I See You

March 11th, 2021.

All day, I sat at my desk anxiously tapping my feet waiting for the work day to end. I was SO excited. I usually post later in the evening, but I knew I wouldn't be able to wait, so I'd decided 5pm was go-time. I had carefully chosen this specific night, knowing we'd be flooded with messages and texts. And with an 8-hour car ride planned for the following day, I figured I'd just let it all roll in and catch up on everything once on the road the next day.

We had so many people waiting for and anticipating this announcement. No one more than us, though. After 2 long and exhausting years, it was finally our turn to post a pregnancy announcement.

About 30 mins before 5, I decided to draft up the post and maybe even post it early. I couldn't wait any longer. My stomach was in knots of excitement and anticipation. I opened instagram on my phone and there it was.

The first post on my feed staring me in the face:

A post from a fellow IVF warrior sharing the loss of her pregnancy that she had just announced the week before. There was an empty sac with no heartbeat.

I felt frozen in time. How was I supposed to feel good about announcing my news after reading of the devastation she had just experienced? It felt selfish. It felt performative. It felt icky. I decided to just put my phone down and sit with my emotions for a bit. I needed to take some time to process the vast difference between her post and my soon-to-be post.

I determined that the universe was reminding me of something I knew was inevitable: that the moment I came out as pregnant to the world, my relationship with the infertility community would change.

This was something I'd thought about in the past. There were many days in my infertility journey that I'd see a pregnancy announcement on my feed and immediately unfollow that person if I didn't know them personally. It was just too hard for me to watch others have the one thing in the world I wanted most. I knew it wasn't their fault, but I was mad at the universe. At my body. At God. And for my mental health, I knew I couldn't face being reminded of what I don't have through seeing strangers that did have it. I couldn't take scrolling through my feed and coming across baby bumps or sonograms.

I knew that those who may have been inspired by my story in the past 2 years might stop following our journey after hearing of our success. And I understand it completely. I don't blame them. I was them.

One thing I didn't anticipate, however, was the weird shift of identity that I would feel after becoming pregnant. I had spent the past two years educating the world, sharing about infertility, and being a voice for those who chose to struggle in silence. It became a large part of who I am and it felt like important work. I took pride in speaking out and speaking up for things that society needs to hear more about when it comes to infertility. All while harboring the anger that I was even in a position to understand it in the first place.

So now here I am- pregnant. I got what I worked so, so hard for. I crossed the finish line of infertility. But I am struggling with the change in my reality. I am engulfed in the world of being pregnant, yet I feel guilty talking about it because I've spent the last 26 months building a community filled with people who are struggling to conceive. How do I completely flip the script with the content that I post without becoming very triggering to them?

And I already know what others (especially those who've never struggled to get pregnant will say)- "You can't worry about other people." "Allow yourself to celebrate and not care so much." Well, I DO worry about those still in the fight and I will never stop caring because 10 short weeks ago, I stood in their shoes. As a pregnant woman with an online presence, I am now the exact thing that caused 10-weeks-ago-me heartache. I've become something that used to deeply upset me.

I want to celebrate and I want to talk about all things pregnancy because there are TONS of things in that space that need to be talked more about too. And I want to help pregnant women feel understood in the moments that are hard. Same for new moms when I eventually get to that point.

But along the way, I want my infertility warriors to not feel forgotten about. I want them to know that even in the moments that I am celebrating my success and talking about nursery furniture, I'm thinking about them. It is not lost on me that they are still in the thick of their battles, and I wish I could just pull every single one of them to this side of the finish line with me.

It's weird to use the word "grateful" when speaking about infertility because it's an awful thing to go through. I am not grateful for what we had to go through. I am however, grateful for the relationships it brought me, and for how it has taught me not to take a single moment of this pregnancy for granted.

It's going to take some time to find the balance between talking about pregnancy nonstop (because that's truly what my life is now), while still respecting the fight that so many are still facing. I might not always get it right. But I'm committed to an awareness and to doing my best.

To those still waiting for their miracles:

I see you.

I hear you.

I will forever advocate for you.

I am still here for you.