What is it that defines a woman? We see an image, how she is built anatomically but when you strip everything away and go back to basics isn't it all about reproduction? A woman can bear a child, a man cannot (in the literal sense). I believe this knowing is within all of us, young and old whether we articulate it or not. I respect those who choose not to have children but if conceiving is something you have always instinctively wanted and desired, then the news that you are unable to hits right to the core of what makes you a woman. When I received this devastating diagnosis it charted a course of self discovery for me. I wasn't sure who I was any more. I felt like I had lost the essence of my sexuality, was I less of a woman now?
MON. 12th APRIL 2010
'JUST NOW I BROKE DOWN IN THE LOUNGE AND CRIED SOME MORE. I AM NOT O.K WITH THIS, IT IS NOT O.K THAT I CAN'T HAVE MY OWN BIOLOGICAL CHILD, IT IS NOT O.K THAT I'M TURNING 36 WHEN MY BODY IS ACTING AS IF IT'S 46/56- IT IS NOT O.K!'
It is hard not to feel you have changed on an almost cellular level when every day that diagnosis is with you, initially at the forefront of your mind and as time passes, sitting on the sidelines of your consciousness. I am mindful that the grass isn't always greener, there is someone, somewhere right now who knows tragedy on a scale that I can't possibly fathom. However, I've learned it's about allowing yourself to say " It's not o.k that this has happened to me" and to feel the vast array of emotions that will inevitably engulf you. Grief is unique to each individual, it's not for anyone to say how you should process or move through it but in my experience you can't shut it out. It will just set up camp somewhere nearby, letting you know from time to time that it's still there until you open the door and let it in. I was afraid to do that for a while, what if it never left, what if it was all consuming, bigger than I'd imagined? Would I surface again?
I could never have predicted how starting a blog and putting my thoughts down in words would’ve impacted me so profoundly. It turns out, in an attempt to help others, I had in fact helped myself. I liken grief to an unwanted guest who 'will just set up camp somewhere nearby, letting you know from time to time that it's still there until you open the door and let it in'. I honestly thought I had done exactly that, let it in, but putting pen to paper in July of 2014 showed me that it had barely made it past the front door. I spent time reading old journals, revisiting memories and the enormity of my diagnosis hit be all over again. It didn't come at me with one big slap round the face though, instead it just chipped away at me, my heart rate became heightened regardless of what I was doing, I felt increasingly anxious and on edge, started losing weight and before long realised that my body was trying to tell me something. It was telling me to stop, to acknowledge why I was feeling this way. How could this be possible though? I’d been diagnosed over four years ago and honestly felt like I had dealt with it as best I could, I certainly wasn’t in denial. I can clearly recall how the first year after the bombshell was dropped was a time of extreme sadness for me. If I had been faking it though, pretending I was doing o.k to others around me when in fact the opposite was true, then had I actually been fooling myself too? It's really hard to see the fine line between pretending to be alright and genuinely coping, after all, isn't it enough to get up each day and continue on with life regardless of how you do it? It has made me question myself, if I'd been masquerading as someone able to cope had I actually failed myself in some way? A good friend pointed out to me that it is normal to put on a brave face, to act our way through certain challenges that life throws at us. If we didn't do that, there are times in our lives when it would be impossible to get out of bed in the morning. In other words, it's fight or flight, sink or swim! I had done my best at the time to accept and live with a diagnosis that had pulled the rug from under my feet and turned my world upside down. The news that I was infertile came completely out the blue and that's the thing with extreme shock, it impacts you in such a way that you instinctively protect yourself. I’d built invisible walls around me, so high and so deep until finally I accepted that I needed some help in learning how to break them down.
My grief was visible now (to a select few) unlike back in 2010 when i’d pushed it way down and held it in. Thanks to a recommendation from a friend, I found a doctor at my local surgery who was kind and sensitive. He signed me off work for a week whilst i was in the throws of anxiety and referred me onwards to get some help. I learned to be kind to myself, to forgive myself for not having lived an authentic life for the past four years. All the baby showers, children's birthday parties and social gatherings I’d been to where I’d not been emotionally present had all impacted me and those suppressed emotions had buried themselves in my psyche. This didn’t make me a terrible person, I hadn’t intentionally been cheating my friends and family out of having the real me, wholly present. I was simply continuing with life the only way I knew how until eventually the sadness and grief stepped in to the hallway and instead of pushing them out, I pulled up some chairs and invited them to stay. Once the floodgates opened, for the best part of a month it seemed the tears wouldn't stop. I knew that was the right time for me to face my demons, to challenge the ways in which P.O.F had affected how I felt and how I was conducting myself in everyday life. Although scary and daunting I was hopeful that as time passed and I finally received some counselling, my houseguests would make themselves scarce. Maybe I'd see them occasionally but they wouldn’t be camped right outside my door anymore!
There is no quick fix for dealing with the diagnosis of Premature Menopause and I feel it is valuable for others to know that healing and true acceptance will come to fruition in their own time. It all boils down to when we feel ready to expose ourselves to the depths of our feelings and for me, that time wasn't a conscious choice but one that naturally evolved. Being open about my journey was the best way I could think might hopefully serve others. In return, the reader had actually been helping me too!