It’s been a while. I’ve often thought about writing, but, when push came to shove, just never seemed to know what I wanted to say. It has been a while since I’ve felt two feet solidly on the ground.
While these last 4.5 years have been filled by so many important milestones, relationships, areas of growth, hardships, beautiful moments, and so much love, they’ve also been dominated by something more powerful than I ever could have imagined. Infertility.
My family and I have spent years, tens of thousands of dollars, literally tons of blood, sweat, and tears, within this process. On one hand, I have the most incredible gift I could ask for, my beautiful son, Drew. I know, firsthand, how lucky I am to be not only a mom, but his mom. I am grateful every single day. On the other, however, I cannot ignore that I have also gained so much loss, tragedy, confusion, and paralysis. Since 2011, when the studio opened and I almost simultaneously learned our seemingly only chance of having a child was through advanced technologies, I will have been given (or administered myself!) roughly 150 shots, primarily intramuscular (think the achiness you feel after a flu shot), had about 30 eggs retrieved, been on so many pills I can’t even count them (taken both orally and in ways I don’t even want to think about anymore), had three miscarriages, been the primary caregiver for a baby, now rambunctious (have I mentioned incredible) toddler, and, as a business owner, in all of that time, never a full day off from work. I am sore. I am tired.
Deciding to close the studio was such a difficult decision. I knew I couldn’t continue as I was going. And, I knew I didn’t want to. This process, the physical, mental, and emotional beatdown that it causes, has changed me. I don’t have what I used to have to make sure that this sacred home continues to meet the needs of all of those who have come to rely on it. And, I’m sorry. But, I know that everything that we created will continue to live on in each student, each teacher. Hopefully, even in this space (I’ll keep you posted as that is all figured out).
As I write this, I am 5 days past my most recent 5 day frozen embryo transfer. I am one month past my most recent crushing miscarriage. I am a little over two months past announcing the closing of Allay to our community. I have let myself feel all of the emotions. I believe I’ve touched the bottom of the pool and I’m working my way back up. Back up to the surface where I can take sweet breath. Where I can safely open my eyes, and see clearly. Where I can climb out and walk forward with both feet.
I’m going to *try* to be better about writing. I want to put our journey out there. I want to put this process out there. Of being a ridiculously lucky mom and business owner. Of being these things and being weighed down by the battle of infertility. Of figuring out what I can contribute to the world that can help ease the wounds of this battle.
Allay means: to put (fear, doubt, suspicion, anger, etc.) to rest; calm; quiet (Dictionary.com). I named the business Allay because this is what I wanted to do. For myself. For others. I wanted to create a space where this could happen. And, I believe that I did and, although the format may be different in the future, I hope to be able to do this always.