At yoga yesterday I did something I’ve never done. I purposefully didn’t look up at the clock. I didn’t check the time once while I was there.
I’m the kind of person who ALWAYS wants to check the clock, especially if I’m in the middle of a difficult physical activity. When I used to run, and especially when I was training for my marathon, I alway had to know what mile I was on. When I trained and rode very long, 100+ mile bike rides I was similarly obsessed with keeping track of how many miles we’d gone and how many we had left to go. I found that I was better at pushing through when I knew how much lay ahead; if I didn’t know I was more likely to give up, if only momentarily, and walk or rest.
It’s the same in yoga. When we are in very difficult poses I am much more likely to come out of them if the teacher hasn’t told us how many breathes we’ll be holding the pose. Sometimes I’m just coming out when she says, “five more breaths,” and I think, “well if I had known that I would have stayed in the pose.” I don’t know what it is about an end in sight that gives me strength.
It was hard not to watch the clock today, at least at first. When the first urge hit, I was spending a lot of energy willing myself not to turn around. But as I reminded myself that knowing how much longer we had to go wouldn’t change that time or make it pass more quickly, I lost the urge to look. By the end I was purposefully looking away during certain poses when the clock would have come into view.
There were a few times when I came into child’s pose when I might not have otherwise, but that’s okay. Once, the teacher came over to me and adjusted me in child’s pose, while everyone else was holding Warrior II. Having her take the time to support me in my time of required rest had a profound affect on me.
I’ve thought a lot about how one of the things that makes TTC hard for me is I don’t know what it will happen. If someone just told me, “yeah, you’re going to try for nine months, have a miscarriage and then try for three more,” I would be able to handle the whole thing so much better. As it stands, the not knowing drives me a little batty. I try to tell myself, even if you knew how long it would take, the time wouldn’t pass any faster.
Except that maybe it would, because if I knew I wouldn’t get pregnant for nine months, I wouldn’t put so much pressure on myself, or my partner, during those nine months. I’d let myself drink all the Diet Cokes my heart desired and I wouldn’t push sex even when neither of us wanted to do it. I would just live my life, knowing that that month just wasn’t the one.
Sometimes I wonder, are we destined to get pregnant during a certain month or do we need to fail all the months when we do for pregnancy to finally be achieved? If we had not missed our first month trying might we had gotten pregnant, because we were just destined to get pregnant that specific month? Or do we need to go through all these failed attempts to finally get there and missing that month just pushes back our eventual succes? Or is it nothing like that? Is pregnancy just this magical thing that happens at random, having nothing to do with when you try or for how long? I honestly have no idea how it works, I think that is part of why it’s so hard for me.
After that yoga class I came home to a moment with my partner, and our daughter, that was difficult for me to understand. (He has requested I not blog about it and I am respecting that request). It makes me question our attempts to have another child at all. Isa is so challenging lately, and spending all of most days with her this summer I frequently wonder how I’d manage with another child. It’s clear that Mi.Vida has similar fears about our ability to navigate the waters of parenting two small children.
Again I am made to wonder if I’m forcing something that no one wants but me, something that maybe I can’t even handle. Maybe this whole trying to have another baby thing is a terrible mistake, one my family will suffer greatly for. I honestly don’t know what to think of any of this anymore. I feel so lost and alone. How can anyone understand what I’m going through when I don’t even understand it myself?
This is all so hard, so multifaceted and I find myself failing time and time again to make any sense of it. I feel like right now I’m just operating on faith, a faith I can no longer embrace. I don’t have faith that we’ll ever get pregnant. And I don’t have faith that if we do, it will be a positive thing. And yet I keep solidering onward, blindly stepping one foot in front of the other, marching on without any idea of where I’m going, because really, it’s all I know how to do.
It’s hard not knowing how many steps I’ll have to take before I arrive at my destination. And it’s even harder to not know where that destination is, and if I’ll even like it when I get there.