Type A’s Need Not Apply
My intention to have a large family was always a given. Before secondary infertility visited my doorstep, all I knew was a mother who said she conceived when my father so much as looked at her. She got pregnant with my sister, her 4th child, unintentionally at almost 45.
This fertile mama goddess backdrop was accompanied by some good, old fashioned Jewish overachievement. I worked hard academically and generally accomplished whatever I put my mind to. I didn’t take perceived failure lightly and starting from as early as I can remember, I derived my sense of security and self-worth from my ability to control things. My grades. My weight. My plans. My future.
As I entered adulthood, my persistent vision was for at least 2 kids, though 3 was always my anticipated sweet spot. It all felt obvious and inevitable. I spent my 20’s in fear of getting pregnant accidentally, taking the morning-after pill on more than one occasion, just in case.
I met my husband in my mid-30s and his early 40s. Our future of multiple children still felt predetermined, but I was in a hurry. (I had been ready for a few years, at least, and broke up with a long-term boyfriend at 31 because he wasn’t). We agreed to start trying before we were married. I pictured how cute I would look walking down the aisle 6 months pregnant. We got pregnant quickly and I spent my nights googling maternity wedding gowns. Around 9 weeks we ended up miscarrying. I was devastated, but confident it was a fluke. Shortly after, I did have my first taste of what was to come, when I spent my bachelorette weekend surrounded by the closest women in my life; most of whom were pregnant, had young children, or both. I was miserable.
But in fact, our second pregnancy happened quickly as well, and resulted in a honeymoon baby.
My sense of urgency grew even stronger after I turned 38 and our daughter was about 18 months old. We happily took on the job of giving her a sibling. Once again, we conceived within a few months. Once again, we miscarried. This time was different though. There were complications that took months to resolve. And then, all of a sudden, our luck seemed to have run out.
Our pursuit of a second child looked like me, a bull in a china shop, trying to ram my way through obstacle after obstacle. My husband and I fought often over his unwillingness to promise me another child, no matter how long it took, how much money it cost or how we ended up there. He insisted we take it one step at a time and that he couldn’t predict how he will feel months or years ahead. Not me. I remained utterly consumed and laser focused. Grasping ever tighter as time went on.
I lived for the impossible. A guarantee that I would get what I want. After all, for almost 40 years, I had forced my way into desired outcomes. Not without challenges and setbacks. My beloved father died months before my wedding. This should have taught me I wasn’t in control. It didn’t.
As I reflect on our harrowing process; staggeringly expensive and emotionally merciless, I understand more clearly that my stubborn insistence to have another baby, literally at all costs, was an extension of the power and control demons I had never conquered. Despite a debilitating eating disorder in my early 20’s that led to years of therapy and recovery, I still didn’t understand that my relentless need to control things comes at a steep price.
Although ultimately I did get my “happy ending”, I left a trail of near destruction in my wake. My marriage survived, but not without reaching some of our lowest points. I was so focused on getting what I wanted, that at times it appeared I was willing to sacrifice my relationship for it. Clearly an ill-advised set of priorities during a quest for a big, happy family. I alienated and almost lost some of my dearest friends. I raged at my older brother more than once when he suggested I should consider finding peace with my one precious child and my perfectly beautiful triad family.
I don’t pretend to have sorted all this out. My second daughter is almost 2 and she brings immense joy to our family. My older daughter has the sibling I so desperately wanted for her. If I had less age and more money, I would likely be trying to convince my husband that we should go for a 3rd. I fantasize about our one embryo on ice, even though I know that accepting the finality of this chapter is the healthiest thing I can do for myself and my family.
Infertility is a battle I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But for those of us who end up here, it feels like there is no choice but to find meaning from our pain. I keep thinking about the saying, “how you do anything, is how you do everything”. My secondary infertility experience holds up a mirror for how I navigate struggle and tolerate discomfort. The reflection looking back needs a lot of work. Hopefully seeing myself clearly, through the piercing eyes of infertility, means I can move forward with a looser grip; more softness and more surrender.
I’m told that raising children means a lifetime of relinquishing control, so I better start practicing now.
~Sophie Dornstreich, Founder InCircle Fertility