When my brain is in need of processing I write. It’s just my way of getting it all out. It’s as if looking back over the black on white helps my brain to make sense of it all. These days I have been unable to do it. My journal pages have gone unfilled, my blog left rather empty, my brain … well, my brain is stuffed full.
I drove down to Knoxville today. To see our bestfriends’ new 9-week early baby (more on that later). To attend my high school reunion (doubt I’ll go). To shoot a 12 hour wedding on Saturday. To celebrate my father’s birthday.
I just left my parents bed where we were laying and talking. We argued about how hot it gets in Chicago. They both insisted that it gets quite hot there. For a girl who just recently moved from Memphis, TN Chicago summers are far from being considered hot (average high in the summer: 84). I said goodnight and felt grateful to have just spent an hour in my parent’s room talking like we did when I was just a child. I quickly checked email and then closed my computer to head to bed.
But, something stopped me. So, I picked my feet up and plopped them on the coffee table and stared into space.
I need to write.
I most enjoy writing pieces of me that are themed in a sense, but everything swirling around my crowded brain is anything but themed.
I feel relieved and energized, exhausted and sad, grateful and joy-filled, frustrated and depressed. How can so many emotions exist in one person at the same time? It’s quite overwhelming.
I’m obsessed with sad, depressing memoirs. Geography of Love. Hurry Down Sunshine. Honeymoon with My Brother. They always have a common denominator: resilience … bravery … compassion. It’s like since they went through pain and loss they look at the world with these clear-and-compassionate-I-don’t-care-that-I-can’t-take-away-their-pain-I’m-just-going-to-do-my-best-to-soften-it glasses.
Take Tresa for example. She signed up for my June workshop and we immediately connected with our journey through infertility. Luckily, hers has ended with three beautiful children, but even with the chaos of raising three children she has loved and cared for me in the kindest and most unexpected of ways. Just this week I received an unexpected package all the way from Oregon.
Thank you, Tresa, for loving on a complete stranger for no personal gain whatsoever. You challenge and encourage me.
The wonderful World Wide Web connected me to a wonderful person also traveling this journey who lives in the same city as my sister (what are the chances?!). We were able to meet for breakfast and coffee while I was in California. I feel as if we’ll always be dear friends.
Over coffee, I told my new friend, Jenn, that I’ve figured something quite important out. Infertility is a grieving process, that’s no secret, but what makes it so unique is that it gets more painful with time. Normally when we grieve something it gets better with time. I wish it were the same …
Another lovely soul, Linni, once emailed me encouraging my journey. She shared words that had been said to her when she was in the thick of her pursuit of a child. Infertility is like an ocean … the waves and tide slowly come in and go back out, but every once in awhile a wave comes that’s rather unexpected and wipes you off your feet.
I have often thought of this scene. Most of the times I feel like I’m standing knee deep in just the waves slowly coming in and out, but it is so true. That wave. The big one. It does come at the most random of times. And, it sucks feeling like you might drown. But, the resilience. It’s always there. And, when I look up I always see the sun shining and it gives me the “umph” I need to stand back up. But, for how long? Forever, I assume.
Would you believe that it’s my 2nd year in full-time business and I’m booked until November? Would you believe that I’m connected to literally hundreds of people who love photography as much as myself? I am not bragging, I’m really just rather stunned. I don’t think I stop enough to consider just how happy and blessed I am in my job.
My husband enjoys his job, too. Not to mention he’s quite good at it.
Our families are healthy.
My friends indescribable.
My days in Cincinnati are no longer new and unknown. They are full and alive and I love the city more with each passing month.
I feel more comfortable and confident with each year I age. I’m happy to be able to say that.
And, this is just a bit that is swirling, twirling, flipping and flooding my brain. It’s good and light and airy intermixed with heaviness and confusion, frustration and exhaustion.
And, that’s why I haven’t written. It’s all of that with a to-do list that never seems to get any shorter. Yet, I already feel more clear headed.
Thanks for letting me pour my black on to the white. Maybe this all makes more sense to you …
Love,
jc
