I didn’t win the Hope Award for best blog.
RESOLVE e-mailed me yesterday and broke the news. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly disappointed. I’ve never won anything in my 25 years of living, and just the possibility of winning something based on my writing—which is a huge part of my life—felt wonderful. After my brief moment of self-pity ended, I pushed it into the back of my brain. By the time I got home and received love from my puppy and husband, it was a distant memory.
I think we all need to feel self-pity occasionally. In fact, I had an entire text message conversation about this yesterday with my SIL, Joey’s sister. She has cancer: stage 1 endometrial. I’ve hesitated writing about this, mostly because this is my blog and I always struggle with sharing people’s “business” in my forum. The last thing I want to do is go in-depth about someone else’s life without their permission with complete strangers reading. But I don’t think she would mind me writing about this.
We were talking about how it’s easy to feel sorry for yourself, especially for her as she’s emotionally and physically drained from treatment. She asked me if I understood that desire for self-pity.
Yes, I do. I understand that feeling of wanting things to go right for you, of wanting something good to happen.
We talked about spending time feeling sorry for you, but the struggle of balancing that feeling with staying positive. We walk on a delicate tightrope, all of us do. We all have moments of self-pity where we just want to ask, “Why me?” or say, “I really wanted that to happen.” This happens with cancer. I’ve seen it with my mom and I know that my SIL is going through those same motions. I’ve been through it myself with infertility and have watched others go through it as well with infertility and loss. I’m currently watching my best friend go through it as she struggles with her breakup.
We’re human. We’re allowed to love ourselves, and in the same sense allowed to feel sorry for ourselves. It’s okay to admit that we wanted things to happen a certain way, or we didn’t want them to happen at all. It’s okay to question God: what he’s doing and whether he even exists based on the hell you feel you live in. I do all the time.
It’s funny because most of us don’t enjoy pity from others, but I think we need to pity ourselves. We need those days where we lay on the couch with a box of chocolates and a box of tissues and watch sappy movies, just for a good excuse to cry. We need moments when someone pats us on the back and tells us we are awesome and loved. And that’s what I got when I arrived home last night: a lot of love—unconditional love from Danica and a wonderful, supportive husband who said, “I’m sad and disappointed. I wanted you to win. But I think you are amazing and I am so proud of you.”
No offense to RESOLVE, because I greatly appreciated the honor, but I can tell you with absolutely certainty that hearing those words meant so much more to me than winning any award. Having all of you read my story and support us through our journey? Also, better than winning any award. Your kind words and unending love is sometimes the only thing that makes me feel sane in a world full of infertile sanity. Thank you for voting for me, but, more importantly, thank you for being such amazing friends. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
It’s been over two months since I wrote my Project IF post. A lot has happened since then. We still don’t have a baby, but I can say with certainty that I’ve followed through with what I wrote in that post. I put myself out there and opened my blog up to friends and family members. I've shared my story with the hope that it helps others feel like they aren't so alone. I’m wearing the hole in my heart outside of my skin every single day and it feels good.
I’m doing the best I can with the hand I’ve been dealt. And I think that makes me a winner.