As I finally approach the end of my divorce year and reflect back on everything that happened in that relationship, I am genuinely proud of the woman I have become. The journey was long and confusing but I have finally landed solidly on my feet in the space between…. the space that exists after the past dissolves and the future remains undiscovered. The space between is not so bad, in fact it is really quite peaceful and authentic.

At the start of 2012 I face a brand new chapter in my life and I am thrilled to introduce my revised website and my gradually emerging story. My story is about a woman who broke open to the pain and allowed herself to transform and grow like the mythical phoenix rising up from the ashes.

If you read back through my old posts leading up to today you will catch a glimpse of a woman in enormous pain who relied on a man to complete her and make her whole. If you read all my future posts to follow, starting right here in the space between, you will meet a woman who defines her own destiny, believes in herself and reaches for the moon and the stars and beyond.

Please visit my new website at www.wanderlustwriter.com  You just might find a piece of yourself in my writing or at the very least, a nugget of wisdom and truth. I have no idea where this journey will lead me but then again, none of us ever know because life rarely works out according to plan. Remember it is not the final destination that matters;  it is the journey that counts so commit to a path, travel light and remember to breathe.

Happy New Year and welcome to wanderlustwriter!

With the setting sun comes not only darkness, but the promise of a brand new sunrise tomorrow.  Driving home, I imagined myself years into the future laughing beneath a cloudless sky. I was surrounded by the love of a family, where flaws and limitations are met with unconditional acceptance. It is the kind of belonging I have never known, but it is there in my future because my heart and soul are ready to give and receive it. Despite the fact that I was blindsided and ripped apart at the seams, I am still open to healing and I am open to love. I still believe that a marriage can work. I still believe there are kind and loving men in the world. I still believe in healthy relationships where partners nourish each other and watch each other’s back and forgive each other for being human. I still believe. I still believe.  I still believe.

I am beginning to forgive myself for my mistakes of the past. I am a long way from the vision of my future because I am still working through so many layers of trauma. However I am learning to understand how and why I got there, and why it was so hard to let go. My memories of begging another person to accept me and love me no longer fill me with sickening waves of humiliation and disgust, rather, love and compassion for myself. I was lost in a maze of confusion and pain and I forgot that I am worth so much more than that. I will never again allow another person to break me down that way. Not my father. Not a lover. Not anyone.

No, I much prefer to live my life alone. Because I am a good and kind and loving person and I would fight like hell for love. And I am finally learning that I am someone worth fighting for.

I do believe I got sidetracked on this amazing journey. All indicators pointed east but I kept heading west and fighting for something that never existed. I have learned that true love is well worth the fight, and I am worthy of true love. I will not stop believing in love.  And I will finally start believing in myself.

For all the people who are suffering or in pain, I offer these words of comfort and hope. The sun always rises, even after the darkest night. The same sun that sees us crying today will see us laughing and loving tomorrow. That is the beauty of this journey. Like the sun that rises and sets above us, true love never dies.  

I am finally learning to believe in myself.  And I will never stop believing in love.

Today I spent an afternoon at the beach with my mother. We enjoyed tomato and cheese sandwiches and a thermos of sweet tea vodka lemonade (perhaps a more accurate account is that I consumed the contents of the thermos while mom sampled a taste). We walked and talked while I collected shells. We threw a tennis ball in the ocean for Charlie, my yellow Labrador, and watched as he splashed and jumped happily over the waves.  It was a magical day spent with my mother; everything I had envisioned and more.  I planned this day quite a bit in advance. I imagined every minute detail, from the tomato and cheese sandwiches to the walking and talking and shell collecting. I prayed the weather would hold up, which it did, and I created a memory that I will cherish forever.

It felt so important for me to connect with my mother in this way, because of all years we lost. I spent almost 10 years caught up in a painful struggle with a man who I eventually married, and I lost myself in the process. As time went on and trauma built on top of trauma in my personal life, mom and I slowly grew apart. It started as distance and periods of cutoff when I did not have the heart for her to see me in so much pain. She had a way of looking through me and sensing every time I fell back into the darkness of a highly toxic and destructive relationship. We gradually progressed from distance to anger and resentment and frequent blowups, which served as a defense mechanism against my mother’s fear and heartbreak as she watched her only child gradually disappear behind a veil of pain and dysfunction. From the age of 33 to my current age of 42, my relationship with mother acted as a mirror and a constant reminder of the grief and longing inside my own soul.

Before the years of trauma, my mother and I used to laugh and joke and tease and share fun times together. When I was a little girl, we indulged in junk food nights at the local shopping mall where we enjoyed fresh hot popcorn drowning in rich caramel sauce and other food court specialties. When I graduated from high school we traveled to England, Scotland and Wales and laughed so hard we cried. We held hands in the front row of a London theatre and watched les miserables as tears streamed down both of our faces.  

When I finished college and moved to Boston, mom would take the train from Connecticut and spend the weekend with me. She stayed at the Westin Hotel at Copley Place and I loved to meet her after work in the hotel cocktail lounge where we would drink wine and people watch before heading for dinner at the famous Legal Seafood. I still remember my mother dashing from Back Bay station to the warmth of Copley Place in the bitter Boston Chill with a travel bag slung over her shoulder and a big floppy hat pulled down over her ears. On my 25^th birthday mom helped me get ready for a date in her hotel room. She filled the room with balloons and gave me diamond and pearl earrings in a little velvet box. She carefully applied my eye makeup and helped me pick out my outfit for the date, then secretly watched me from a distance as I met my new boyfriend in the crowded hotel lobby. Later, I came home and excitedly told mom all about my date as she lay half asleep in her hotel bed while the soft glow of the city lights twinkled and danced around us. That date turned into a long term relationship and mom and I laughed for years about how she spied on my first date and it brought me good luck. 

When I moved to Manhattan to pursue my doctoral degree, I lived in a tiny studio apartment on the top floor of a five story pre-war walkup. Mom would get so tired walking up the steps that I would have to push her from behind, and we would collapse in laughter at the top of the stairs. We enjoyed dining in the wonderful Upper East Side restaurants and strolling leisurely back to my apartment to watch television and get ready for bed.   When mom moved from Connecticut to Charleston, SC I never dreamed I might follow, but follow is exactly what I did two years later-just several months prior to my 32nd birthday. My grandmother was still alive at the time and the three of us shared some beautiful years together. In the years since grandma passed away, my mother and I have realized that in her passing, grandma was at least spared some of the sadness and heartache that followed. This was perhaps a blessing in disguise.  Had she been alive, her heart would have surely broken.

I was raised by Jewish parents from a middle class background. I attended high school in a prosperous town in Fairfield County, Connecticut and went on to college and graduate school.  All of my friends eventually married and settled down to have families. I always assumed I would do the same and never once questioned this path. Although it was certainly my choice to wait until later in life for marriage and children, opting instead to spend my twenties and early thirties in pursuit of personal development, travel and career rather than diaper changes and midnight feedings, it was certainly not my choice to bypass marriage and family altogether.  No, this was never my choice at all.

By the time it became apparent that I was headed down a dangerous path and destined for heartbreak, I was already lost deep inside a web of rapidly shifting illusions and layers of deceit. The years kept passing by and all around me people’s lives changed and transformed while my own life stood still. When I started to grasp the magnitude of the trouble I was in, my inner core felt like a piece of Swiss cheese and my mother’s eyes grew tired and sad. I would like to say that it was due to my own inner strength that I found my way out of the maze, but it was not.  If given the choice, I might have still been caught up in the struggle. Rather, it is due to the complete and total departure of the person I married that I am able to sit here today and honestly say that I am learning how to live again.

I cannot lie, I am far from healed. It has been a long painful journey and so many years were lost. Sadly, I never got to experience the joys of marriage or family or becoming a parent. I will never be able to turn to my partner and say, honey, do you remember the early days when we were so very young? Instead I experienced years of turmoil and a marriage that never even started, which was far worse than no marriage at all. There is no loneliness as painful as the loneliness that comes from being alone with an intimate partner.

My healing mentor explained that what happened to me is a hijacking of sorts, and for this injustice and cruel twist of fate I am rightfully angry. I lost my chance at a long and fulfilling history with the normal rites of passage and developmental stages that most intimate partners get to share together over the course of an average lifetime. A history where I can look back together with my significant other and say wow; what a long and full life we have shared. I am in my forties and single again with no husband or family to love. It is this loss I am grieving, in addition to so many others.

I am learning over time how my childhood set me up for blaming myself when relationships fail and repeating the same painful pattern over and over again. Over the past decade I sadly believed that I was almost good enough, but not quite. I believed that I might someday have the things I need and want in life – the same things most people need and want- but not yet. First I must change this, tweak that, do better at this, or more of that. And then maybe, just maybe……

As I continue on my path towards healing I am learning to trust myself and my perceptions. The right answers have been here all along, I just did not see them.  They are yes quite and right now.  Yes, I am quite good enough just the way I am as everyone is, despite the flaws and limitations that come from being human. I can have what I want and need in life right now.  I do not have to wait for next month or next year, because right now is all I have. I do not have to wait for a fixed or improved version of myself to finally start living, because when I improve one flaw, another will surely manifest. That is the nature of being human, and genuine love leaves plenty of room for flaws.

Today was a special gift of quality time spent with my mother.  I will sleep more peacefully tonight knowing at least one small part of me was healed.  Mom and I shared a magical day together and I got to see her laughing at the shore. I was able to look in her eye without looking away- something I have not been able to do in years. Yes, my mother and I laughed together today, and for now at least, that is enough for me.

Could this be the beginning of inner peace and confidence and fulfillment? My healing mentor has been teaching me lately about the power of neutrality in the world of human emotions. At first all she could do was help me to breathe through the contractions of agonizing grief but now, she is teaching me about how to live in the center. It is a long way from the heights of mania, the whirlwind of ecstasy or the fires of passion but it is quiet and genuine and life affirming.  Whatever is happening to me emotionally right now, I know it is a healthy thing and it will serve me well in the long run. The disadvantage is that my creative spark has faded in the process.  When my soul was stinging and my heart felt as if it was being literally torn apart with grief, I could not stop the words from flowing.  Now here I am today gradually emerging from a very dark tunnel and much to my surprise, I simply cannot find the words.

Last week I stumbled upon an old journal from back in 2007. In those pages from my past I discovered a tsunami of pain.  The journal brought back to life memories of an incredibly toxic cycle; a cycle of pain and trauma where a young woman’s deepest needs were buried and gradually over time, she grew to believe she was damaged and broken and horribly flawed. Reflections of my former self remind me of the totality of what has happened in my life and the enormity of the losses that occurred insidiously over the course of almost a decade.

As I make my way out of the darkness and back into the light, I am gradually coming alive again one molecule at a time. In the springtime thaw that follows a deep winter freeze, numbness prevails until the tingling sets in and finally, the gift of sensation. I wish I could turn back the hands of time and hold that young woman in my arms. I would tell her that she is indeed flawed but beautiful and deserving of all the natural things she longs for in life. I would tell her to stop suffering and believe in herself. I would tell her she does not have to be afraid anymore. I would tell her to love and be loved and to spread her beautiful wings and fly.

I reunited with an old friend this week and he told me something beautiful.  He said, Risa, I like the person I become when I am with you. He told me to write my book because nobody in the world can write a story like I can. He reminded me why I should believe in myself again and how it feels to be truly seen and understood. I am so grateful to him for this gift, but I still cannot find the words to get started. Every time I sit down and try, I feel like one of those plastic pinwheels I had as a child. There are so many emotions spinning around inside of me at once that I cannot tell them apart anymore and it all comes out as a hazy, distant blur.

The summer is almost here and I can feel the change all around me. This week I filled a tall glass vase with shells I found on the beach and bought myself a bright yellow bouquet of sunflowers. I reconnected with the earth, planted my vegetable garden and rode my bicycle to the neighborhood pool. Most important, I am reconnecting with myself and learning that I, too, genuinely like the person I am. When the gentle warmth of spring explodes into the heat of summer, I will move forward with the seasons and continue to fight for the story burning inside of me. One season at a time. One step at a time. One moment at a time. I will heal. I will rebuild. I will believe in myself and one day soon, I will find the words.

Earlier this year I felt as if I might drown in an ocean of heartache and despair. On a cold and gray Friday afternoon in February, I hit rock bottom and grasped for a lifeline. I felt literally torn apart at the seams; fragmented and shattered and very much alone. I feared that without some form of radical intervention I might be on the verge of physical illness or possibly even hospitalization.  I was not suicidal, but the emotional pain I felt was so profound I simply could not find my way out of the darkness.  I reached my emotional limit and arrived at a frightening and humblingrealization- I needed help and I needed it fast. There was so much pain and loss all at once, and the grief encompassed so many layers and facets of my life that I finally recognized my limit. This was perhaps the scariest moment of my life.

I am not sure if it was pure luck or divine intervention that led me to salvation on that cold and gray February afternoon. I do believe the person I met that day might very well have saved my life.  Like hands reaching down from the heavens, she bridged the gap between me and the rest of the universe. She gave me the most valuable gift a person can hope to receive in a lifetime-the gift of time and unconditional acceptance. She admitted how deeply saddened she felt by my story.  I still recall her exact words: “My heart broke at the very first sentence.” These were the words that set me free, although I did not realize it at the time.

My healing mentor helped me trade self doubt for self esteem. She taught me to trust the wisdom of my perceptions. Most important, she helped me to breathe and put one foot in front of the other. When my recurrent nightmares left me breathless and frightened and raw in the darkness, I reached out to her for comfort. When my loneliness enveloped me on an otherwise bright and sunny Saturday afternoon, I reached out to her. When I poured myself into my work only to feel empty and alone with my success, I reached out to her. When I wanted to hide under the covers and cry, I reached out to her. Each and every time I reached out to her, she was there for me.  She did not judge me, she did not criticize me and she did not disappear.

For every question that I asked her, she offered me a nugget of wisdom and a shred of hope. How can I know that I won’t eventually drain you and make you disappear? I take good care of myself and that is my job; it is up to me to care for myself and I am not going to leave you. When will I stop feeling so lonely and reconnect with people again? For everything there is a season and this is your season of grief. First you must learn to connect with yourself and trust yourself again, before you can attempt to connect with others. How do I continue to live in my home when every room holds a memory and a fresh wave of pain? You must walk into each room and stay for a while. You must pick up a notebook and write about the memories, the pain and the associations you have. Through reconnecting with your environment, you will reconnect with yourself.  How do I keep up the momentum in my daily life when I feel so tired and scared?  You put up your sails and rest for a while, until you are ready to paddle again. How do I look forward to the future, when the present hurts so much?  You work on becoming neutral rather than hopeless, and accept the possibility that your dreams might still come true. What do I have left to look forward to when my most precious dreams have been shattered? Think of Tom Hanks in the film Castaway. You never know what the tide might bring in.

The months passed by, and winter turned into spring. I poured my heart into my work and reconnected with my home. I made it a point to acknowledge every single room- even the bare empty rooms that ravaged my soul. I raked the leaves and planted the flowers and found comfort in my familiar routine. I learned that pain and loss are not things we should run from, rather, golden opportunities for growth and transformation. I learned that work is rewarding but love is everything. I went on with my life and broke open to the pain and learned to sit still instead of running away.

On quiet nights when the work is done, I sit on my porch in the twilight and thank god for the smallest of blessings.  I have a soul that is wounded but alive and a heart that is beginning to heal.  I am learning to embrace the mystery of this journey and trust that things will work out in the end. Today the tides carried me nothing but driftwood but even so, I belive in their wisdom. The tides are constantly shifting and tomorrow they just might bring me a sail.

Winter has been slow to release me this year. My marriage came to an end along with my most precious hopes and dreams. During this season of monumental loss I have experienced the harsh cold grasp of abandonment and betrayal. This is a primal universal fear for all of us; the sensation of being left completely alone without a familiar lifeline.  As terrifying and heartbreaking as this period of my life has been, it has also been a time of remarkable growth and transformation.  I am not afraid anymore.  The very things I feared the most are the same things that now set me free. Living in veritable limbo and managing feelings of deep loneliness and isolation have challenged me to the depths of my soul. There have been days that felt like years and weekends that felt like a lifetime. I am not ashamed to admit that I have spent many nights crying like a baby and praying for the silence to end but the darkness always lifts and the sun always rises again, reminding me that hope and faith never die.

As I recover the many fragments of my fragile identity that scattered around me like dust in the wind over the course of a near decade of turmoil, I am finding my way back to my spiritual home. I can hear the voice of my soul again, cheering me on and reminding me that I can really do this.  I can learn to be truly, completely alone. I can reconnect with myself and face my deepest fears. I can reclaim my physical environment and take pride in my surroundings. I can go to Lowes and buy a rake and work in my yard until my hands are covered in blisters. I can dream of the day when I am no longer alone while still embracing and celebrating my independence and self reliance. I can be hard and soft, masculine and feminine, courageous and vulnerable all in the very same moment.  I can learn to trust and believe in myself again and hopefully someday, I can trust myself enough to share my life with another person. I can build brand new dreams like castles in the sand and admire the constantly shifting landscape of this journey called life.

My husband and I have a long history of pain and dysfunction. By the time we finally reached the altar we had survived a broken engagement and countless stops and starts; our relationship reminded me of one of those rickety old roller coasters rides at the traveling country fair. Despite the extreme highs and lows that left me dizzy and grasping for breath throughout my thirties, I kept hanging on. Yes, our foundation was shaky and the writing was on the wall. We had problems. Even so, I believed in my husband and the two of us together. I believed in the potential of our love. He was my like my favorite old worn out slippers.  Nothing else fit quite right. He was my rock and my protector. He was my best friend and trusted advisor. He was my cozy blanket on a cold winter night. He was my home.

I was a forty year old bride. Due to my advanced age and known fertility challenges, I was eager to conceive a child as soon as possible. The diagnostic testing revealed us to be good candidates for IVF with ICSI, but financially and emotionally, we were not prepared. I suppose I prayed we might be one of the lucky few and defy the statistics. We agreed to try naturally for a while, and put the pressure and expense of fertility treatments on hold. We moved into a lovely new home. We got a puppy. I tried to focus on my work and distract myself from the sense of maternal longing that burned inside of me. I poured my love into the dog and prayed for a pregnancy while the loneliness in my marriage grew exponentially.  I kept telling myself it was just an adjustment process, it was the pressure of trying to become pregnant, it would get better with time. After 9 months of trying and still no pregnancy, we repeated the diagnostic testing at our local clinic and received troubling news. My FSH was over 10, and there would be no IVF. At least not with our local clinic, due to diagnostic cut offs and my poor chance of success. They told me I had no choice other than adoption or donor egg, and I was not ready to make that leap quite yet. I was not ready to throw in the towel and give up on my own eggs.

 My husband went through the outward motions of supporting me through one of the scariest, most heartbreaking and vulnerable times of my life. He accompanied me across the country to New York and Denver, where we sought second and third opinions. I poured my energy into researching clinic success rates and analyzing statistics. I could not see past my own pain and heartache at the time, because I feared I was facing my final opportunity to try and conceive a biological child.  With all of my hard work and research and diagnostic preparations and healthy lifestyle changes in the interest of becoming pregnant, I just could not accept or believe that my marriage was in shambles. I attributed it to the stress of the infertility process. I knew my husband loved me deeply. We had been through so much together already. This is a just a bump in the road; I kept telling myself. We will get through this. We will survive.

I selected the renowned Dr. Schoolcraft at CCRM for his known success with poor responders. He is considered legendary for his custom tailored protocols designed to maximize the success for women with ovarian decline. I was not ready to give up my final shred of hope for a biological child and Dr. Schoolcraft was willing to treat me. He warned me of my limited chance of success but I had to trust my instincts. I believed that out of the 5 or 6 eggs he expected to retrieve; at least one would be healthy and lead to a pregnancy. After many roadblocks along the way, including invasive surgery to remove polyps and fibroids followed by recurrent ovarian cysts that delayed the process, we finally received the green light to proceed and I received my calendar and my protocol. My husband printed out a description of all the medications I would be taking, how they work and their possible side effects. I researched plane flights to Denver and started my antibiotics in preparation for the cycle. And then, before we had a chance to proceed, my husband asked for a divorce. This was sometime back in April, nearly 9 months ago, and I have not been back to my blog since. That is, not until today.

In the months that followed I became a desperate, pleading woman. I begged my husband to reconsider and continue with the fertility process. I begged him to give our marriage another chance and to access his loving feelings for me again. I believed he was still very much in love with me but his feelings were just buried beneath layers of fear. I believed he was just scared. I believed he would find his way out and return to me emotionally. I believed he would forgive me for my contribution to the problems we faced. I believed he would forgive the parts of me that seemed needy, fearful, distracted and self absorbed. I questioned myself, my femininity, my ability to love and be loved. I felt old and washed up, abandoned and frightened and very much alone.  I felt humiliated. I felt tossed aside. I felt the cold sting of rejection. The more I begged him to reconsider and commit back to the marriage, the more solid he seemed in his decision to say goodbye.

My husband cited many reasons for why he was unhappy with me. He explained that his emotional needs were not being met and he did not see himself ever being happy with me in the future. He told me that in order to continue in the marriage he would have to betray his authentic self and dishonor his values and beliefs.  His words felt as if they were coming from someplace very far way, like distant echoes. It seemed surreal and unbelievable, like a sad tragic movie about someone else’s life. I felt a cold wind blowing inside of me.  Day after day, I curled up in fetal position and cried. I cried in the shower. I cried in front of the fireplace. I cried between my patient hours. When my husband moved his belongings out of our bedroom and into the guest room, I curled up on his side of his bed, buried my face in his pillow and cried. I touched his clothes; I ran my hands across his pants and shirts still hanging in the closet and tried to catch his scent. I pleaded with the universe to bring him back to me. it was like grieving his death in a way, only he was still alive and well. This cannot be happening, I thought to myself. This cannot be real. I remembered us on our honeymoon, sipping our morning coffee and looking out over the Caribbean Sea and the majestic Pitons. I was so filled with hope back then, so certain we would grow old together.

As the reality set in I was devastated and grief stricken. It was so much loss all at once, and I could not find my way out of the pain. Not only was I losing my husband- the man I trusted and loved more than anyone else in the world- I was also losing what I believed could be my final chance to carry a child and become a mother. I felt lost, heartbroken, fragmented and derailed. I did not know which way to turn or what to believe anymore. As the summer progressed I finally started to believe that my husband was gone emotionally and he was never coming back.

During the time period of late summer and early autumn, I worked on my grief and the idea of letting go. I told myself there was a reason for the pain and perhaps I would understand it someday. I told myself it is impossible to save a marriage unless both partners want it to be saved. I told myself it is time to let go, to grieve, to heal and move on. I went through a phase of blaming myself for the end of the marriage. I read through old emails and tried to piece together how, when and why things went so horribly wrong. I found myself questioning so many things. Was I was too selfish? Too self absorbed? Should I have not focused so much on trying to become pregnant and instead paid more attention to my husband? Was I really such a bad wife and stepmother? Did I ruin everything all by myself? Was I not pretty enough, energetic enough, sexy enough or young enough? Did I lack some essential ingredient that other women have; women whose husbands are able to stay in love with them? Am I just not wife material? Is this god’s way of telling me I should not become a mother?  Am I qualified to work as a Psychologist when I cannot even save my own marriage? I felt like a failure as a woman. Physically, sexually, biologically and in every way possible, my confidence and femininity and ego were challenged.

I continue to battle the heaviness of this grief every day. I have come to define grief as the vast empty space between what once was and what is yet to be. I do not know how this chapter of my life will end, where I will find myself tomorrow or when the emotional pain will finally subside. I do not know if I will ever love someone again as deeply and intensely as I loved my husband. I do not know if I will ever carry a child or become a mother. I do not know if I will ever understand why things had to end this way, so cruelly and abruptly and prematurely, at such a tender and vulnerable time of my life. Although my husband is still here on this earth in a physical sense, the essence of the man I fell in love with is now just a shadow of a memory. There are times when the sadness takes my breath away. There are times when I miss him so much I can feel a physical ache inside my chest and I need to sit down and cry for a while. During these times I feel the urge to do something about it, but then I remember there is nothing left to do except feel the pain and allow the grief to run its course.    

There are so many burning question marks in my life right now; so much feels painful and confusing and unclear. At the same time, there are a few things I am quite sure about. I know life is short and time is precious. I know it is better to be truly alone, than alone inside a relationship. I know I have been sad for far too long and something good must be waiting in store for me at the end of this journey. I know I must stay with the grief right now and not rush it away, because the grief is here to help me grow and transform. I know there are many people in the world who are suffering far worse than me. I know I have so much to be grateful for- my physical health, the love of family and friends, two beautiful pets and a career I enjoy.

I celebrate the fact that I am finally writing again, at the start of a brand new year, and there are so many stories inside of me that long to be told. I know my pain and suffering will somehow help others someday, although I am not sure quite how. And I know I will be okay, I will find myself again, and I will come out of this experience stronger, wiser and better for having lived it. Now that it seems clear I will not be proceeding with fertility treatments rather, heading for a divorce instead, I feel it is time to for a creative shift as well. This blog has been devoted to the topic of advanced age infertility, and clearly this topic is no longer appropriate. Life teaches us that we must flow with the winds of change, release the things we cannot control and stop resisting the natural forces of the universe. For reasons I don’t fully understand right now, and despite the depths of my love for my husband, my long held dreams and my best intentions, I recognize it is time to let go.

I am thinking that this blog, and also my memoir, might be devoted to the concept of change and growth and personal transformation.  Several years ago I wrote a column for the Charleston Mercury called Standing at the Crossroads of Life: Commit to a path, travel light and remember to breathe. Now I find myself standing at the crossroads once again, and I have no idea which path to take. I have always had a plan and a sense of what to do next. Now at the age of 42 and the start of a brand new year, my only plan is to stop making plans, to stop trying to control and change and resist the inevitable, to trust in the universe and learn to live more fully in the present moment. It is a time of loss and despair, but also hope and renewal. I look forward to the process of rebirth and transformation in the year ahead.  Happy New Year!

 In recent months I have hit rock bottom and felt more frightened and alone than ever before in my life.  I have found it difficult to focus on my work as a psychologist and assume my responsibilities as the executive director of a nonprofit foundation dedicated to the education, support and treatment of individuals suffering with Postpartum Depression. It is near impossible for me to even look at a pregnant woman or a baby these days but even so, I must separate emotions from intellect in order to fulfill the responsibilities of my profession. This is my duty and my honor, and I regret the fact that I have allowed my professional focus to falter. Several days ago, my husband told me that my desire for a baby has consumed me to such a point that it has taken precedence over everything else in my life. I know he is right. I have not expanded my practice, managed my finances, or conducted myself like a true professional.  I have not taken the time to listen to my husband or honor his dreams. Instead, I have been a woman obsessed with my own pain and my burning desire to become a mother.

 The more I suffer inside my own life, the more disconnected and alienated I feel from family, friends and colleagues. My emotional pain has reached a point where it is spilling out across all areas of my life and I feel desperate for a reprieve- not only from the heartbreak of being childless but also from the sadness and loneliness I feel inside my marriage. The other day in the grocery store I looked at the kind face of the lady working behind the bakery counter and felt my eyes burning with tears. On a beautiful night earlier this week when loneliness overtook me, I drove to the main strip downtown where couples walk hand in hand along noisy streets filled with life and action and adventure. I thought about stopping and eating someplace but I could not bring myself to get out of the car, so I just kept driving. I drove and drove and drove. I remembered good times with my husband in the brief honeymoon period we shared a lifetime ago; me in my cotton sundress with him by my side, the two of us holding hands on a warm summer night. I honestly cannot recall the last time we held hands. Perhaps it was during our honyemoon.

 Last night I tried to create a romantic evening at home. I cooked Mexican food, whipped up a killer batch of margaritas, figured out how to operate the CD player and popped in my favorite song: The Fray’s How to Save a Life. I fired up the Tikki torches on our back deck and sat down with my margarita, anxiously anticipating his arrival. I fantasized about us sitting on the back deck late into the night, polishing off a pitcher of margaritas and trying to find each other again. When my husband arrived home he immediately shut off the music and turned on the television, anxious to watch his game. He poured himself a margarita, sat down in his recliner chair and lost himself there. At first I was crushed, but then I thought about expectations and obligations and how unfair they can be. I choked back my tears and started dinner instead. Yes, expectations really can get us into trouble as life often has different plans. People cannot always be what we want them to be and reality rarely matches fantasy. We must learn to grab hold of the good things in life, celebrate the moment and release control.

 At times I really feel like a failure. My husband is unhappy, my body cannot conceive, my business is struggling and my friends have all drifted away. Yesterday even my cleaning girl quit, claiming she no longer has the time to drive to my neck of the woods. It has indeed been one of the darkest seasons of my life with the exception of my parents’ divorce and my broken engagement back in 2005. I worry about the future and the prospect of growing old alone, with nobody to visit me in my old age- no children or grandchildren to sit at my bedside and tell me stories about their lives. When I encounter these dark moments and my inner demons grab hold, I feel as if the sun might never shine on me again. I crave the comfort and support of other women who are experiencing the same struggles, but at my age, such women are hard to find. Most are busy with children and careers and managing hectic households, while I seem to remain stuck in a holding pattern- childless with a troubled marriage that can barely withstand the added pressure of infertility.

 I write about my pain because I want to help other women. I want others who pass through similar struggles to know they are not alone. Someone has to write about such things, so why not me? Writing is also therapeutic and it helps me to heal and re-group. I write about universal emotions that we all experience at one time another during the course of our lives. The stories may change but the underlying emotions share a common thread. Whether we struggle with infertility or illness, loss of a loved one or financial crisis, finding love or marital distress, we all walk the path of darkness at one time or another . We all experience some type of fear and we all crave connection and passion and meaning in our lives. It does not matter that we hit rock bottom, rather, that we find a way to rise up again- stronger, wiser and braver for what we have endured.  With every loss a new door is opened; with every heartbreak comes a chance to grow and transform. It does not matter how far we descend, rather, the manner in which we rise back up. As long as the heart remains open to love, anything in life is possible.

 A while back I wrote about the concept of the mythical phoenix rising up from the ashes. Sometimes we must break open to the pain and allow the grief to wash over us, before we are ready to be re-born. I have spent a long time amidst the ashes of despair. I led myself there, and now I must lead myself out. Like the phoenix rising, I must open my heart to a new season of renewal and hope and promise. There are so many ways to love, and many ways to become a mother. In the meantime, I am still learning how to love myself. Self-love and acceptance lead to forgiveness and compassion. Without these things, we are not fully free to love others. Without them, we cannot be authentic. In this season of renewal I strive to become a better person. Perhaps god has placed these challenges on my path because there is more he wants me to learn on this journey towards late in life motherhood. Or, perhaps it just the hand I have been dealt- a combination of personal choice and random circumstance. I will never know for certain, and I guess it really does not matter why. What matters is how I handle these challenges and how I emerge from this chapter of my life.

All I know for certain today is that the sun is shining and spring is finally here. I am healthy and alive and my heart is wide open. This morning before my husband left for work, he unpacked his new Tony Robbins Ultimate Relationship audio CD program and I reminded myself  that it is never too late for a relationship to begin to heal. I cannot look to my husband for answers any longer. No, I must do this work for myself. He took the CD’s to his car, but he left me with an access code to the online version of the program. I viewed it as a sign; an invitation to challenge myself to learn and grow and move in positive directions as I continue on this journey. I am a woman and a work in progress. Like everyone else, I fall down and then I rise back up again. I have seasons of joy and seasons of pain. Right now, in this season of renewal, my toenails are painted cotton candy pink and there are yellow flowers on my kitchen counter. What more can I really ask for?

As the years gained momentum and I faced the reality of my own middle age, the differences between me and my contemporaries became far too glaring to deny. A shiver ran up and down my spine as my old friends attempted to bridge the gap of so many years. Benjamin is 10, Paige is 8 and Devin, my youngest, is now 5. I had them one right after the other; bang, bang, bang!   I did the math rapidly in my head: She was only 31 when she had the first baby, ten years younger and a universe apart from where I find myself today. The feelings of alienation and loneliness grabbed hold as I watched the neighbor’s children play on the sidewalk in front of my house. I drained the final remains of my homemade margarita- liquid courage- biting down hard on the slivers of crushed ice as I prepared my confession. I am hoping to start in vitro this month, I said sheepishly, and I just don’t know if I will be able to make it. Of course this answer sufficed, but it was far from the painful truth that lurks deep inside the darkest corners of my soul. If I had managed to tell the real truth about my life today, it would have sounded like something like this: I would love to meet in Las Vegas, but I have no baby photos to share, no mommy stories to compare, and I just don’t want to face it right now.

How could I even begin to tell them the truth about my life? Where would I start?  Routine ultrasounds and blood tests and elevated FSH levels and reduced follicle counts and fibroids and polyps and abdominal surgery and ovarian cysts and Clomid and Progesterone hardly make for cheerful reunion conversation.  When the baby photographs come out and the jokes about pregnancy and childbirth and potty training and soccer practice are shared over cocktails each night, where will I be? When cell phones ring and proud mommy voices surround me, saying I love you; I miss you; don’t stay up too late; sweet dreams; now put daddy on the phone; how will I stop the familiar emptiness from rising up inside my soul? How will I stop my chest from pounding and my eyes from overflowing with hot stinging tears? How many trips to the ladies room will I have to take to escape the mommy brigade and regain my composure?  Will I break down after a few stiff drinks and share the truth about my troubled marriage, my less than 10% chance of ever having a biological child and the emotional demons I must fight every day just to stay afloat in my personal and professional life? These women are united in a common bond of motherhood. Their lives are hectic and full. The last thing they need on a carefree girl’s weekend is to put up with me crying in my cosmopolitan and shedding my tears all over Las Vegas.  No, this is not the right time for me to embark on a college reunion with long lost girlfriends. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it.

In recent weeks I have come to accept my own humanity; my personal flaws and imperfections and raw vulnerabilities. The past few years have been more than challenging, with a late in life marriage and a frantic race against Mother Nature as I tried to beat my own biological clock. I have been faced with one roadblock after another and every time my hope was restored, another obstacle appeared on my path. I have tried to be strong and weather the storm, but in the past year especially, I barely recognize myself anymore. I am tired and frustrated, and far too transparent for my own good. I am not a pleasant person to be around anymore. I used to be funny and light and spontaneous and carefree. I miss those parts of myself and long to reconnect with my authentic self again.

There are moments when I sense a glimmer of my former self , but then it is gone. I catch a glimpse of the very pregnant belly of the lady who lives around the corner from me, or the welcome home sign covered in pink ribbons on the house across the street- the one that says “Congratulations! It’s a Girl!”  During those moments I want to run and hide and lick my childless wounds, but I do none of those things. Instead I walk my dog through the neighborhood and nod and smile, and hang onto my faith.  There is nothing else to do, so I keep on fighting for the dreams that burn inside of me. Lately I have allowed my raw emotions to spill out in all the wrong places and often in ways that have been inappropriate and unprofessional. These encounters have left me feeling exposed and ashamed and inherently flawed. And yet, I am human. I am not invincible. For as long as I live and breathe on this earth, I will alternate between strength and weakness, courage and fear, professionalism and inadequacy, joy and pain. This is the pulse of life and I would not want it to be any different. I am the shoulder to cry on and the one who cries. I am a pillar of strength and a frightened child. Yes, I am all of these things and I celebrate my humanity.

In the past week I have risen up through my pain with a call to action. I have rallied together other women like me- childless women of advanced age- and formed a telephone support group. The response has been incredible. My cyber buddies on the Resolve and IVF Connections websites have become my greatest allies in this battle against advanced age infertility. We share a common bond, we speak the same language and we face the same challenges. For a long time now, I have craved the support of a community of peers. Unfortunately, there are no resources in my local community- no infertility support groups or programs to attend. As a Psychologist I have longed to start a support group of my own, but I am far too embroiled in the process to be of much help on a professional level. Someday this will be my calling, but not now. I am too close to the experience, and I need the support myself.

Our telephone support group will meet on Tuesdays evenings at 9PM EST, and I will be the facilitator. My hope is that a sense of togetherness and universality, through shared stories and common experiences, will help each one of us to gather the strength and courage  to continue on this journey and find the comfort we need to heal. No disclosures will be too deep, no baggage to heavy to carry. Social support is crucial during times of extreme stress; the psychological literature proves this. It is important for people to know they are not alone. It is important to feel the comfort of friends during challenging times. The title of the group will be Childless Women of Advanced Age. To qualify, as the name implies, there are only three requirements: advanced age (over 36) childless (no prior babies), and coping with infertility.

Every moment in life has its season. Some moments are winter, some are spring, some are summer and some are fall. On this journey towards late in life motherhood, it has been a long, cold winter. I am ready for the sunlight and the warmth of spring. Responsibilities rain down on me in torrents while I long to be nurtured and rocked by strong loving arms. The change of season reminds me that I can heal and comfort myself. Through reaching out and helping others, I can soothe my own soul. Each day I plant new seeds of hope and faith, knowing deep down this season of pain will serve me well later in life. There is a reason for my struggles and someday I will understand the meaning behind the journey.  Right now, I can only do the best I can. I must learn to forgive myself for my mistakes and shortcomings. I must remember to unplug myself from the constant drumbeat of daily demands and chaos. I must remember to step outside on a weekday afternoon and plant a flower or look up at the sky. I must stop apologizing to myself and others for being who I am. Like my mother and my grandmother before me, I am a woman and I am flawed. One step at a time. One moment at a time. One day at a time. I will commit to my path. I will travel light. I will remember to breathe. Life is too short to do anything else.

Aunt Flow must have decided to crash a different party this month. For the first time in my life, I desperately need Aunt Flow to show up for me but she has literally vanished without a trace. Yes, that is correct- I am on day 36 of my cycle already and Aunt Flow is nowhere to be found!!!  Day 36!!!! Aunt Flow is more than 8 days late- and she is really messing up my plans. I have already been through four pregnancy tests in the past week alone, each time holding my breath as the words NOT PREGNANT stared up at me from the trusted pee stick like an old familiar companion. Ahhh, the sheer irony of it all! The one time in my life that I genuinely need and want to spend some time with my dear Aunt Flow, she has decided to pack her bags and head in the opposite direction.

The departure of Aunt Flow has left me confused, baffled and running in a frantic race against time. My cycle usually runs 28 days, and now, with the departure of Aunt Flow from my life, my IVF protocol has been delayed at least 7 days. Anyone who has been through the process of in vitro understands that no IVF protocol can get started until Aunt Flow makes her grand entrance. My bottle of Doxycycline, which is the first in a long line of medications I am scheduled to take as part of the Estrogen Priming Protocol, sits unopened on my bathroom counter.

Aunt Flow’s late arrival really should not be a surprise. She has always been an expert at pushing my emotional hot buttons and bursting my balloon right when I start to gather renewed hope. Her tardiness would not be such a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that I am organizing a huge event here in Charleston called the 2010 Moms’ Run which is designed to benefit-ironically- Postpartum Depression. The race is scheduled for May 8^th, and now with Aunt Flow’s disappearance my projected egg retrieval date is inching disturbingly close to race day. As the Executive Director of the nonprofit foundation behind the race, it would look pretty bad for me to miss this event. Even so, if it comes down to a choice between the race and proceeding with my retrieval day, there is no question where my priorities lie. After all I have been through on this treacherous journey through infertility land, I cannot risk any further delays or set myself up for a possible lifelong regret if I postpone this cycle and then run into problems the following month.

In response to Aunt Flow’s disappearance, Dr. Schoolcraft ordered yet another ultrasound last week, which revealed several large ovarian cysts, most likely a result of the Clomid I took earlier this month. According to both my IVF nurse at CCRM and my Ob-Gyn here at home, none of this is uncommon and the problem is most often resolved with a course of Provera, which tends to jump start the menstrual cycle. So, beginning tomorrow, I will take the Provera and pray for the return of Dear Aunt Flow.  I am hoping her absence from my party is a symbol of things to come. Perhaps she recognizes I am about to pull out the big guns, and she is finally taking me seriously. I am ready to take her on and I hope this is the very last time I have to see her for at least 9 months! One step at a time. One moment at a time. One day at a time. Wish me luck!!!!