The art of ignoring

Note: This post ain't pretty. But it is where I'm at and honestly? It's where I have been.



When I was a kid, and other kids teased me, my mom always told me to ignore it.

"Ignore it and they'll stop."

The thing is, although she was right in that situation, it's not exactly a healthy coping strategy for things that bug me now.

So here we go...

I want to get married to Joe.  I want to have kids with Joe.

And, for the most part, Joe doesn't want that.  It's not that he does NOT want it, he just doesn't WANT it.  Make sense?

Basically, he's not sure.  And the not sure thing?  It's eating at me.  So I'm eating it.

When I went into surgery, I weighed the same as I did when I went to my mom's for Christmas.  Since then?  I've gained 7 pounds.  So you tell me how I can not gain weight in two months, most of which I spend as a sedentary blob, and now I'm gaining weight like a champ when I'm busy and active?

Ahhh...yes.  That would be me - bolting from the reality that is my life.

I use food to veg out.  To check out.  To take my mind away from the reality that I have a few outcomes in front of me - most of which involve my relationship going by the wayside.

"But you seem so happy!," you might be thinking.

And the kicker is?  You'd be right.  I am *SO* happy.  We laugh and have fun.  He fits with my family and I absolutely adore his family and friends.  We have a good sex life and we are there for each other when things aren't so great.  We take refuge in each other's arms - like ducking under a shelter in the middle of the sh!t storm that is life sometimes.

But he still doesn't realize that.

And I am left feeling like I'm not enough.  Like this relationship, the best thing I've ever been a part of in my entire life, isn't good enough for him.

Wednesday, the day of my interview (that I rocked), I came home in a foul mood.  We had gotten a few measly inches of snow which turned all the drivers around me into sliding, fumbling nincompoops.  The normally twenty minute drive took over an hour and a half.  It was, to be clear, a very frustrating time.  But as I sat fuming in my car, cursing the drivers around me, I realized that I couldn't possibly be *this* pissed about the weather and driving.

I walked in the door and found Joe who was making dinner (the first in our whole time together).  He was smiling, warm, and happy.  And I wasn't.  I was cranky and when he asked about the interview, I told him I didn't want to talk about it.  I told him that it wasn't him, it was me, but that I just needed a moment to myself.  I went in my room, changed into warm and comfy fun pants and then came out to talk to him.

At one point, when we were talking about the job, he encouraged me to do whatever it was that I wanted.  Calm, supportive, thoughtful, and sweet - that's Joe. 

But all of the sudden it was too much.

"I don't get to do what I want," I said. "Because if I got to do what I wanted, I'd marry you right this instant.  I'd have your babies.  We'd get a dog.  I'd move in more of my stuff into our tiny place.  I'd quit my job, become an elementary school teacher in the same district as our kids so I could have summers and holidays off with them.  Don't tell me to do what I want...because I can't do that."

He stared at me and then opened his arms, where he folded me - crying, sobbing me - into his comforting embrace.  He didn't say anything to refute what I said.  He didn't assure me that it would all work out.  He didn't tell me that he wanted the same.  He didn't tell me that he didn't want the same.  He just hugged me.

It's the same dance we've been doing for months now.  It's this THING in our relationship - one of the few things we actually disagree on.  But this thing?  It's becoming bigger and stronger than I am sometimes.

It's not that I have to have kids or I won't be happy married to Joe.  If we couldn't have kids, we'd find some way to have them in our lives - adoption, fostering, or being a Big Brother or Sister in social organizations.  I'm not interested in marrying him for his sperm.  But I'm not going to say that having my own children isn't a HUGE pull for me right now either.

It's that I feel like I have two chances.  The chance to marry Joe and the chance to have kids of my own. 

My worst nightmare is having my OB say to me that it's too late to have kids.  He told us when I was in his office (during the whole uterine fibroid thing), that after mine was removed, we'd have a few years in which to have kids.  Then, my awesome lady bits would likely keep growing fibroids - ones as big as the grapefruit-sized one that I had removed - ones that probably would crowd out any fetus wanting to grow in there.  Is he 100% right?  Maybe; maybe not.  Could I go to other docs to get a different opinion?  Probably.  But the thing is, he's the specialist I trust.  I trust that what he's saying is true.

So let's say I hang in there with Joe and hope that he comes around.  Let's say he never does.  Let's say I eventually leave him.  Let's say that a while later, I find someone who is ready to settle down and treats me almost as well as Joe does.  Let's say that then?  It's too late for me to have kids.  Now I don't have Joe or kids.

It boils down to this: I'm finding myself trying to choose between the chance to have kids someday and the chance to be Joe's wife someday.  The hard part is that I don't know what my actual chances are at either.

If I were given the choice to marry Joe or have kids, I would pick Joe every time.  But the very real choice of giving up the chance to have kids for the chance to be Joe's wife is too risky for me.

But really?  That's big talk.  Because I also can't see myself walking away from a relationship as wonderful as I believe ours to be.  That doesn't come along every day...so why would I walk away from it?

But then again, if it's so great, why can't he see that?

So that's where we are - in a crossroads of our relationship.

In the good news department, we had a big ol' fight mid-Decemberish.  Mostly about other stuff...like his inability to trust me with some parts/aspects of his life...but this issue came up.  It's not exactly a unique fight - with me or previous exes.  He's 44 and until I moved in, he'd never lived with anyone else before.  Never been engaged either.  Inability to commit isn't exactly a new thing for him.  Ultimately, he agreed (reluctantly) to see a therapist - both for himself and with me as a couple.

Those people are specialists too...and they should be able to help us figure out what we want to do or what we don't, right?

He had his first session with the therapist in December.  We had our first session as a couple on the 13th of January and all I can say is oh.my.gosh this going to be tough. 

In the meantime, it's me.  Me and a whole lotta' uncertainty.

Know what's easier to face than the uncertainty?  The plate full of food in front of me.  The drive-thru lady during my lunch break.  The supermarket clerk on my way home.

Because in those moments, when I'm hurriedly eating food, I don't have to face the fear that I'm not enough for the person I've loved most in my life.  I don't have to worry about how I may never feel a baby kick inside me.  I don't have to worry how I'm going to handle being the Maid of Honor at my baby sister's wedding in two months when what I want most is to getting married myself.  I don't have to weigh possibilities or plans to change anything.  I don't have to think about steps to leave the best thing that's ever happened to me.  I don't have to deal with the worry that I might be pushing and sabotaging my relationship for something that I don't even know that I can do.  I mean, it's not like I've ever TRIED to get pregnant anyway.

So eating when I'm hungry?  I can do that. 

But stopping when I'm no longer hungry?  When I do that, I feel empty.  Alone.  Foolish.  Left-over.  Passed-over.  Not good enough.

I'm not sure what the solution is.  I know that I'm actively doing things to try to figure myself and us out.  I know he's doing the same.  I know that's something.

I want to fight for this.  But sometimes?  I want to ignore the fact that I have to fight for this.  I want to ignore the idea that another sh!tty thing might happen to me in the long line of sh!tty things that have happened to me. 

I want to ignore the voice that's screaming "I told you so" when I had the audacity to hope.