Well that post got pretty much the response I was expecting, somewhere on the spectrum between no response and a slightly negative one. It actually prompts me to write a post about when and why people comment, or maybe more specifically when and why they choose NOT to comment, but I think I’ll save that discussion for a later date.
What I want to do now is explain where that post came from and why I chose to write it. I also want to clarify my feelings on the matter. I am not sad that I don’t get 30+ comments on a BFN or a BFP post. I am just using that comparison to prove a point. And it’s absolutely possible that I have fewer followers than those who get many more comments than I do on good new or bad news posts, but I think that reality also proves the point I was trying to make, that those undergoing treatment find followers more easily than those who don’t.
I’m not trying to imply that women in this community specifically avoid bloggers who are not seeking treatments–or who do not yet qualify for treatments–because they don’t appreciate their struggle. I would guess it happens because we gravitate to the blogs of women who are walking a similar path. We want to see how someone else deals with the struggles that seem overwhelming to us. We want to open dialogues with people who have an understanding of what we are going through, who can provide empathy. And if you are in throes of IVF, reading about some woman getting BFNs month after month while she waits to make an RE appointment is not in the least bit relevant. It doesn’t help the IVF veteran deal with her fourth medicated cycle resulting in a BFN. The two experiences are just totally different.
And that is really the point of my post, that being in the no-mans land where I find myself is doubly isolated. No one if the fertile world understands me and only slightly more people in this community are in a position to relay support. I don’t fit in with the fertiles OR the infertiles and that makes the whole experience that much more isolating.
That is really what I was trying to get to with that post, the isolation of it. I don’t have any peers, anywhere really and that makes this a lonely path to walk. I’m not saying it’s as difficult a terrain to traverse as infertility but it provides its own challenges. And it’s also not the skipping through the daisies that everyone seems to enjoy in real life. And I know not everyone in real life enjoys that, but if I don’t know what they are going through, it doesn’t really matter what it is. Their possible struggle–if I’m totally ignorant of it–doesn’t make my journey any less lonely.
So that was my intent, though I don’t think I realized it until I got the few comments I did on this morning’s post. It’s not that I CARE that members of this community aren’t as drawn to my story because of it’s irrelevance to their own lives, it’s not that I’m trying to compare myself to other bloggers who may seem more popular. I’m just trying to explain how isolating it can be to walk my specific path. And I know it’s not such a horrible path. I have a daughter and a partner and a house and a job and my path could be so very much worse, but it’s still difficult to walk alone. It’s still difficult to struggle with sub-par fertility and mental unhealth when the real world presents an assumption of fertility and health and this community presents an assumption of medicated cycles and prolonged struggle. It’s difficult not to belong.
That’s all I was trying to say.