matter of weeks and then back to hypo- again.

The ER doc suspects it is my thyroid, since I’ve had these itching attacks for the last five months. None this bad or this long, but it makes sense when I go back and look at when they’ve occurred in the past. They gave me some steriods and a prescription-grade anti-histamine and sent me home. They began working immediately.

From 3am to 12 noon today, I barely moved in bed. My entire body ached; I felt like I had been hit by a truck. Because I had been in such an emotional state, my body tensing, me scratching so hard, my muscles were simply exhausted from overuse. The anti-histamine knocked me out hard, so I was groggy and disoriented when I awoke.

I had so much to do today, but here I am, still in bed, still feeling like crap, in a mix of feeling sorry for myself and feeling so utterly and truly tired of dealing with this all.

It starts to wear on you after a while.

Back in the summer of 2009, I wrote about how I had a lot going on, how I was still coping, how in July of that year I decided to start seeing an infertility therapist. What I never wrote about was the one day when Larry came home from work and I was nothing short of vegetative. I had taken the day off because I felt so awful. Nothing specific, but just awful.

I was beyond depressed. I was so tired – so tired – and he suggested I get in the shower. It was my sobs that sent him running into the bathroom. He turned off the shower and held me, naked and soaked, as I sobbed and sobbed. Held me still when I collapsed on the floor and told him that I didn’t even feel like myself anymore.

That the brain fog made me feel stupid. That the fatigue made me feel like everyone must think I’m lazy. That my lack of libido and the inability to lose weight made me feel unattractive.

“I don’t know who this person is anymore,” I sobbed. “It’s turning me into someone I don’t even recognize.”

It was no surprise when my blood work came back that week that I learned my TSH was the highest its ever been. That my anti-thyroid antibodies were literally off the charts. That it was my thyroid that had robbed of my sense of self on that very awful day.

I got better. I changed dosages. I tried to eat better, be more vigilant about supplements. And it did get better, for a little while. When the season changed (and I’m prone to Seasonal Affective Disorder) we played with my dosage again. And for the most part, I have managed for the last three years.

But there was something about last night, in the context of the commitment I made to myself and my husband to get healthy – I mean really healthy in anticipation of starting our donor cycle – I just felt like I had been knocked so many steps backward.

I am eating healthier. I am going to the gym. I’ve even lost a few pounds. I’m taking vitamins: calcium, fish oil, vitamin D, folic acid – to get myself in the best shape I can be.

But then they find a fibroid. And then this itching… this incessant, maddening itching and knowing that no, my thyroid is still not under control…

It’s times like these when I just have to wonder, “What am I still not doing right?”

It’s times like these that rob me of my strength, even when I know I am a strong woman.

I know it will get better. I know I’ll work through this with my new doctor. I know I am still a strong women who can persevere but right now – right now as I lay here, my muscles still aching, thin red scratches all over my skin – right now I’m just so tired.

So tired of constantly trying to be one step ahead of my chronic illness only to find I’m a block behind. So tired of feeling like a disappointment and a burden to my husband (who assures me over and over again I am not) because let me tell you: he is a saint to deal with me when I’m like this. I can’t imagine how it must feel to watch your wife in agony and know there’s not a damn thing you can do to ease her pain.

And that’s it.

Chronic illness, no matter what you have, is just exhausting. It wears you down and eats away at your authentic self. It robs you of being the awesome person you could be were it not for your chronic illness.

And the guilt… oh the guilt. For missing those events in your life that had it not been for your chronic illness, you’d have been there: parties, dinners, work, travel, etc. For feeling like you think (however irrational it may be) people think you’re just lazy or using your disease as a crutch. For knowing that yes, your co-workers absolutely used to talk behind your back about all those days you missed from work as sick-time.

It sucks. A lot.

That said, I know I will come out of this. I know I’ll find a treatment protocol that works for me, at least in the short term. I know I’m still just as strong as ever.

But in this moment, I feel like I don’t know that.

I’m not looking for pity. I’m not trying to make excuses.

I just want people to understand what living with a chronic illness is like.

And I just want to get better already.

Related posts:

• Post-Fathers’ Day Confessional

SOPA is the Stop Online Piracy Act, a bill drafted in the US House of Representatives. PIPA is the PROTECT IP Act, a bill drafted in the US Senate. Both bills are aimed at stopping online piracy, however, they are flawed in their execution and overreaching in [...]]]>

Answer: SOPA/PIPA.

What are SOPA and PIPA?

SOPA is the Stop Online Piracy Act, a bill drafted in the US House of Representatives. PIPA is the PROTECT IP Act, a bill drafted in the US Senate. Both bills are aimed at stopping online piracy, however, they are flawed in their execution and overreaching in their scope.

At best, SOPA and PIPA represent a chilling new form of censorship, unprecedented in America.

At worst, they will break the internet as you know it.

But this won’t impact me… right?

Wrong. Think of some of the most common sites your visit: Wikipedia, YouTube, Facebook, Yahoo, Twitter – even Google.

Under SOPA/PIPA, they could be completely shut down.

SOPA/PIPA have the power to shut down even your anonymous infertility blog, your mommy blog, your coupon blog, your crafting blog, your photo blog, your whatever blog – too. All because the entertainment industry suspects you may be harboring – or even promoting – pirated material on your website. They can take down your website on suspicion – preemptively – with no real evidence.

I still don’t understand. How will SOPA/PIPA break the internet?

Here’s a handy video that explains it all in under 4 minutes:

Can’t watch the video? Here’s a handy article from Lifehacker instead:
All About SOPA, the Bill That Wants to Cripple Your Internet Very Soon

Who opposes SOPA/PIPA?

Google, Yahoo!, Facebook, Twitter, AOL, LinkedIn, eBay, Mozilla Corporation, Roblox, Reddit, the Wikimedia Foundation, Reporters Without Borders, the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF), the ACLU, Human Rights Watch…

This list is just a fraction of the complete list of companies, brands, websites, and other leaders who have expressed concerns about SOPA/PIPA.

Oh, and The White House thinks both bills are pretty bad ideas.

Whoa. That’s bananas. What can I do?

While a fairly open-ended statement from House Majority Leader Eric Cantor has shelved SOPA, his statement leaves room for a future bill similar to SOPA to come down the pike, PIPA is still up for a vote on January 24th. It’s vital that the American public ACTS NOW.

1. Get informed.

2. Contact your Senators. Call BOTH their DC and state offices. Demand they listen to your concerns. To refuse to do so is basically your Senator’s way of refusing to do their job. Contact your reps here by filling in your zip and going from there.

3. Show your solidarity by joining the second Blackout day on January 24th.
Put up a message that your site is down on January 24 in protest. WordPress user? I’m using the Blackout SOPA Plugin. Highly customizable, easy to use, and creates a temporary landing page/cookie for visitors informing them about SOPA/PIPA, with a link for them to click through to your website, as well as where to get info on SOPA. Once the plugin is deactivated, the temp page that was created will be deleted from your site.

4. Change your Facebook and Twitter profile pictures.
Do it in just a few clicks here: http://www.blackoutsopa.org/

5. Sign the Petition.
Then go tell your friends.

Be informed. Use your voice. Contact your legislators. STOP PIPA.

No related posts.

Okay, to be fair: she was talking about a crazy volatile relationship in her song, Me & Mr. Jones. But truly, what is infertility if not a crazy volatile relationship with one’s own body?

Amirite or amirite?

. . .

As I decided to approach 2012 as my Year of Living a Fertile Life, of course the first thing I [...]]]>

In full disclosure, this is my very first paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed here are my own. And believe me, I have plenty.

As I decided to approach 2012 as my Year of Living a Fertile Life, of course the first thing I thought of was my health, and certainly my weight plays into this. Larry and I made a deal when I quit my job: I could quit, but I had to make a commitment to get myself baby-ready by cleaning up my diet and getting active.

When BlogHer put out the call for book reviewers for a new title, Why Women Need Fat, my curiosity was certainly piqued. I figured it was a good opportunity for me to explore more about truly nourishing my body and guide me towards reaching my Fertile Living goals this year.

So let’s jump right in, shall we?

Wait a sec, how did that bag from Burger King get in the picture?

I’m going to go ahead and get this out of the way first: as you read, it’s pretty damn clear this book was written by two men. I don’t mean this in any kind of bitchy feminist way either. It’s just very blunt in its tone and on more than one occasion, I felt like women were objectified into nothing more than skinny, fertile waists popping out kids left and right. (I’ll get to that in a bit.)

I wasn’t thrilled with the writing style. While I do appreciate Lassek & Gaulin’s thorough cross-cultural analyses of just how American women got to be so damn fat (shocker: food industry and advertising execs in bed with the government), much of the book was a blur of statistic layered in statistic in a narrative structure woven between complex studies and personal anecdotes about “Susan”, our protagonist Everywoman.

I will say this: By the end of the first page of the introduction, I found myself nodding along to Susan’s story. She used to be wicked skinny but as the years went on, particularly after she had children, the weight kept coming. Diet after diet produced temporary results that only increased her weight gain once she stopped her restrictive regimens. She felt like she was trapped in this endless cycle of temporary weight loss followed by increased weight gain.

“That’s me,” I actually said aloud.

Well, minus the kids part. But it’s so true – I had literally just written about this a few months ago.

The book explores many things I’ve gleaned from various other books about food and dieting: corn is in everything and – SPOILER ALERT – it’s pretty bad for you. But here is where Lassek and Gaulin really dig deep into exactly why corn and soybean oils are just so bad for us. From a historical perspective, people simply didn’t eat corn and soybean oils in the quantities we do now. It’s the pervasiveness of these omega-6 fats in our modern diets that are totally screwing with the “good” fat (omega-3′s) our bodies need, particularly women’s bodies.

Then Why Women Need Fat gets… tangential. We go from in-depth analyses of historical omega-6 consumption to waist-hip ratios, male evolutionary preference for thin waists, the rates of caesarian sections, perceived evolutionary probability of fertility and the size of the human brain. It was kind of like listening to your very talkative friend enthusiastically describe that about which they’re most passionate… while they’re on speed.

And then, just as casually as the conversation went off the rails, it steers back to the idea of genetically pre-determined “set points,” that is, the weight you’re basically just destined to be.

While at first pass, this might sound like it shifts all the blame from fat folks shoving donuts down their throats to the “It’s My Genes!” card, but I’ve had this same conversation with my doctor. According to Doc Awesome, we all have not only our set weights, but just how far our range will go either over or underweight. People like Jared, of Subway Sandwich fame? He’s got an unnaturally high range of variance. Most people have very little ranges, so try as we might, for some of us, dropping 150 lbs just isn’t genetically possible.

It takes 125 pages for the book to really get to the point: what we need to do about it (hint: cut down on omega-6′s and up your omega-3′s). There’s a rather helpful guide of what foods to avoid, what to include, and steps for things you can do right now knowing that a complete shift in lifestyle diet is a very gradual change.

In sum: there’s a lot of fat to cut through to get to the point, but once you get there, it makes sense. Why Women Need Fat isn’t a concise step-by-step to losing weight. It’s more of the intellectual’s guide to understanding why they carry the weight they do and what they can do in the long term to more closely align their bodies to their natural/”set point” weight.

(I will say this: the inner foodie in me was glad to pick up this book. Turns out I have been justified in my love affair with butter, cheese, and olive oil. There’s a reason I love French cuisine so damn much… it’s delicious AND nutritious! Well, kind of. It’s complicated.)

Why Women Need Fat has certainly given me a lot to think about and some tips for making long-term healthy lifestyle changes to my diet. And, as the book points out extensively, it’s not just for my health, but the health of my future kids.

Living a fertile life really takes on a whole new meaning in that context.

BlogHer will be running their Book Club for the next four weeks. You can join me for the first Book Club discussion, “This Means I Get to Use Real Butter, Right?” over at BlogHer. Need to pick up your own copy to join in? Get Why Women Need Fat from Amazon or download the Kindle version for all you fancy-pants eBook readers out there.

If you’ve read it: what did you think? If you didn’t, what other questions do you have? I’ll do my best to answer in the comments!

Related posts:

• Silent Sorority Book Review Postponed
• Book Review: "And Hannah Wept" by Michael Gold
• Barren Bitches Book Brigade

Well, the time has come for that post.

To clarify: no, I am not spontaneously pregnant [...]]]>

Remember back in the summer I was worried about writing controversial posts? And one of those posts that I had on the queue to write about was how I’m terrified of parenting twins?

Well, the time has come for that post.

The Doublemint Twins We Are Not.

To clarify: no, I am not spontaneously pregnant with twins.

But the CDC’s recent report on the climbing rates of twin births in the last 30 years has prompted me to finally write about this, because the numbers don’t lie:

The twin birth rate rose 76 percent from 1980 through 2009, from 18.9 to 33.3 per 1,000 births. (Source: CDC)

The CDC has concluded two major contributing factors for this:

1. Higher maternal age is more likely to naturally produce twins, especially for mothers over 40, and;
2. The increase of fertility treatments nationwide.

Anecdotally, I’ve seen the growing trend of twins in my own lifetime. From elementary through high school, I only knew one set of twins. (Hi Dilella boys, if you’re reading this.) When I got to college, I was surprised when as a first year RA, I had a set of twins living on my floor as roommates. Working in higher ed for the next seven years, it was not uncommon to see two or three sets of twins in each year’s roster of students.

It’s to the point now that when I see a double-seater with two lookalike children being pushed down the street by their smiling parents, I wonder to myself, “Are those fertility treatment babies?” It’s none of my business, true – but I can’t help but wonder all the same.

From a clinical perspective, the rate for multiples for donor egg recipients is in the 20-25% range, from what I’ve read.

So, all things being equal, I’ve got about a 1 in 5 or 1 in 4 chance that our (whenever the hell we finally get started with) donor egg cycle could produce twins. Or more.

And the thought terrifies me.

It seems so selfish, right? Like infertile beggars can’t be choosers? That I should just be graciously humble and grateful that we wind up with any children at all?

I’ll be totally honest. It’s like when parents-to-be are asked, “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” and they say, “Oh it doesn’t matter, so long as it’s healthy.” In our gut, we ALL know whether we want a boy or a girl. It’s just “impolite” to actually verbalize which gender you’re really hoping for.

In truth, of course we’re happy with no matter what we get. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t fantasize about things turning out a certain way.

For me, the fantasy is parenting one child at a time. In a perfect world? I’d love to parent two children spaced about 4 years apart. (And if you must know, because I’m usually pretty blunt around here, two girls.)

But twins?

*raises eyebrows and makes a worried face*

So of what exactly am I terrified?

The financial costs. NICU for statistical probability of premature birth. Double feedings. Double diaper duty! Finding (and paying) for schools for them both. Double college tuition… at the same time. The mysterious lack of babysitters (this was told to me by a parent of twins; people are more than happy to watch your kid when you’re a new parent. Important to note: kid singular).

Truly, it comes down to this: having a child is overwhelming. Having two at the same time? Doubly overwhelming.

Now, let’s stop for a moment and take a rational, distanced view of things…

Do I have any reason to worry about this right now?

No, not at all. But it’s just another of those list of One Million Things to Worry About When You’re Infertile that, had I not been infertile, probably would have never crossed my mind. And since I wrote that post last June announcing that yes, the idea of parenting twins makes me blanch a little, I hadn’t thought much about it. Until this CDC report that reveals that yes, twin births are indeed up due to fertility treatments.

I really have no reason to worry about twins. (And since my words live in perpetuity on the internet, my Possible Future Twin Children should know that yes, of course we love you, of course we’re grateful for you, and no, we wouldn’t change things for the world.) But still, somewhere, on one of the back burners of my brain, I still worry.

I guess it all just goes back to a fear of the unknown. We just don’t know how any of this is going to turn out. So rather than really addressing that fear, I harp on dumb things like worrying about whether or not we’ll have twins. Or whether or not we have implantation. Or whether or not I’ll miscarry. Or whether or not I’ll get preeclampsia, as it’s more likely to occur in donor recipients.

It’s just all those worries, swirling around in my head when truly, I need to live in the moment. Right now the closest thing to twins I have are two adorable cats from the same litter.

And yes, they are a handful.

So there, I’ve gotten that off my chest, and I actually DO feel better having put it out there. Other folks still in the trenches: does the thought of multiples overwhelm you sometimes? Are you excited by the idea of multiples?

Parents of twins: Tell it like it is. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What’s awesome about twins? What overwhelms you? How did you handle finding out you would be parents of twins?

Sound off in the comments!

Related posts:

• Two dichotomous posts on parenting
• Just when you thought you’d seen it all…
• Thought for Food

January 2nd.
Clementines and tea:

January 3rd.
Clementines:

January 4th.
Cheddar omelette, clementines and tea:

Eating breakfast every morning? [...]]]>

January 1st.
Homemade bagels (a gift from friends), whitefish salad, lox, and cream cheese:

January 2nd.
Clementines and tea:

January 3rd.
Clementines:

January 4th.
Cheddar omelette, clementines and tea:

Eating breakfast every morning? So far, so good.

Related posts:

• Wordless Wednesday
• Wordless Wednesday: A PostSecret
• Wordless Wednesday: Garden Snoop

One [...]]]>

A good friend of mine is in an improv theatre/comedy troupe called Mosaic. Their show changes based on 18 tiles representing 18 sketches. The shows change about ever 6 weeks and no two shows are ever really the same. Mosaic is at once funny, political, and biographical for each performer; it’s a neat experience.

One of her sketches when I saw her this summer was particularly poignant. As she does crunches, she recites a short monologue talking about how at the start of every new year, she makes a resolution to lose weight and get in shape.

“I declare my intentions on the internet,” she puffs, as she continues to pump her body up and down with each agonizing crunch, “but never really get farther than a few months into my resolution.”

She goes on to talk about why it’s important for her to get in shape (familial history of diabetes) and yet she just can’t see that resolution through. Her piece has stuck with me all these months in the run up to this post, my end of year resolution setting post for the next year.

And then I got a curious invite from a friend of my sister’s on Facebook.

“Christina has invited you to join 12 Months, 12 Challenges.”

The premise is simple: 12 micro-challenges for 2012, focusing on one challenge each month. For one month at a time, you commit to doing something every day for that month. Doesn’t sound too hard, right?

. . .

I posed the question on my Facebook page about how people plan to live a full, fertile life in 2012, beyond babymaking and betas and FSH levels. How will you commit to building a life of fulfillment in the New Year?

For me, it’s about conceptualizing 2012 as the Year of Living a Fertile Life.

I decided to approach this from a slightly more organized perspective. Living a Fertile Life, in my mind, is about committing to six Focus Areas:

Above: Six ways to conceptualize living a fertile life.

1. Nourishment
2. Connection
3. Balance
4. Movement
5. Creation
6. Exploration

I’ll take two months out of the year to really work at each Focus Area. So, here’s how I’ve mapped out my year:

• January (Nourishment): Eat a solid food breakfast every single morning by 10am. No Carnation Instant Breakfasts. No glasses of diet Coke or just a cup of tea. Something solid, in my belly, every morning, by 10am.
• February (Connection): Get to know my husband every day… in the Biblical sense. *coughs* Right, moving on…
• March (Balance): Meditate and/or practice mindfulness every day. It could be yoga. It could be 2 minutes of focused breathing. It could be guided meditation as I fall asleep. Whatever it is, I’m doing it every day.
• April (Movement): Go for a walk every day. Assuming the weather holds up, this should be done outside. Doesn’t have to be in my own neighborhood but by midnight every night, I should have gone for a nice walk. Doesn’t have to be a long one either.
• May (Exploration): Live fearlessly and take a risk every single day. I challenge myself to do something out of my comfort zone every day. It could be making small talk with strangers while waiting in line. Making a story pitch to a reporter. Or skydiving for my 30th birthday… to which I’m 95% sure I plan to commit.
• June (Creation): Draw, paint or sketch every day. I don’t have to devote hours to it: at least a half hour every day. I’ve got a big blank canvas and I really need to start putting stuff up on the walls in my office.
• July (Movement): Couch to 5K. This time I can’t blame the weather. This will take more than a month (10 weeks, actually) but if I start in the summer, I’ll be more inclined to keep up with it then starting it in the winter like last time.
• August (Exploration): Read daily, four new books minimum (basically, a book a week). And no audiobook copouts either. Straight up sitting down and reading a book and turning the pages in my hands.
• September (Nourishment): Eat 1 serving of fruit and 1 serving of vegetables daily. It’s farmer’s market season, so this is perfect opportunity to try and eat as locally as I can at the same time.
• October (Balance): Infuse Judaism into my daily life. This means observing Shabbos every Friday/Saturday in October and going to shul every Saturday morning. The rest of the week, I need to do something to embrace my Jewish identity and faith.
• November (Creation): Finish NaNoWriMo. No more dicking around this time.
• December (Connection): Hand write a letter to a different person daily. It’s pretty simple, and I won’t use holiday cards as a copout to do it either. I’ve got 31 days to tell 31 people how much they mean to me.

It’s ambitious, yes, but when I see it laid out concentrating on different Focus Areas and knowing that each challenge is only for a month at a time, it doesn’t feel so overwhelming. In fact, I feel really excited seeing this list of what I plan to accomplish for myself this coming year.

I invite you to join me, to live a fertile life with me in 2012, no matter how you choose to do it. I’d love to see the 12 Months, 12 Challenges Facebook page become a hub for motivating one other. Big things in 2012. New things in 2012. Discovering nourishment, connection, balance, movement, creation and exploration in 2012.

Who’s with me?

I’m declaring my intentions on the internet and now, y’all have to hold me accountable now that I’ve done so

Wishing you all a wonderful, safe New Year this weekend and I hope you’ll join me in taking 2012 by storm!

Related posts:

• Living Half a Life Together

No, really:

We started noticing this shortly after the New Year this year as we wrote the date. 2011, when written, looked remarkably like our last [...]]]>

Chinese astrology dictates that 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit. Team Zoll, that is, Larry and I, heartily disagree. 2011 was the Year of the Zoll, you see.

No, really:

The Year of the Zoll is an excellent vintage.

We started noticing this shortly after the New Year this year as we wrote the date. 2011, when written, looked remarkably like our last name. So we started calling 2011 the Year of the Zoll and it just stuck.

The wine bottle pictured above is a bottle of this year’s Beaujolais Nouveau. It’s a young wine to be drunk as soon as its available – it’s not a wine with staying power. We’ve decided to ring out the Year of the Zoll by drinking our very own vintage.

2009 was officially the year we’d like to wipe off the record: I was diagnosed, Larry got laid off, and then his grandmother died, and then his great Aunt Bernice died. For reals, 2009 just sucked it hard. The only silver lining: an amazing two weeks in Japan.

2010 was substantially better, but still marked with pain: the passing of my grandmother. I released my video and received several awards, but hadn’t really yet hit my stride. We bought a house, as stressful as those circumstances were.

2011 however, has been a helluva year.

• January (technically December ’10, but whatever), I cut off my hair.
• February, I met a blog reader by happenstance at a conference for work and learned that yes, my words really do touch people.
• In March, I raised my voice in support of women’s rights to access healthcare and you all helped raised your voices with me.
• And then we took on PETA, in April.
• And then I talked about infertility on my local news station for my birthday in May.
• I had a well-read summer starting in June.
• I had my first pitched piece published in July.
• August 1st, I made the big jump from Blogger to WordPress.
• We celebrated the first year of living in our house on September 3d.
• I was in REDBOOK Magazine on October 19th and then whisked off to Ireland for a week on the 20th.
• And then I quit my job and started a new business in November.

And now? On the brink of 2012?

I’m completely changing my business, the business model and plan, and just about everything associated with it. And yes, details are still forthcoming if only because I’m starting over from scratch. I can tell you this: major name change. Because honestly? Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed is a mouthful. But I’ll just leave you with that tidbit for now

Oh, and a bunch of other great stuff happened too, that I realized never really got written up.

My niece turned a year old. Larry got an amazing new job. He bought a Beamer! (Let me clarify: bought a 9-year old used BMW from a family friend. Honestly, we’re not snobs. I promise!) I got a Jetta. I started working for RESOLVE New England. We spent so many weekends fishing in Salem. We ate well (which reminds me, I have a savory write-up about our dinner at Menton to post…) and loved and laughed and just generally had a much better year than in recent years.

The Year of the Zoll has been a good one.

I thought I’d also use this time to highlight the Top 5 Most Read Posts of the Year here at Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed:

1. I’m 0 Weeks and Craving a Baby: I wrote this post in response to the dumb Breast Cancer Awareness Facebook Meme and never expected it to get the reception it did. This was my number 1 most read post (7000+ views). Apparently, I really touched a nerve out there!
2. An Open Letter to PETA: This post proves to me that a) don’t mess with the infertiles and b) that we have tremendous power in numbers when we put our minds to it.
3. Why Does the Government Hate Women So Much? Technically another PETA post was my #3 post, but I just kind of lump them all together. This post was written when I was utterly exasperated with my government. As the MS Personhood Amendment battle and now the what, 3? 4? new personhood amendments proposed for 2012, we have a lot of hard work ahead of us.
4. Betraying the Community: My Response to the Theresa Erickson Scandal: A post written in complete shock, this post zoomed around the infertility professional community and I received many comments and emails from folks who felt just as duped. A sobering reminder the value of integrity.
5. Mommy’s Garden: A piece I had written to help tell the story of donor egg conception, I was amazed at how many comments and emails I received about it. I wrote it more for posterity to file away to use myself when the time came but it truly moved and touched a lot of people who read it.

So we’re about to say goodbye to the Year of the Zoll… but that doesn’t mean the fun has to stop.

2012 is going to be pretty damn awesome, as far as I’m concerned, end of the world on Larry’s 31st birthday be damned.

I mean, just look at the numbers: 2 0 1 2. Zol…z.

That’s right.

I predict 2012 will be the Year of the Zolz.

Here’s hoping that come next year, we’ll be able to add #3 to Team Zoll

Related posts:

• Back from the Cruise and Back to Life
• A Letter to My 18-Year Old Self
• Bitter Bettie bites back!

But today’s that day.

Larry Zoll, my ever-incredible husband, turns 30 today. By Larry turning 30 and adding up all the years we’ve spent together, today is officially the day we have spent half our lives together. [...]]]>

Happy Birthday, Larry Zoll!

It’s not everyday when someone is able to say, “Today, I’ve spent half my life with this person.”

But today’s that day.

Larry Zoll, my ever-incredible husband, turns 30 today. By Larry turning 30 and adding up all the years we’ve spent together, today is officially the day we have spent half our lives together. That’s pretty damn impressive to achieve by age 30, if you ask me.

We’ve spent 15 years together. We’ve been married for three and a half. It’s amazing to think that what many people assumed was adorable puppy-love at 15 years old was indeed, love built to last half a lifetime. And at this rate, the rest of our lives indeed.

Larry is a very different person than when I first met him 15 years go: a little taller, substantially better fashion choices, a terminal degree. Maybe a smidge less hair on top. Still sexy as hell.

But some things don’t change: his geeky love of technology and gadgets. A diverse taste in music and the arts. His sometimes banal, sometimes astute, always cheeky sense of humor. And being one of the most genuinely good people I know. He’s literally a good guy, a good person – a good man. He’s got a big heart, solid values, an enviable work ethic, and he’s one helluva cook.

I suppose that’s why I’ve stuck around for 15 years

And to be honest – 15 years sounds like a lot, but having lived half my life with Larry, it certainly doesn’t feel like a long time at all.

I can still remember our summer romps to Ocean City, NJ. His Sophomore Cotillion. The “I can’t get to Lancaster, PA fast enough” train rides to visit him at college. I can even tell you what I was wearing the night of our first kiss at 15 years old (a very ugly pink skirt and a crocheted cream blouse). It was in the Glen Landing Middle School chorus room, in front of the blackboard. It was incredible.

The three-hour phone calls. Our parents chauffeuring us back and forth between our houses before he got his license. Our movie/make-out dates. The anniversary gifts and dinners. The letters when he went on vacation (which I still have). The postcards from the UK while he studied abroad (which I still have).

The very first card you ever gave me, on our one-month (one month!) anniversary, that read “Growing old with you will be the coolest thing I’ve ever done” that I saved all those years, scanned, photoshopped out your handwriting, printed and gave BACK to you for our first wedding anniversary…

Sometimes I feel like I blinked and 15 years flew by. But I can turn and look to my side and see you still standing there, still walking with me hand and hand, still totally head over heels in love with each other.

Being able to wake up next to you every day, to know that this is your fifteenth birthday we’ve celebrated together… well, I just feel like the luckiest damn girl on the planet.

Cheers, love. Here’s to a lifetime of birthdays together.

Happy Birthday, love

Related posts:

• Is the chalice is half empty or half full?
• Dispatches from My Better Half: A Guest Post by My Husband

I have plenty to [...]]]>

I realize it’s been a little crickets around here; I’ve been posting sporadically. I realized half of my problem was that I never mapped out an editorial calendar for the month of December, so three days without posting will pass and then I’m like, “Oh crap! I need to post!”

I have plenty to write about, I do. I’ve just been so caught up in re-strategizing my business that I’ve been forgetting to post and do even simple things like, um, eat. True story. I get so caught up in what I’m doing because I so genuinely enjoy it that all of a sudden it’s 4pm and I’m wondering why my stomach is growling so loudly and why I’m suddenly so light-headed.

I’m getting myself organized: my office is finally painted, furnished, and I’m all cozy in my little corner of the house. Papers are kind of sorted, I have a stack of business cards to start scanning and a lead sheet ready to go. I’m remarkably energized at a time of year when I’m normally just barely trudging by.

As for posting, they’ll be back to the regular Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule. You can also get my posts via email by subscribing here so you don’t have to physically come back (or add me to your Reader of choice).

In fleshing out a posting calendar for the next couple of weeks, it reminded me something I’d been meaning to write about for weeks.

A wise woman once told me:

“You have to A-S-K to G-E-T.”

I mentioned that two weeks ago I was at the Massachusetts Conference for Women. This wise woman I speak of is Lena West, CEO & Chief Social Media Strategist at Influence Expansion. She has lit a fire under me like I can’t even explain.

I’ve written before about WEGO Health. They’re a health activist start-up based here in Boston, and they do some pretty amazing work with connecting health activists with one another and to a variety of resources in the public and private sectors. They’re a neat company all around.

Anywho, WEGO has announced their first-ever Health Activist Awards for 2011. They have a bunch to which folks can submit their nominations. You’re even encouraged to submit yourselves!

Remember that A-S-K to G-E-T bit I mentioned?

If you’d like to nominate me, that would be just swell.

But I’m also asking you to nominate other bloggers – infertility or otherwise – who have done amazing health activist work this year. I’d especially love to see the ALI community rally around the Best Kept Secret Award:

They aren’t featured on every top 10 list on the web, or overflowing with followers, “friends,” and audience members. But they should be.

I know some of you might be asking… “Just what is a Health Activist? Am I one?”

Answer: Yes.

You’re writing about your infertility, your adoption journeys, your losses, your joys, your triumphs – all of it. You each help to give infertility, endometriosis, PCOS, RPL, POF/POI, azoospermia, unexplained infertility, and all these other diagnoses a face and a story. Whether you write anonymously or not, you help make the disease of infertility more real.

In that way, we’re all health activists.

And it’s time we nominate and recognize each other for this work we ALL do.

So take a few minutes today, peruse the awards, and nominate the bloggers out there who deserve some serious kudos. I know I have probably at least 2-3 bloggers I could nominate for EACH award.

So what are you waiting for? Put a little good karma out there. Send out a little health activist love. Nominate your faves today!

Related posts:

• Calling All Health Activist Bloggers
• Why all the hate on women’s health?
• Dude, it’s Men’s Health Week!

Imagine a dear friend of yours – a parent – has lost their child. Their child has died. It doesn’t matter how, but merely this child that was once theirs and here in this world and perhaps their whole world – is no longer. They hold onto the [...]]]>

Let me put this scenario out there:

Imagine a dear friend of yours – a parent – has lost their child. Their child has died. It doesn’t matter how, but merely this child that was once theirs and here in this world and perhaps their whole world – is no longer. They hold onto the photos they have of their deceased child in memoriam. They still speak of them by name as they remember their child in the weeks, months, years following their death.

Would you call that act of remembering their deceased child “terrifying“?

Would you judge them for their life choices that brought that child – their child – into the world?

So why are “we” (collective media-messaged culture we) doing that to the Duggars?

. . .

Bastion of quality celebrity “journalism” Perez Hilton posted yesterday about the Duggars’ memorial service for Jubilee Shalom, who would have been the 20th child of the Duggar family (thanks to reader Amy for the tip yesterday!). In the span of about three paragraphs, he goes from revolted to faux compassionate in his sensationalized story about the Duggars’ decision to release a memorial photo taken of their 20-week old daughter.

Totally disturbing. Our hearts go out to the Duggar family, who lost their 20th child in a miscarriage. There is no right way to handle the loss of a child. However, taking creative pictures of your dead child… terrifying.

…We decided not to post the pictures out of respect for the family and our readers. RIP baby Jubilee!

Well gee, Perez, ain’t that mighty warm and fuzzy of you. Judge-y much?

My beloved Gawker.com wasn’t much better:

…the Duggar Family coped with the loss of their twentieth, unborn child in a perfectly reasonable way: posing for a series of photos with its fetal corpse and handing them out to mourners at a memorial service. (They also posted the photos to their Twitter feed and blog.)

Oh, wait, sorry. That’s in fact not a perfectly reasonable response to dealing with your miscarried attempt at adding a twenty-third person to your fucking family. The reasonable response is to STOP HAVING CHILDREN SOMEWHERE IN THE LOW SINGLE-DIGITS. Scroll down to get a look at Jubilee Shalom Duggar’s mouse-sized appendages. You have been warned. (Source)

On one hand, I totally expect snark from the likes of Perez and Gawker. It’s their bread and buttah.

But we’re talking about a dead child and grieving parents here. Why should memorial photos of someone who made it out of the womb alive and THEN die have more societal acceptance than a child who died in utero? Why are the Duggars’ photos “icky” and “terrifying” simply because Jubilee Shalom never made it out of the womb?

Are you telling me the line of culturally appropriate grieving is literally at the cervix? Cuz that’s bullshit.

I have written before about how people don’t handle miscarriage or pregnancy loss well. Not the affected parents per se, but how those around them react to and try to support them during the grieving process. Ironically enough, I had this specifically to say:

I think miscarriage makes a lot of people uncomfortable, particularly those of us who have never experienced it first-hand. Miscarriage, unlike the death of an adult (or even a child or teen), doesn’t have a coffin. It doesn’t have a funeral or memorial service. There’s no obituary in the paper. In many ways, miscarriage is a loss that happens in a vacuum, no physical sign to the outside world that one of us has departed from it. Some losses happen so early there wasn’t even a name yet to give them.

The Duggars had all those things in remembering their daughter. Including a photo of her, “mouse-sized appendages” and all, a very visible, public sign to the outside world of their loss.

“We” (media-messaged we) don’t get it. But it’s not our place to get because it’s not our loss.

And I’m going to go ahead and say this: we (the infertility community) don’t have a place to judge either. We can’t advocate for a more public conversation about infertility and pregnancy loss and simultaneously wish the Duggars would just keep their business quiet. From scanning my social media networks yesterday, I got a sense of that sentiment from the IF community.

I understand that the Duggars live in the public spotlight and thus, are subject to public scrutiny. And I know many of us have beef with their religious and political views. But at the end of the day, it comes down to this:

The Duggars are grieving parents. It doesn’t matter if Jubilee was child number one, four, or twenty. They lost a whole life, a whole world. And no matter what you think or feel about them, they deserve to grieve their loss however they see fit.

End of story.

And, for the record – these photos are not uncommon and historically, post-mortem photography is nothing new and dates back to the earliest days of 19th century photography. As I’ve seen from other bloggers who’ve experienced such loss, they take those photos too. Some even hire professional photographers who specialize in this tragic portraiture if they know for example, a mother will deliver stillborn on a specific date.

A friend of mine from high school posted the photos of her stillborn son on Facebook a few years ago. She got a lot of flack from people who clearly didn’t understand. Even I didn’t, at the time.

But I didn’t pass judgement.

I respected a parent’s right to grieve for their lost child.

We should extend the same courtesy to the Duggars.

No related posts.

This week’s Time Warp Tuesday theme is “Blogging.” Nice and broad, right? I had a bunch of posts I could [...]]]>

A little late to the Time Warp Tuesday game this week. I don’t know why I thought today was Tuesday… ever since I started working from home, my internal calendar is all sorts of off.

This week’s Time Warp Tuesday theme is “Blogging.” Nice and broad, right? I had a bunch of posts I could reflect on but I decided to choose this one – The Storyteller Within Us – for a couple of reasons. First, the idea of blogging as storytelling is something core to not only who I am, but why I write.

Second, I wrote this post on a day my RSS feed got all screwed up, so it never got the Twitter/Facebook promotion it should have. I don’t think it appeared in other peoples’ RSS Readers, either. Which makes me sad, because I really liked this post :-/

Here’s what I had to say back in August about blogging as storytelling:

If you think about it, blogging is a kind of virtual storytelling. We post the stories of our lives. We embellish, we censor and sometimes we just very candidly lay everything out there with abandon. We choose our words with care for they carry the burden and weight of our hearts in the permanence of the internet. We cushion the way our words land by wrapping them in a blanket we’ve woven: our story.

You can read the rest of the post here, which includes some of my favorite stories.

Not much has changed since that post. I still believe that blogging is a form of storytelling. I think the biggest change is making the commitment to share my story as broadly as possible. As I mentioned Friday, I’m changing my business. My blog – and the shape that it takes – is intrinsically part of this business change.

I almost think of a grinding wheel (and not because we’re playing Skyrim every night in my house, where smithing is a skill one can develop). I’m refining my story and, as cheesy as this sounds – my brand – into a focused, sharp point. I put my story to the grinding wheel and words fly off like sparks. I’m not sharing less – I’m merely honing it to be as effective and compelling as possible.

Quite simply, I started this blog as a story: I’m an infertile woman who’s just trying to figure all this out because boy howdy, infertility sucks. That story has evolved over time: I’m an infertile woman named Keiko Zoll and I’m not afraid to share with the bajillions on the internet that yes, I can’t have children and no, that does not make me less of a person.

And that brings me to today: I still continue to craft my story with every post. I write as authentically as I know how (sometimes to a fault) but I put it out there because I believe in the power of stories and storytelling. Blogging allows me to share my story in a very public way.

Like I said in my post back in August, we all have a story to tell. I pose the same question I did in linked post:

What story are you telling?

No related posts.

(“Hi, Keiko.”)

I have always found it easier to walk away from the opportunity and know that I came out on my own terms than at the mercy of failure. This is the justification I’ve told myself for years.

It’s easier than saying the truth: “I [...]]]>

Hi, I’m Keiko and I am a habitual self-saboteur.

(“Hi, Keiko.”)

I have always found it easier to walk away from the opportunity and know that I came out on my own terms than at the mercy of failure. This is the justification I’ve told myself for years.

It’s easier than saying the truth: “I don’t take risks because I’m too scared to fail.”

Instead I told myself, “I come out better for having chosen to walk away.” In that sense, I felt in control.

In reality, I sabotaged myself from opportunity after opportunity my whole life.

. . .

Infertility robs us of our sense of control of our own lives, own own bodies, our own futures. So ever since I was diagnosed, I clung to whatever control I could.

I stayed in a job that left me unfulfilled.

And I justified that choice, day after day, for a little over three years:

“I need the health insurance to to pursue treatment later.”

“We have a mortgage.”

“It’s in a field with a career path.”

“It’s only for another academic year. I can make changes.”

“Lisa needs braces… dental plan! Lisa needs braces… dental plan!”

(Well, maybe not that last one.)

I created a narrative of necessity.

In truth, I created a false narrative to keep myself comfortable. Instead, I trapped myself in my own fear.

. . .

Yesterday and today I attended the Massachusetts Conference for Women in Boston. By sheer luck, Larry told me about it because he works in the Convention Center. I’m so glad he did because it was exactly the kick in the ass I needed this week.

Look, I still own with a full, heavy heart how I feel about my infertility right now. I do. And there’s a time to grieve and wallow and sink ourselves into the mire. But I’m not a swimmer. In fact, I have a pretty terrible fear of drowning because I’ve come too close to it too many times for me to comfortably admit here.

At some point, I’d drown. So for as deep as I may go and believe me – I have been in the deep – there’s that instinctual kicking of the legs, the thrashing of the arms, anything to propel your face above water, to fill your lungs with breath – your primordial sense goes into overdrive and it’s fight or flight. You’ll do whatever you have to do than submit to the alternative.

And that’s how I’ve dealt with my infertility for the last nearly 3 years. I float. I do well. Sometimes I slip beneath the waves and for a little while, I like the way the water feels, the muffled silence of the ocean. And then that ache in my lungs reminds me that I need to come up for air.

. . .

“Live fearlessly.”

That was the conference theme.

And today was when I realized just how much I have lived my life paralyzed by that fear. Quitting my job was the first step in living fearlessly. Launching my own business was the second step. But even then, after two days of networking with amazing women and listening and interacting with some of the most engaging speakers and presenters I’ve ever seen – I circle back to the very first piece of advice I received at the first session yesterday.

It was on the 5 tips every small business owner should know.

Tip #1: Make mistakes and make them early.

Hell, even Steve Jobs agreed:

“Sometimes when you innovate, you make mistakes. It is best to admit them quickly, and get on with improving your other innovations.” (Source.)

It wasn’t a mistake to launch a business. My mistake was in launching a business that was the safe, easy thing to do because I was too afraid to take the BIG risks and actually go after what I really want.

Today, that changes. Which means my business will be changing, and I’ll be shaping and crafting and honing it to make it the success I know it can be. And I know it can be successful because I’ve articulated to myself – and a few select others – exactly what I want.

I have a lot of work to do. I need to rethink and replan everything, basically start over from scratch. And when I’m ready, I’m going to let y’all know what I’m up to, because I’m going to need each and every one of you to help me realize my goals.

My whole life, I chose to walk away from failure rather than take the risk.

But today?

Today I choose to live fearlessly.

No related posts.

I’m struggling with the holidays [...]]]>

Sorry to be such a downer recently, but I walked away from this blog for over a week and now that I’m back, I’m returning to it for the very reasons I started it in the first place: it’s a place of catharsis for me.

I’m struggling with the holidays this year. Part of it comes from the influx of pregnancy and birth related things happening in my life: people I know, bloggers I follow… after nearly 3 years of blogging, I’m one of the few left in my original reader of blogs that I follow who still hasn’t resolved in some way. It’s frustrating. On one hand, I’m thrilled for them, as we all are for each other when we find success in some way.

And we all know how it feels “keeping up with your blogging Joneses” as well: that tinge of jealousy and self-pity.

It’s amazing how both jealousy and support are the finials of the same balancing pole as we tread lightly the high-wire path of infertility.

. . .

Part of my coping issue right now is the fact that Larry’s turning 30 later this month. Which means in just six months, I’ll be turning 30. And even though I’m married and have a house, I was certainly not expecting to be childless by 30. In fact, I wanted to be one and done by the time I turned 30.

As we turn the calendar now for a third set of holidays sans children, I realize I still haven’t let go of so many fantasies I had about becoming pregnant and starting a family.

But let’s talk about fantasy for a minute.

"Can you imagine what I would do if I could do all I can?" - Sun Tzu (Photo by Keiko Zoll.)

. . .

For whatever reason, I feel like fantasy is a loaded term, implying some kind of sexual satisfaction. But let’s face it, we fantasize all the time: a fantasy is like a detailed daydream of the way we imagine our lives could be. I’m sure many of us fantasized what our wedding day would be like. I know I did: barefoot on the beach as the sun set in the middle of the summer.

In reality? We got married in the dead of winter in a formal, black-tie affair. I wasn’t wearing some flow-y thing either: I had a bustle, a crinoline, and layers of silk taffeta (and I looked friggin’ incredible). I still talk about how awesome my wedding was. Guests of our wedding still talk about how awesome it was. And yet while the fantasy and reality were two very different things, I didn’t weep for the lost fantasy.

But infertility is a little different – it’s filled with so much loss. It’s not just a change of plans. Infertility is the death of fantasies that may have been intrinsically core and central to our self-identities.

. . .

The holidays remind me of one of those fantasies and on Facebook, it’s be pregnancy-announcement-tastic. Apparently everyone had a lot of sex during the month of October because these announcements are happening in droves in my social networks.

I’ve always fantasized about how we would tell our parents we were pregnant. In this perfect fantastical world, we’d time everything perfectly so we could do the big reveal over the winter holidays. I always wanted to have both sets of parents open gifts that said “World’s Best Grandparent” and make the big reveal that way.

It’s not terribly original, but it’s my fantasy.

And then there’s one I always kept extremely close to my heart, one that I only told Larry for the first time in 15 years just last week when I mentioned I was going to write this post.

I always wanted to tell his parents – not mine – at the Passover seder table. Passover is a very special holiday for me: it’s one of the first I celebrate with Larry and his family, and it’s filled with such deep tradition and meaning that it’s one of my favorite holidays of the year, Jewish or otherwise. I have long admired Larry’s younger sister Rachel and how she would sing the Four Questions (typically said by the youngest at the table).

In recent years, I’ve had the privilege of doing the Four Questions because I’m technically the youngest Jew at the table (I converted in 2007). Plus, it’s a chance for me to ham it up and sing, something I don’t do nearly enough of.

And now, my super-secret pregnancy reveal fantasy:

Steve, my father-in-law and leader of the Passover seder, would turn to me and say, “Keiko, would you like to read the Four Questions?”

I would reply, trying to stifle a wide smile, “I would love to, but technically I’ll be doing them in proxy since the youngest Jew at the table won’t be able to do them for at least another 9 months.”

To which we’d respond to the puzzled looks around the table and announce that yes, we were pregnant.

(For the record, I am totally that person who who hijack a thousands-year old ritual dinner element to tell everyone she’s knocked up. Remember that bit about me being a ham?)

. . .

That’s my dorky fantasy. There are others: how I’d tell my sister. How I’d tell my close girlfriends. How I’d even reveal to Larry. There’s the fantasy of how we’d even MAKE a baby in the first place: a night of passionate lovemaking while musing on baby names in the afterglow.

But… they’ve changed. A lot. There’s no surprise element when I blog publicly about my personal journey. As of right now, I plan to blog about every step of the way. That might change. But for now, that’s the plan.

And Larry and I maintain the kind of relationship with both sets of families that they’ll be in the loop every step of the way as well. When we go for a beta, they’ll know only shortly after we do, because they’ll have been following along because we’ll have shared it all with them anyway.

. . .

For as much progress as I’ve made, the path to coping and healing is not linear. You might circle back on feelings you thought you’d resolved. That’s where I’m at right now, a back-pedaling relapse of coping skills. I accept that I’m infertile. I wrote a letter about six months after my diagnosis, to my genetic child. That too, is a fantasy.

I did it to let that fantasy go.

But I’m not sure how to let these remaining fantasies go.

I’m not even sure if I’m actually ready to let them go at all, to be perfectly honest.

They’re so much a part of my heart. I just don’t want to leave a piece of my heart behind somewhere. But infertility has already done that to me already, hasn’t it? Done that to all of us? Taken away a little bit of who we are?

So maybe that’s why I’m not ready to let these fantasies go… because I don’t want to lose anything else. I cling to tightly to The Way I Want Things to Be instead of embracing The Way It’s Going to Be.

What I need to do is start imagining a new fantasy for myself. It’s just so much harder to do when you’ve lived your whole life imagining one scenario. So I cling to what I know, even if it hurts to hold onto those fantasies knowing full well they’ll never be realized.

I just don’t know what else to do right now in this moment.

EDIT to add (12/8/11): The support and love you have all left for me in the comments has been overwhelming and beautiful. I want to respond to each of you; I’m at a conference today, but I will get back each of you. This has meant so much to me.

No related posts.

. . .

Oh, [...]]]>

Folks, I am not a runner, let me just put that out there right now. And yet, it’s that time of year where I need to throw on my pair of running shoes and lace them up tight, because we have a 64-day dash from Halloween to January 2nd.

. . .

Oh, hi. It’s been, um, over a week. NaBloPoMo & NaNoWriMo – I appeared to have dropped the ball on both. Words Empowered has been full steam ahead (winners of the giveaway are here). I’ve been working for my first two clients on my first three projects, with more in the pipeline. There is plaster that’s curing on the eave in my home office and this week and I’ll finally get to paint it a lovely shade of plummy purple.

Ever since Thanksgiving, I’ve been running full steam ahead and have been putting off posting here. Mostly because with everything going on, I’m dealing some crappy headspace about my infertility. It’s hard when the last thing I wrote was “I should be more grateful for what I have” when genuinely, I am struggling with what I lack when it comes to building our family.

Let’s get more into this, shall we?

. . .

Is it just me, or do the holidays get a little tougher the farther out you get from your diagnosis?

This will be our third set of winter holidays post-diagnosis. And for whatever, reason, it’s harder this year. The first year wasn’t so bad, at least from what I can remember. My sister had just announced to my parents at that point that she was pregnant, but I had already known in sworn secrecy for some time by that point, so I had a lot more time to work on coping.

Last year, I was just totally stuck in a holiday funk.

This year: it’s like running through a baby gauntlet.

There have been pregnancy announcements. And birth stories. And belly photos. And “Baby’s First [insert holiday milestone here]” like whoa this year. And as it dawned on me that this is not only our third set of holidays where a baby just isn’t in the cards, I’m also dealing with the realization that Larry will turn 30 on December 21st… and he’s still not a dad yet.

It’s been a lot to process and frankly, with dwindling daylight hours, it weighs on me and my heart.

. . .

Is it just me, or does it feel like the holidays started a whole month earlier than normal this year?

I say this because I noticed my holiday infertility blues started as early as Halloween this year. Lots of “Baby’s First Halloween Costume” pictures on Facebook this year. Adorable photos, yes (and fantastic ideas to rip off for my own children one day) and then realizing the most I have to contribute to the conversation is the fact that I checked in to a sushi place on FourSquare.

I mean, sure, I can comment and say, “Awww, how cute!” and then have no equally adorable children’s costume picture with which to counter.

The kid conversation just kind of grinds to a halt around me.

. . .

I got lucky this year at Halloween. Larry said we had about 20 trick-or-treaters. I had to work Halloween night (because my former boss was one of the most unreasonable women I’ve ever worked with) so I didn’t get to hand out candy. Last year we only had like, 3 kids come by. This year, we went all out: full-sized candy bars and everything. I bet Salem parents were texting each other as they left our house: “Come down this side street! Totes worth it.”

Even though I wasn’t handing out candy, I don’t know if I could have handled it well. I’m glad in some ways that I did have to work, to remove myself from the situation entirely.

Infertile Holiday Tip #1: It’s okay not to go to that holiday gathering. Or any of them. Off-season travel is wonderful this time of year, especially the Caribbean.

. . .

Once we clear the Halloween hurdle, it’s like a race to January 2nd for the infertile.It’s just a few short weeks until Thanksgiving and then before you know it, Christmas is here, followed by the New Year nipping at its heels. Seriously, it’s like, “how fast can these winter holidays fly by already?” we’re saying to ourselves as we dodge the friend who forgoes the glass of cranberry wine because she’s eating for two now, or as we plow through “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments while trying to pick up a birthday card for your husband who’s birthday is forever overshadowed by the Little Baby Jesus.

Baby Jesus.

A whole holiday centered around birth.

For the Jews: the miracle of lights. A season just full of miracles and yet… for us infertiles, that one miracle that evades us so.

Infertile Holiday Tip #2: This Christmas, skip the Baby Jesus-centered creche and go for a Yule log. (Let’s stop dancing around all the references to Saturnalia anyway.) For Hanukkah, celebrate each night by doing something you wouldn’t otherwise be able to do with children: movie night, fancy dinner, sex on the living room couch during Thursday prime time, etc.

. . .

We have a long way yet to go until 2012.

How are you making it through the holidays as you cope with infertility?

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It’s heavenly.

. . .

I have a lot to be thankful for. For all the griping about wishing that we could have kids of our [...]]]>

My stomach is fit to explode. A delicious Thanksgiving indeed at my in-laws. Right now, I’m sitting on the couch, in my wonderful, blissful post-Thanksgiving dinner afterglow.

It’s heavenly.

. . .

I have a lot to be thankful for. For all the griping about wishing that we could have kids of our own, I’m still very lucky and blessed to have such abundance in my life: loving family, dear friends, our own home, adorable cats, and exciting new business ventures.

I live in a country with exceptional freedoms, including the freedom of dissent and discourse. For as much as may feel like sometimes, there’s still so much more I want – I do in fact, have a lot.

I don’t take any of this granted for a second.

. . .

And still…

I fantasize about making a joyful pregnancy reveal to family gathered ’round the Thanksgiving table. Everyone gasps and claps, congratulating us…

It’s a lovely fantasy.

. . .

And so begins the long trek for the infertile through the winter holidays.

. . .

And I remind myself: I live a life of abundance. I have to be the one to stop and recognize the grace given to me rather than feeling sorry for myself. My life is full.

My womb may not be.

But I have a life of abundance and grace. I do. And today, I remind myself of this.

We all have to remind ourselves of this once in a while.

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Cranked 17,000 words today. Outlined the rest of the plot and scenes I want/need to write before next Wednesday. Next Wednesday – holy crap, this deadline is coming up fast.

I’m aiming to write another 5,000 words before midnight tonight. That’s the [...]]]>

NaNoWriMo – I refuse to let you beat me.

A terrible, terrible first draft.

Cranked 17,000 words today. Outlined the rest of the plot and scenes I want/need to write before next Wednesday. Next Wednesday – holy crap, this deadline is coming up fast.

I’m aiming to write another 5,000 words before midnight tonight. That’s the goal. That’s my nut.

“Gotta make my nut,” I’ve been telling Larry.

To make said “nut” I need to write a minimum of 4,587 words daily between now and next Wednesday. I can totally do this.

Are there major plot elements missing? Um yes. Is this my finest writing? Hell no.

But come hell or high-water, I’m hitting my 50,000 word mark by midnight next Wednesday.

And, as promised, I would publish a short excerpt since I reached my smaller 15,000 word goal. To get up to speed on the overall story, read this first excerpt. You can also read a second excerpt here. My writing quality is less than stellar in racing toward the 50,000 word mark, so I’m nervous about sharing more excerpts. So here’s what I could cook up recently that I feel comfortable enough to share out in the public (because boy howdy, I am writing some serious dreck, and this is probably the cheesiest passage I’ve ever written):

“Billets! Billets, s’il vous plait!” the conductor called, taking tickets from each passenger and punching it with his little metal paper punch. The train began a slow lurch forward and I lurched forward with the train in my seat. I reached up to hold my pink hat in place. Maman extends her gloved hand to the conductor, proudly holding up two train tickets.

“Two such lovely women headed to Paris with no bags?” the conductor teased. He was dressed in a crisp navy blue suit, the brass buttons of his uniform shiny and polished. His grey hair poked out from underneath his black conductor’s cap.

My mother coyly played along. “Lovely women such as us do not need to travel with bags. We carry only our beauty with us.”

“Well, Paris will be all the more beautiful in just a few hours as soon as you two step off the train onto the platform,” he flirted, handing back the punched tickets to my mother. She took them and carefully tucked them into her purse. “Is this your first trip to Paris?” he asked, the train’s pace now chugging up to a speedier rhythm. The marshes of Cancale were a blur of yellow green grasses, the sky a pale blue, the ocean shining vibrantly, holding steady on the horizon.

“Oui,” I replied and nodded, almost a little too eagerly. He leaned over and whispered in my ear:

“You’re going to love Paris. It’s a gem of a city, just like those lovely blue sapphire eyes of yours.” He lightly pinched my cheek. I felt my cheeks burning hot and bright red as the conductor passed.

“Billets! Billets, s’il vous plait!”

The train roared down the track, Paris bound.

No more dilly-dallying. Time to crank out another 5,000 words before I’ll let myself go to bed for the night.

Update, 2:06am: I’m up to 21,000+ words. I just wrote almost 9,000 words today. Daily word count is now at just over 3,500 words daily between now and next Wednesday. Going to try and churn out another 10,000 tomorrow. That’s right… tomorrow as in one whole day.

LET’S DO THIS!

/bed.

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Today’s Time Warp Tuesday theme is Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is such a loaded term for me. It’s my favorite holiday. But it’s also the time of year I associate with what I believe was the chain [...]]]>

NaBloPoMo, ICLW AND Time Warp Tuesday? Boy howdy there’s a lot going on today! So let’s get right to it.

Today’s Time Warp Tuesday theme is Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is such a loaded term for me. It’s my favorite holiday. But it’s also the time of year I associate with what I believe was the chain of events that led me to my eventual infertility. And this chain of events started 11 years ago, when I had my left ovary removed in emergency surgery.

It happened the day after Thanksgiving when I was 18, during my first semester of college. Here’s a short excerpt from that post last year, when it was 10 years since my surgery:

I always get a little nervous this time of year. Thanksgiving is by far one of my favorite holidays (next to Passover, which may as well be Jewish Thanksgiving) and so I’ve always been conflicted as the holiday approaches. I love me some dry turkey and cranberry wine, but I’m always reminded of the tiny scars on my belly: 2 half-inch incisions just at the waistband line of my underwear, one on the right, one on the left, and a singular tiny scar inside my belly button. Even 10 years later, I’m still amazed that both an internal organ and a tumor were removed somehow via these tiny exit points.

You can read the rest of the entry here.

So what’s changed in the last year since I wrote this?

This year feels like the first year where the memories of that weekend don’t feel so near, like I’m finally putting some distance between me and those memories. I picked this post because that experience makes the idea of being thankful a very real and tangible one; I could have died 11 years ago had my ovary not been removed sooner. There’s nothing like the most excruciating pain in your life and the possibility of dying to make you a little more cognizant of being thankful at least once a year, if not every day, for the rest of your life.

I also chose this post because I know how much it sucks to be in the hospital. Thanksgiving 2000 wasn’t my first stay in the hospital, either. Eight years earlier, I was hospitalized for 11 days following complications from an emergency appendectomy. That also fell on a holiday weekend: Easter 1992 – I was in sixth grade.

I shared a room in the PICU with a girl named Morgan, who couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 years old. Morgan had no hair. She had leukemia. They installed a pick-line in her shoulder while I was there. It was awful – she just screamed behind the curtain next to me.

Hospitals kind of suck like that.

I was on a fairly heavy demerol drip and had hallucinations a lot when I was there. I kept dreaming/hallucinating that my hair had turned to spaghetti and would fall off my head onto the pillow. I think this is because I was unnerved by the site of Morgan’s bald head. I was 10; I wasn’t exactly a pillar of love and understanding at that age.

She became my roommate a few days after I had been there and one day, as I was wheeled back up from a barium GI scan, she was gone. All the balloons, cards, teddy bears – just gone, like I had never had a roommate in the first place.

To this day, I have no idea what ever happened to Morgan.

I am haunted by nearly a 20 year memory of her.

. . .

I share this story because so much of it reminded me of Sam’s story, as JW Moxie shared recently that her beloved Sam has been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. A little backstory… Sam is the intersection of love, infertility, generosity, and all around awesomesauce that is JW. She was his gestational surrogate, and Sam was born to his parents Stephanie and Terry in 2007.

Sam is 4 years old and just two weeks ago, found out he has cancer. His doctors anticipate at least three years of treatment. When I read about this at JW’s blog, I couldn’t help but think of Morgan, and the time I’ve spent in hospitals. And I couldn’t imagine having to do all of this when I was 4 years old.

This is where you can help. JW has created a fantastic support site for Sam and his family: Save Our Sam! It launched this morning and you can help Save Our Sam by organizing events local to the Savannah, Georgia area or organizing an online support event. There’s also more information about ALL, Sam, and how you can even sign up for SOS Care Mail so that Sam receives a package every other week, beginning in January 2012.

So this week, as we all take few minutes to pause and reflect on what we’re thankful for, take a minute to go check out Sam’s site and show a 4-year-old just how much he’s loved. He’s got a long road ahead of him and he’s going to need all the support he can get, whether you know Sam, his family, and JW or not.

Help us Save Our Sam!

This post is part of the Time Warp Tuesday Blog Hop hosted by Kathy at Four of a Kind. Swing by her blog today to see who else is participating and join in the fun for next Tuesday.

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2. In my bathtub. This has been a recent new thing of theirs. They just… run into the bathroom and start playing in the tub. Like ya do. They are also fascinated by the shower.

3. On my freakin’ picture [...]]]>

1. In my drawer. Like really Saba? How the hell did you get in there?

True story: he was shut in this drawer for 10 minutes because I didn't know he had climbed in there.

2. In my bathtub. This has been a recent new thing of theirs. They just… run into the bathroom and start playing in the tub. Like ya do. They are also fascinated by the shower.

Toro, intrepid explorer; Saba, lookout scout.

3. On my freakin’ picture rail. Toro, get the hell down from there!

Caught in the act.

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Probably most TTC women – maybe all – have had awkward moments with a friend, family member, coworker, or neighbor [...]]]>

This morning I came across this article by Lorie Parch on Conceive Online: Is there a stigma attached to infertility? Here’s an excerpt:

Probably most TTC women – maybe all – have had awkward moments with a friend, family member, coworker, or neighbor who simply didn’t know what to say when you told them you’re having trouble getting pregnant. Or worse, they said exactly the wrong thing when you told them. But that’s not the same as being stigmatized, as if you were guilty of some grave offense.

Ms. Parch does go on to say that yes, infertility sucks and we do experience a ton of crap as infertility patients and suggests that stigmatization might exist without our knowing. Which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but okay, I’ll bite.

I posted on Conceive Mag’s FB page in response to this article, because I think it opens up a lot of messy talking points. While I think Ms. Parch’s intent is to provide an honest discourse, what she’s really doing is marginalizing the very patient community for whom she writes. In fact, Parch’s piece feeds right into the stigmatization that we already face: that we must constantly be on the defensive, constantly validating our experiences and emotions to others, that we have to somehow justify our stigmatization.

See how this can be a real can of worms?

Parch asks us to talk about how we feel judged, how we’ve felt stigmatized by our infertility. Here’s what I have to say in response.

• If you are a working woman, you face stigma for leaving work to pursue treatment. RESOLVE actually has an article posted today about talking to employers about your infertility. I’ll be honest: this is one of the reasons I left my job. It was easier to start a job for myself than trying to negotiate short notice sick leave for doctor’s appointments, testing, and the like.
• Infertility treatment faces the stigma of being perceived as elective in 35 states. Only 15 states have mandated coverage for infertility treatment. When the insurance industry thinks that your right to build your own family is an elective procedure (but say, taking pills for erectile dysfunction isn’t) there is exists a stigma within American healthcare about infertility patients seeking treatment.
• Young people dealing with infertility are told “they still have time” when really, they may not. And this advice isn’t just coming from nosy friends and family – this is coming from their doctors and GYNs. If pregnancy isn’t happening, or worse, if recurrent miscarriage occurs, there’s judgement that we can always just try again. Infertility however, is a biological disruption of basic biological function. You have to treat the cause, not just continue to have sex and hope for the best.
• If you are 40+ years old, there’s the stigma of being told, “Well, you waited too long. It’s your own fault.” Advanced maternal age is such an unpleasant term, but a cold hard truth. Fertility declines as you age. And there’s a stigma that comes with this end of the age spectrum too, that women this age should have made better choices when they were younger.
• If you come from a cultural or religious background where big fertile families are the norm, there’s a stigma that either you’re failing your cultural community or that G-d is punishing you for something you did. The other stigma that religious infertility patients face: “You’re not praying hard enough.”
• Infertility patients are stigmatized by not adhering to cultural norms and timelines. Media messaging tells us that it’s fall in love, get married, have babies. When we deviate from that plan or worse, on societal and culturally dictated timelines, we invite ourselves to questions. “What’s taking so long?” “When are you going to make us grandparents?” By having to go on the defensive, we face the stigma of not going along with (because we are physically unable to) the societal status quo of marriage and family building.

And finally, perhaps the hardest stigma of all…

• Infertility patients stigmatize themselves. With all of the pressure around us: friends, families, even spouses, our careers, the media… We judge ourselves. We wonder what went wrong, how we could have done something differently. We wonder about what we did to deserve this. We second-guess our life choices and we doubt the abilities of our own bodies. We see ourselves as failures. We feel broken. We worry about what other people think of us.

We carry the stigma of not being able to do one of the most basic human functions, and we carry that with us every single day.

It may not be a grave offense, but damn if it doesn’t feel like one.

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My friend Honeybee called me out and said: “Girl, you need to write.” And she’s right. I set a goal for myself: 50,000 words or [...]]]>

Remember when I crossed the 10,000 word mark for NaNoWriMo? Early last week? And then how I kind of stopped writing?

My friend Honeybee called me out and said: “Girl, you need to write.” And she’s right. I set a goal for myself: 50,000 words or bust. And then I decided, why not post every day in November for NaBloPoMo while I’m at it? Oh and then I decided to start a business, um, yesterday.

(PS: Launch Giveaway Contest with awesome prizes. Check it out! Ends November 30th.)

So we saddled up our laptops, headed to a cafe in between where we live and fired up our novels. She’s steamin’ ahead on word count: almost at 25,000 words. Me? After last night?

*shifts uncomfortably in her seat*

I managed to putter out another 1,776 words. My current word count is at 12,675 words. At this rate, to reach 50,000 words by the deadline, I need to write 2,667 words – every day – between now and November 30th.

I was hoping to have another excerpt out to y’all by this week, in hoping to reach 20,000 words. I’ll do this instead: as soon as I hit 15,000, I’ll release a short excerpt. Another at 20,000, one definitely for 25,000, and then we’ll see how it goes from there. I realized last night that I need to make smaller goals to keep myself going.

I can tell you what the excerpt won’t be: my super awkwardly written love scene. I wrote that last night and I have to say, it reads like trashy romance novel instead of mainstream fiction. For the record: there is no pleasant way to say “penis” when trying to keep it classy. Just can’t be done. And I refuse to leave it at “penis” because it sounds far to clinical. I’m pretty sure this will be the first and last love scene of the novel because I feel like a moron writing this kind of content, despite my otherwise confident ability in the bedroom.

2600+ words a day is kind of a lot, when I really think about it. That’s the equivalent of at least two very long blog posts for me. Which, when I’m already trying to write a single blog post each day, it’s like writing THREE blog posts every single day between now and the end of the month.

Cue: nervous laughter.

One motivator is that the novel writing software I downloaded is a free trial for NaNoWriMo (Scrivener, if you’re curious.) If you “win” NaNoWriMo, that is, reach 50,000 words by the deadline, you get a code to buy the software for half off the regular price. And I flippin’ love Scrivener right now. (No, I’m not paid by them.) In fact, I’d never heard of Scrivener until a few days into NaNo, but now that I’m using it? It’s like a nerdy organizer’s dream when it comes to full on novel development. Character and setting sketches, exports into e-Book and manuscript formats, virtual note cards and corkboards… oh, it’s just writing heaven.

I can do this.

I can make my 50,000 word mark.

It’s NaNoWriMo or bust, baby, and it’s on now!

(Source.)

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Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to…

Words Empowered. My new business.

My 140 characters or less Twitter pitch: Social media that matters. Social media with a conscience. Words Empowered can make a difference… and so can you.

My 30-second elevator [...]]]>

Sound the trumpets. Clash the cymbals. Release the white doves into the air.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to…

You know you want to click this image and check it out.

Words Empowered. My new business.

My 140 characters or less Twitter pitch: Social media that matters. Social media with a conscience. Words Empowered can make a difference… and so can you.

My 30-second elevator speech: Words Empowered develops social media that connects and engages your followers with your brand and inspires them to act. Words Empowered not only helps you determine where social media fits into your overall marketing strategy, but we help get your social media presence up and running. Social media matters and we believe in social media that matters. Words Empowered can make a difference… and so can you.

Intrigued? Well head on over to my business website to learn more about the services offered, check out my other blog, and see what folks are already saying.

I’m a little more than excited to say… Words Empowered is officially open for business.

Since I don’t have a storefront to hang balloons and do nifty door prizes, I’m doing the next best thing… I’m hosting a fabulous Launch Giveaway!

–>Words Empowered Prize Pack

A chance to get a taste of what my business is all about!

• A free, one-hour social media consultation. We’ll look at your blog, your website, your business or organization or your brand and come up with a strategy for some immediate next steps.
• A custom iFrame Welcome tab for your Facebook Fan Page

–>Follow Your Passion Prize Pack

A selection of books and tools to help you discover your passion and follow your heart.

     

• Start Something That Matters by Blake Mycoskie
• Work on Purpose by Lara Galinsky
• 200-page 8″square Quotable Journal: “Overcome the notion that you must be regular. It robs you of the chance to be extraordinary.”

–>Empowered Women Prize Pack

A selection of books about women discovering themselves and empowering others.

     

• Girls Like Us: Fighting for a World Where Girls Are Not for Sale, an Activist Finds Her Calling and Heals Herself by Rachel Lloyd
• The Dressmaker of Khair Khana: Five Sisters, One Remarkable Family, and the Woman Who Risked Everything to Keep Them Safe by Gayle Tzemach Lemmon
• The Arrogant Years: One Girl’s Search for Her Lost Youth, from Cairo to Brooklyn by Lucette Matalon Lagnado

–>Good Karma Prize Pack

Maybe you don’t want things, but you still want to make a difference.

• Two $18 charitable donations by Words Empowered to the winner’s health-focused charities or non-profits of their choice, made in their honor (or in someone else’s honor they choose)

–>How to Enter

There are LOTS of ways to enter, so please read carefully. You can earn up to a maximum of 15 entries! All entries require a separate comment to be left for each entry to count, which means you must leave a valid email address in the comment form (will not be shared).

1. Visit the Words Empowered website and give it a lookyloo. Leave a comment here and tell me one thing you like about it along with which one prize pack you’d like to win. (1 entry)
2. Like Words Empowered on Facebook. (1 entry)
3. Follow Words Empowered on Twitter. (1 entry)
4. Tweet the following: “I believe in social media that matters. @WordsEmpowered can make a difference – find out more! http://bit.ly/wordsempowered” (1 entry)
5. Post on Facebook: “I like social media that matters. Like Words Empowered on Facebook to find out more! http://www.facebook.com/wordsempowered” (1 entry)
6. For 2 entries, comment on one of the blog posts over at the Words Empowered blog.
7. For 3 entries, subscribe to ANY one of my WE-mail newsletters.
8. For 5(!) entries, write a blog post about my new business and include the link, www.wordsempowered.com, in your post. Leave your blog post link your entry comment here.

–>Deadline to Enter

All entries must be received by 11:59pm Eastern Standard Time on Wednesday, November 30, 2011. Winners will be selected at random and announced here on Thursday, December 1, 2011.

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(Hell, I knew it was going to be a good day when I had a dentist appointment that morning to [...]]]>

I'm literally a card-carrying business owner.

Having Friday off for Veteran’s Day was a total gift. I spent most of the day and most of Saturday building my business website, feeling inspired from some particularly great networking conversations on Friday afternoon.

(Hell, I knew it was going to be a good day when I had a dentist appointment that morning to finish a root canal, and my dentist didn’t even have to use novacaine. I like good days like that.)

I promptly rewarded myself by playing copious amounts of Skyrim when I wasn’t working on my website.

But today? Today the cool thing happened.

Today I walked down to the City Clerk’s Office and got me a brand spankin’ new business certificate. $13 and one certified copy later, I’m a business. From there I walked down the block to our Chamber of Commerce and went ahead and became a member. Besides cheaper health insurance rates as a CoC member, I apparently am eligible for a ton of discounts at area businesses. Woohoo! I like perks and free things.

And just like that, the girl with no business background just went and became a business today.

And it feels awesome.

Economy be damned, there’s definitely something very American about forging ahead with an idea about which you’re passionate. And joining my local Chamber of Commerce has connected me in a very special way to the community in which I live. The amount of positive energy I’ve had coursing through me today has been incredible; it’s the most energized I’ve felt about something in a long time.

. . .

Ah, but I am being coy, aren’t I? What is this “business” of which I speak? Well, I’m finalizing everything in the next 48 hours, so I’ll have my official business information (plus a nifty business inspired giveaway to go with it!) to share here this Wednesday.

So stay tuned and be ready to spread the good news… there’s a new business in town and she’s ready to take the world by storm!

No related posts.

So, about that period. I have it now. Having POF/POI means that I get to take hormone replacement therapy until [...]]]>

Confession time. Let me go ahead and just start this out with a big ol’ TMI warning. So, if you don’t like to read about a lady on her period, I would change channels now.

So, about that period. I have it now. Having POF/POI means that I get to take hormone replacement therapy until I’m ready to menopause at the “normal” age range. And when I say hormone replacement, I mean take birth control pills, because hey, it’s just like your mama’s HRT, except way cheaper.

I take a generic form of Seasonale, which is essentially three months of birth control pills straight, and then one crazy week of bleeding. But sometimes, as I’ve noticed, I’ll spot randomly if I miss a couple of days. Or, I could skip three days and trigger a full blown period (which is technically withdrawal bleeding, anyway) even once I start taking pills again. I got sloppy this week and missed some pills, so now Aunt Flo showed up to my house two weeks early.

I should have known it was coming, too. I have a tell-tale sign that occurs usually within a couple of hours of me starting to bleed: complete and utter exhaustion. Like literally, I’ll go from fully functional to total zombie in a matter of minutes, and if I don’t lay down right away, I turn into something resembling a raging monster.

(Interestingly enough, when I got my first period when I was 10, it was preceded by me getting suddenly tired and grumpy, taking a nap, and then waking up to discover “Oh look, I’m a woman.”)

So yesterday, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when I stood up while Larry was playing Skyrim (have I mentioned it’s pretty much been played on our TV continuously since Friday night?) and declared, “I’m going upstairs to take a nap. I’m tired,” in a very matter-of-factly way. Larry asked me if I was okay and I just snapped at him about going to take a nap.

Cut to… four hours later he’s waking up for dinner. “Honey, it’s nine o’clock.”

I went down for the count like I’d been hit by a truck. And then I noticed the familiar pang of menstrual cramps. Sure enough, when I went to the bathroom, the Lady in Red made her grand appearance.

But here’s the thing… I have another tell-tale sign that my period is about to arrive, and I’m sharing it here to find out if a) anyone else has ever experience this or b) knows why they hell this happens.

Ready?

I crave dairy so bad I could hurt someone to get a hunk of cheese. Or a gallon of milk. Or sour cream dip. It’s insane how intensely I crave dairy. I joke with Larry that I know my period’s coming because I feel like I’m channeling a milk cow.

Must. Have. Dairy.

Mostly cheese. It’s not just the dairy, it’s salty dairy. So yeah, I want cheese like it’s going out of style.

Is this just me? Am I a total weirdo?

Moo?

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Please note: this post may be triggering to victims of abuse or bullying.

. . .

I am a victim of childhood bullying.

My story takes place over a couple of weeks in fourth [...]]]>

I’d like to share a story from my childhood. This is not an easy piece to write or post.

Please note: this post may be triggering to victims of abuse or bullying.

. . .

I am a victim of childhood bullying.

My story takes place over a couple of weeks in fourth grade. I used to be chased, hit, and spit on by three students. They were comparable in size, but then again, I was a pretty short kid growing up (and am now a pretty short adult). But they were first graders.

I used to get beat up by kids three years my junior on the playground.

They’d chase me to the edge of the playground and I’d pull up a loose chain link fence and run onto the adjacent soccer field that wasn’t technically our school’s property. For whatever reason, they never chased me under the fence. But they’d wait there, taunting me through the open chain links, fully prepared to kick my ass if I tried to wiggle back under and run away. So I’d just walk the length of the fence, these three boys walking with me on the other side, shouting at me, spitting on me, trying to grab my jacket if I got too close.

When the teachers would yell that recess was over, I’d wait until the playground emptied, then run back into the building. This went on for a few weeks.

I finally told my parents. I don’t think I ever told them all the details as I’ve posted up here, so Mom and Papa, if you’re reading this, here’s the whole story for the first time. I think I had said there were some boys at recess who were making fun of me. I’ll never forget my Mom telling me: “Keiko, it’s their problem. They’re the ones who have the problems and issues, not you. You can stand up to them without getting into a fight because you’re better than them and you know how to use your words.”

The next day at recess, I brought my camera. I took pictures of them through the fence. I told them I was taking their photos to show to the teacher, that I would have evidence. (In hindsight, I realize that was pretty astute for a fourth grader, but I suppose I got the idea because my father is a photojournalist.) Somewhere in an old picture box are these still photos of these hateful faces frozen in time, their faces overlaid with that grey chainlink fence, their fingers clawing, teeth literally bared, and anger flashing in their eyes. I will never forget a single detail of their faces.

Photo evidence captured, they remained undaunted. I put the camera away and told them that my Mom said that their making fun of me is their problem, that I’m the better person because I wouldn’t fight them, and that I would use my words.

I will never, ever forget the moment the one taller black boy looked straight at me and said:

“No, this is your problem.” And then he spit at my face through the fence.

It dripped off my cheek and landed on my pink winter jacket. Then they ran off.

. . .

It’s been twenty years since that day and I will never forget it.

I am 29 years old and I still can’t write about being bullied by first graders as a fourth grader without getting embarrassed, ashamed, and angry. I imagine people think that I should probably get over some silly little bullying problem from two decades ago. I mean, it’s not like they hit me or anything.

Their words haunt me.

I may have moved on emotionally, but that doesn’t mean that I can forget it. In that moment: a switch flipped. A scar was left.

I became permanently marked – and changed – by bullying.

. . .

Bullying has changed since I was a little kid. We didn’t have cyberbullying when I was younger. We were still using an Apple IIe in our classrooms and you were the child of privilege if you had Prodigy at home.

Today, it’s a different story. Fourth graders have access to the internet. There are plenty of parents who do very little to limit their children’s access to computers and cell phones, so it’s no wonder that even a 10-year old can receive harassing, threatening text messages.

But bullying doesn’t always happen under the veil of technology. It can be painfully overt like my experience. It happens in the halls between class, in the locker rooms before gym, or while you’re sitting on the bus on your way to school. Or even, like in my case, when you’re waiting for the bus to arrive.

. . .

When I was in fifth grade, there was a kid at my bus stop that I couldn’t stand. There was no misunderstanding about how much we hated each other. But he used to tease me every day. I’d try to ignore him or come up with a witty comeback. This winter morning, he didn’t say anything. He grabbed a fistful of snow with leaves, sticks, and ice shards in it, and formed it into a tightly packed ball. I thought he was going to throw it at me.

I was wrong.

He grabbed my neck from behind with one arm and with the other, shoved the snow in my nose and mouth so I couldn’t breathe. The leaves got in my mouth. The sticks and ice cut my face. I started choking and crying. He held me for a full minute while I struggled against him before he let me go.

I ran home, only 3 houses away and told my mom. By the time she ran out to the street, she could see my bus turning the corner. She called the school. He was called in to the principal’s office.

I learned at the end of the day he’d been suspended and kicked off the bus route.

. . .

I was bullied because I was the smart kid, a little goofy, a little weird. I asked questions (too many). I was chatty (too much). I did all the extra credit assignments when they were given out and even when they weren’t.

I was the goody-two-shoes, the brown-noser, the nerd.

Truth is, I was just really excited about learning and school. My parents had raised me to always remain curious, to apply myself, and to never take for granted for a second the miracle and wonder of the world around me. These are values I hope to pass down to my own children one day, because they’ve shaped who I am.

It was this love of learning that apparently was the equivalent of an invisible target painted on me that said: “Bullies: Have At Her.”

It’s taken me years to embrace these traits as opposed to the internal monologue I repeated over and over to myself as a teen: don’t be so different Keiko. Don’t stand out so much. Try not to be so smart.

Don’t get me wrong: I was still kind of a weird teen, but with a level of self-consciousness that bordered on the neurotic. I was perpetually worrying about what other people thought about me. Traces of this self-doubt still remain with me today.

Because, as those first-graders would be happy to remind me: it was my problem.

. . .

This has been an incredibly difficult post to write. I had actually had the first half of this post written for months, sitting in my draft folder because publishing it felt too painful.

But then I heard about Jamey Rodemeyer.

Jamey was a gay teen who made an “It Gets Better” video. His video was widely-praised as he spoke with such optimism. He was about to start high school and even after years of being bullied about his sexuality, he seemed enthusiastic for the future ahead.

On September 18, 2011, Jamey committed suicide.

He was 14.

. . .

I’m writing this post today with courage found in reading this post by JW Moxie from last month. She describes a bullying experience where she physically fought back. Reading her post, it triggered a lot of memories and emotions. I never found the courage to fight back as a kid.

I think in many ways, my experiences with being bullied, have inadvertently shaped me into a strong woman today. I can pinpoint the exact moment I developed a fighter’s spirit.

I recognize that I am one of the lucky ones who made it.

. . .

With all of my attention focused on MS 26 earlier this week, I completely missed everything about Michigan’s disgusting anti-bullying law that passed in Michigan’s State Senate on Tuesday.

Wait a minute, how can I call an anti-bullying bill disgusting?

Because conservative groups lobbied to have additional language added to Senate Bill 137 – also known as Matt’s Safe School Law after another gay teen who committed suicide as the result of bullying - to allow bullying in cases where the bully’s actions are the result of  “sincerely held religious belief or moral conviction.”

Critics of this bill have dubbed it the License to Bully bill, claiming it provides a blueprint for bullies. If a bully can claim that they bullied someone because they were offended on religious or moral grounds, they are exempt from this law. It boggles the mind that a piece of anti-bullying legislation actually paves the way for… more bullying. This was the final prodding that I needed to share my story.

You can tell Michigan just how you feel about their new and very flawed law here.

. . .

I hope you’ve found this post useful. I hope this post has raised awareness about bullying. I hope you’ll share it with others to continue to raise awareness about bullying, particularly with regard to Michigan’s absurd new law.

And if you’ve been bullied, I’m so sorry we share this in common. I hope you’ll share your story with others too so that something can be done about bullying on a national level.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got to share on this matter. No clever final sentence.

Just thanks for reading my story.

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Yes, it is also appropriate to insert “she can have 20 children and I can’t even have one” sentiments here as well. Because believe me, I feel them too.

Father Maloney was a big man from Galway, built like a hurler. His massive head, a square face capped in wispy white hair, seemed to [...]]]>

I made my 10,000 word goal for the first week. 10,899 to be exact. And, as promised, here’s another excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel:

Title is still TBD, to be honest.

He moved deliberately toward the room, the halls bustling with activity around him: janitors and orderlies sloshing full buckets of water that had rushing into the building while other orderlies crossed their paths lugging fans and shop-vacs. Nurses scurried in their pressed white uniforms from room to room; patients tucked into gurneys being pushed down the halls or merely left to the sides as hospital staff rushed to find new rooms in an already full hospital.

Father Maloney approached room 318, nearly toppling over a young nurse who came bursting out of the room at break-neck speed. The young nurse gasped, apologizing profusely, before zipping off back into the chaos in the halls. He stood in the doorway, taking stock of the scene before him.

The room was dim, the shades drawn; the relentless record-setting rain had finally stopped for the evening, replaced now by howling, angry winds. A woman in a grey cable-knit sweater sat huddled wearily on a chair in the far corner of the room by the windows, her knees drawn up to her chest. She was slight and lean, boyish even, the sweater draped like a bag over her lithe body. Her greying red hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun that was falling out of place. Her eyes were closed but puffy, her wrinkled cheeks flushed, clearly stained with tears. In her hands she clasped a wooden rosary, her lips moving silently in prayer.

Standing beside the woman in the chair, but turned away from the room, he saw the outline of a much shapelier woman facing the window, peeking through the shades. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, her flame-red hair tumbling down her back in unbrushed curls, her hair startlingly bright against her white tee shirt, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was dressed in a tee shirt and dark blue jeans, a pair of rouched black suede boots climbing up her calves. Her waist pinched downward toward a pair of broad hips, her jeans tight and stretched across her behind. Father Maloney’s eyes lingered there a moment before turning to the bed.

An elderly woman, quite old, laid on the bed, hooked up to only a heart monitor. He could see other machines gathered toward the head of her bed had been disconnected. At one time, she was given a breathing tube, he could see, as the nurse in her hurry forgot to take the intubation tube from her nightstand. Father Maloney’s years as a hospital chaplain told him he had just come in after a whirlwind of a nearly failed attempted to revive the old woman.

She was breathing unevenly, her chest rising and falling in shallow motions. Her ghost white hair was splayed out all over her pillow, some matted and plastered to her forehead. Her skin sagged deeply into her eye sockets and the hollows of her cheeks, the soft lighting over the bed casting shadows in her cavernous wrinkles. She was thin and gaunt, skeletal even. Her skin was sallow, a grey pallor cast over her appearance. This woman was clearly just hours from death.

He was startled when she opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to face him standing in the doorway. He was surprised at how bright and blue her eyes were, despite the look of death upon her. The heart monitor began to beep faster.

In a raspy voice, she croaked: “Where’s Father O’Brien?”

That’s it. That’s all you get for now. I need to crank out another 10,000 words before I’ll let you read anything more. As for my goals this week, I’m going to try and make it to 25,000 by Saturday night. That’s the plan. And experiment with narrative style this week and – gasp! – write a sex scene (scandalous!). Wish me luck!

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I have already written about what this means for infertility patients. But I need to talk about what this means for women.

It’s not just about outlawing abortion. MS 26 outlaws women in Mississippi from making informed decisions [...]]]>

The vote on Mississippi Initiative 26 happens tomorrow.

I have already written about what this means for infertility patients. But I need to talk about what this means for women.

It’s not just about outlawing abortion. MS 26 outlaws women in Mississippi from making informed decisions about their own bodies and lives. There are states just waiting for MS 26 to pass to they can introduce personhood legislation of their own. Tomorrow, if MS 26 passes (and it’s likely it will), the domino falls toppling over women’s reproductive rights in this country.

This is not an exaggeration. I know it seems like it, like something straight out of The Handmaid’s Tale. But I don’t think people truly realize the implications if MS 26 passes tomorrow.

It sounds so simplistic, doesn’t it? Human life begins at fertilization? Sperm meets egg and *glitter, rainbows, puppies* a little human bean is made.

Understanding that embryos are not people is simple too:

But legislation like MS 26 isn’t simple. It dredges up complicated legal maneuvering that will make it virtually impossible for fertility clinics to continue to operate in MS. It calls into doubt women’s abilities to go about their normal bodily functions without some suspicion of, “well, did she just kill a human if her fertilized egg didn’t implant?”

I mean, based on the few sentences proposed under MS 26, if a woman goes to the ER for a spontaneous miscarriage, theoretically the attending physician should call the police. If she already had other children, social services should be called.

Because under MS 26, this woman just committed manslaughter.

Mississippi:

Trust women.

Please, if you know ANYONE who lives in Mississippi, take the 10 minutes to dig up their phone number or email address and give them a quick call or shoot of a quick email. Their vote is critical tomorrow. Tell them: VOTE NO ON 26.

I’m bracing myself for the worst. You should be too. So let’s capitalize on this nervous anticipation by getting as many people as we can AWARE of the chilling implications of MS 26 if it passes.

Let’s do ALL that we can to see that it doesn’t.

It’s not about fertility rights, it’s not about women’s rights…

It’s about human rights.

Polls open at 7am tomorrow.

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It’s early November 2000. You’re swamped with school work; you’re already reconsidering the major you came in with (music ed/vocal performance) and you’re euphoric that you and Larry got back together just over a month ago.

It’s a big time in your life. You’ll lose your virginity next month and yes, [...]]]>

Dear 18-year old Keiko,

Taken my first weekend of college in 2000.

It’s early November 2000. You’re swamped with school work; you’re already reconsidering the major you came in with (music ed/vocal performance) and you’re euphoric that you and Larry got back together just over a month ago.

It’s a big time in your life. You’ll lose your virginity next month and yes, it’s totally awesome. You’ll change majors next semester and you’ll be relieved not to have to study music theory anymore. And this time next year, you’ll experience what is the worst episode of depression in your life. But you’ll come out of it. Jesse, your counselor, is amazing.

But I want to talk to you about something that will happen in just a few short weeks. You’ll go bowling Thanksgiving night, bowl the lowest score in your life (an 11) and then meet up with some high school girlfriends the next day for lunch. You’ll feel like crap that evening and then spend the night in the emergency room. They’ll send you home.

And then Monday afternoon, you’ll lose your ovary.

Now, I’m not saying that if you press the ER doc on Friday night to keep you, you’ll be able to keep it. From what I understand, even 11 years later, that ovary was going to come out no matter what. But what I am telling you is…

Don’t believe them when they tell you you’ll still be able to have children.

You won’t.

Trust me, I know.

In fact, ditch the birth control altogether. Go read “Taking Charge of Your Fertility.” Truth is, even once you start having sex, you’ve got a 20% shot of getting knocked up. Shocker, right? A bit of a deviation from the pregnancy scare mantra of high school health ed, but it’s true.

Look, I don’t have much time here, but your future self has these gems of wisdom to give you:

1. Find a different doctor. You won’t learn until junior year of college that she’s literally batshit crazy and even though she diagnoses you with thyroid disease next year, she will do absolutely next to nothing to treat it. You’ll need your blood tested more than once a year. Tell them to look for anti-thyroid antibodies – it’s autoimmune and you won’t learn this for another eight years.

2. Study abroad. If you’re worried, pick an English-speaking country. But seriously? You’ll appreciate it so much more by the time you’re my age but not having an eight-year gap between your next international trip from the trip to France you took your senior year in high school.

3. The idea of having children is quite foreign to you right now. I understand. I remember how nervous you were about getting pregnant – the late nights Yahoo-ing the likelihood of getting pregnant while on birth control AND using condoms. I remember them well. But you’re going to marry that boy, and he’s going to love the crap out of you, and you know, the minute you walk down the aisle together – he’s going to be a great father one day. And you’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.

4. Drinking that bottle of Mike’s when you’re on cough medication for that awful cold sophomore year? Yeah. Reconsider that decision.

5. When Pat says, “Did you know you can download custom items for The Sims?” kindly reply, “Why yes, yes I did” and then forget that conversation. Write your papers. Go to class. You’re going to get bored with The Sims anyway before the year is even out.

6. Go visit your sister more often. She’s getting married next year and things change when people get married.

7. Listen to your body. There will be clues over the next few years: the weight gain. The fatigue. The depression. Don’t just assume that a pill will make it all better. Get checked out. Find out what’s going on now so it won’t be so hard on you later. Start charting your cycle to see if you ovulate on your own. Also? Don’t wait until you’re 25 to start using tampons. For the life of me I’ll never understand why you waited so long. So much easier.

I don’t want to leave this all doom and gloom. You’re going to have an amazing time in college. You’re going to discover a feisty, brave young woman inside of you who doesn’t take shit from anyone, who stands up for what she believes in, and who is wildly creative with words. Don’t stop writing. Spend more time with Amber – she will be gone too soon from this world.

Just whatever you do, don’t give up. Don’t sabotage yourself because you’re too afraid to fail. I know your tricks and I’ll tell you this: you’re going to miss so many opportunities because it was easier to walk away than not take the risk. (Just don’t take the really stupid risks. Like walking to the 7-11 by yourself at night. It’s hella far and you’re only a couple of miles away from downtown Trenton. Not smart.)

You’ve got so much to give and so much yet to do: soar.

Just soar.

Gotta run. You take it easy the next couple of weeks; post-surgery won’t be fun. Make Larry visit you more while you’re home recovering. He’s going to do just fine in college.

See ya soon.

~ Your 29-year old self.

You're gonna do alright, kid.

P.S. Learn Hebrew now. You’ll convert in a few years and it’ll save you some money later on so you don’t have to take another Hebrew class later on.

This post, in addition to being a part of NaBloPoMo, is also for NHBPM – National Health Blog Posting Month. WEGO Health is running it all month and this was post was inspired by one of their prompts from last week. Check it out.

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This morning, I gave notice at my full-time day job. My last day will be November 18th.

Apart from my part-time work for RESOLVE of New England, I currently do [...]]]>

Remember how two months ago I wrote that I wanted to leave higher education? Well, I really am now.

This morning, I gave notice at my full-time day job. My last day will be November 18th.

Apart from my part-time work for RESOLVE of New England, I currently do not have another job lined up. For a variety of reasons, I simply had to leave. Even with our dicey economy, I had to take the risk. I had to finally free up those 40 hours a week to spend time working on the things that are important to me…

To do the work that’s important for this community.

So that’s why I’m starting my own business.

Well, I’ll be honest. That’s not the only reason I’m starting my own business. Part of it has to do with insurance, which I can buy cheaper through my local Chamber of Commerce. Massachusetts mandates health insurance for all residents, so I can either buy it through the state’s resource, the Mass Health Connector, or go through an avenue like my Chamber of Commerce. I’m opting for the latter, because it’s definitely cheaper.

But I’ve been thinking of developing my own business for a while now, and the timing seems to be lining up. Details on said business will be forthcoming soon, because trust me, I’m going to be calling on you to help me spread the word!

But for right now, as nerve-wracking as this all is…

I’m really happy with this decision. I feel genuinely good about it.

I know what’s ahead won’t be easy, but I feel like I have such a huge weight off my shoulders, like I’ve finally given myself the permission to go out and do the work I’m supposed to.

After the college major switch, the hemming and hawing applying for full-time work right out of college, the crappy cold calling temp jobs, and my at first rewarding and then draining run of positions in higher ed… I feel like I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.

And now is my opportunity to shine.

Edited to add this “could it be more perfectly suited to this moment” clip that appeared in my Facebook feed today of Kevin Spacey appearing on The Actor’s Studio talking about success and pursuing your talents:

Remember when I said I was feeling good about this?

You bet your sweep bippy I feel pretty friggin’ fantastic about all of this ahead of me!

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