Conquering Fears

I'm sure you read in some of my earlier posts, that I have a phobia hierarchy scale. The scale helps me gauge the fear factor that certain things elicit as well as communicate why those things scare me in a particular order.

People laugh at my phobia hierarchy scale, but they understand it and respect it. They may make fun of me for my order of things, but there is a reason for this particular order (spiders>rodents>balloons>clowns>dolls>marine animals), as some things are more tolerable than others. It may not be a good reason, but it's still a reason. I may not be willing to hold a spider or a rodent, but I might be willing to hold a balloon or a doll.

There was another fear that I had that was too embarrassing to put on my hierarchy of phobias. I don't admit it to many people, mostly because I was afraid they wouldn't understand my reluctancy to participate in this particular activity. Most people jump at the chance to do this particular thing that I found myself in the minority as I gradually removed myself from ever wanting to do it.  I kept this fear to myself, because admitting it always brought such humilation.

The fear was driving.

I've never had a desire to do it. I did go through Drivers' Ed in high school (which, was a bit of a joke as the instructor had a glass eye and didn't really explain things all that thoroughly). When it came time to get my permit, I got it, but the only person I had to practice with was my mom. And while she is a good driver, she was a less than encouraging teacher. I think I made her nervous, and that one driving excursion with her resulted in her yelling at me and me crying.

I didn't try driving again until a couple of years later when I got so sick and tired of the unreliabilty of public transportation. The instructor was really patient. She used her own car and had us drive around the city. She helped me refine certain kinks of my driving technique as well as help me prepare for my driving test.


Life happens, and so a couple of more years passed (by this time I was 23, engaged and determined to get my license before I got married). Because I was no longer willing to be on the road again with my mom, I asked a friend to help me brush up on my driving skills. A month later, I got my license, but I still wasn't confident enough to actually drive.

Once Michael and I got married, we got by on one car. I took the bus to work and Michael would pick me up if I worked evenings. I couldn't drive his car anyway as it was a stick. When we moved to England we didn't have a car and had to rely on public transport, but that didn't bother me in the slightest.

When we moved back to CA in the summer of 2005, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I'd have to suck it up and start driving, but the fear was so great I'd start crying and shaking whenever Michael broached the subject.

Again, we got by on one car. I got a job less than a mile from our apartment, so I could walk to work.  The pressure to drive was still there, but not as pressing.

In December 2009 my mom was scheduled to have minor surgery and at the last minute our ride to the hospital fell through. After a five minutes of giving into a panic attack and tears, I called her and told her I would drive us. Surprisingly, this driving excursion with my mom was much smoother than when I had driven with her at 17 years old. She commented on how well I drove, helped me change lanes, and encouraged me the entire drive to the hospital. But I still lacked the confidence to comfortably get behind the wheel.

A month ago, Michael voiced to me that he wanted to get a new car, and now that the Focus was paid off, it was a good time.

I asked him when he had wanted to start looking at new cars, and he said before we leave for ID, so fairly soon. I guess I didn't react the way he thought I should, so he said in the most tender tone of voice possible:

Michael: Babe, you realize that when we go looking for a new car and if we purchase one, you will have to drive the Focus home.

Me: *thinking* *eyes eventually start to go wide* Oh crap! How did I miss that!

Michael: Take your time. Think about it. It doesn't have to be today, but I'd like to start looking in the next week.

Me: *eyes still wide as I jet to fridge for a cupcake, and stuff it in my mouth*

I don't know why this never occurred to me. How did I not see that I'd have to drive the Focus home? Who did I think would be the third person to go with us to look for a car?

*facepalm*

So I did the only thing left to do, I "kissed the frog" as my friend would say, marched into our bedroom where Michael was watching tv, and said, "Lets just do this and get it over with."

I found myself conflicted and almost wishing we wouldn't find a car that day (silly, yes; rational, no). I don't think I really paid attention to anything the car guy said. I was too focused on how I was going to back out of the parking spot we were in, since I hadn't driven in two and half years and completely forgot how to back out.

*headdesk*
Three hours later we had a new car and I was going to have to drive our old car home. I texted my closest friends to pray for me. I even asked for prayers from my FB friends, though not truly detailing what I need prayer for. I was nervous about driving, but not petrified. Michael kept reminding me that I know how to drive, I'm just a bit out of practice. I followed Michael as we took streets coming home.

So for the last two weeks I've been driving around my city, making a point of at least driving everyday even if its only a short distance. Parking lots still make me nervous, as I can park, but I'm not great at it, so I park really far away from other cars until I get better.

I still don't really like driving, but at least now I'm not afraid to do it anymore.

Hubby and I vs. The World

Things Not to Say to an Infertile Couple...especially around Christmas:

"Isn't Christmas so much better with kids?"

This quote wasn't so much directed at us, as it was a large group of people with us in it...at a church function, and said by someone who knows our story.

I know the person who said this didn't really mean to hurt my feelings, but they did.

I know I'm probably being overly sensitive, but honestly, it stung to hear these words. I had to ask Michael if I had heard the statement correctly and he confirmed that what I had heard was in fact correct.

I'm finding that in times like these, where certain holidays revolve around children or having children - I cling to Michael more. I crave his company and attention because its incidences like this that it feels like its us vs. The World.

Its incidences like this where I'm reminded how safe I am with him and only him, which explains why I get apprehensive when it comes to family get-togethers and church functions. Its also at these events where my introverted nature gets increasingly magnified, and I'm mistaken for being rude and standoffish.


Luckily I'm married to a fellow introvert who will sit in the corner with me, people watching and making me laugh. We have silly conversations about stupid things like "What is mistletoeing?" and "Why scary ghost stories during Christmas, wouldn't that be during Halloween?" Because no one else would appreciate the banter going back and forth about defining "mistletoeing (It's either going after someone with mistletoe, being pursued by someone with mistletoe or dragging someone while holding mistletoe [I really can't remember which definition we decided on as I was laughing so hard I was crying].

Its these stupid silly moments together that make me love him even more. Because I know he does this on purpose to cheer me up, and I like to think I cheer him up in return by indulging the conversation.

Last night as we were lying in bed, Michael told me something that was said at a meeting he attended that evening. Someone had insinuated that to be a Pastor, they had to have kids, because kids are good and attractive to other young couple with kids. WHAT? Later that night at the same meeting, Michael was asked in passing (from someone else) if he would ever consider Pastoring a church (once a year Michael will guest speak at our church). Michael said, "No, we don't have kids", no one really heard him except one person.

I hugged Michael, and told him I was sorry he had to hear that. "Its you and me vs. the world," I said. "Its times like these I wish we had our own island."
.
He took me in his arms and said, "We have own own island, right here."

I know I can't expect everyone to be that sensitive around us, but I would appreciate it if they would just think before they speak. Is that asking too much? It hurts even more when these words are said by people who know are struggle. I know this won't be the last time something insensitive is said in front of us, or inadvertently directed toward us. It just solidifies my thought process - Us vs. The World, Us vs. A Fertile World.

ETA: Final definition of mistletoeing - Michael: Dragging someone with mistletoe using a rocket powered engine (missile towing).

Rules of An Arachniphobic

In the movie, "Zombieland" one of the characters, Columbus has all these rules when dealing with the Zombies. Rules that he lives by to survive the plague. I was inspired by the movie and an incident that happened one morning to create my own set of rules were spiders are concerned.

Rule #1: If there is a bug and or spider in your apartment - Never hesitate, kill bug/spider on site. If you cannot kill it, because you are an arachniphobic and are afraid, get someone who can.

Rule #2: It is the duty of my husband (the non-arachniphobic) to kill it immediately. Please do not stop to brush your teeth. (This rule coincides w/Rule #1).

Rule #3: Keep newspapers handy. You never know when you will have to hand one to your husband or non-arachniphobic so he can kill the spider.

Rule #4: Always wear shoes. (This rule just makes good sense, and in a way the arachniphobic feels enpowered in case they are alone and have to stomp on the bug/spider.)

Rule #5: Evidence of the dead carcass is required to show as proof to the arachniphobic that the subject has been eliminated. This helps to restore confidence and assurance back to the arachniphobic. (Until another spider enters the dwelling).

Rule #6: After said intruder is eliminated, its carcass must be disposed of from kill site (either by flushing it down the toilet, or in the trash and the trash must be taken out of dwelling immediately).

Rule #7: Always scan the ceilings when entering a room especially bathrooms. Spiders like high places. Most Arachniphobics have good eyesight. They can spot a spider from across the room, on the ceiling, in the dark. They are not being paranoid, they are saving lives.

Rule #8: Spiders are fast, if you have bug spray - use it. If not, hairspray will do. (And then follow rules #4-#6).
Rule #9: Do not discriminate because of size, that tiny spider will grow up one day - or in a week. Eliminate immediately (remember rule #1, followed up by #4-#6.

Rule #10: Never joke with an arachniphobic about spiders being near them or on them. If you choose to do this as a practical joke, I caution you, that they will find *your* weakness and use it to *their* advantage.
Rule #11: If you (the non-arachniphobic) see a spider, please kill it. However, do not tell the arachniphobic the size and type of spider you just eliminated, especially two hours before bedtime.

To all you non-arachniphobics - just know that we love you for your good aim, confidence and willingness to put up with us.

Why I Hate Crying

I guess part of me has always hated crying. Its messy, its loud and it always gives me a headache and a stuffy nose afterwards.

But at the same time, it makes me feel better. The tightness in my chest is gone, the tension in my throat subsides and my heart doesn't feel as heavy.

I still hate crying.

When I was little I was a very sensitive child. Anything would make me cry, I was that sensitive. Kids wouldn't be my friend anymore because they didn't wish to be associated with "The Cry Baby". This label also made me a Bully Magnet.

It wasn't until the end of third grade that I was able to rein in the tears. It was also at this time I learned the value of sarcasm and definitely put it to good use.

Kids are still cruel and will find anything to target and make fun of, and when those times came I still wouldn't cry. I'd wait until I got home and in my bedroom to let out the tears. Because my bedroom was a safe place.

Some times it was harder than others to rein in the emotions. Especially when puberty hit, and hormones went crazy, and there I was again - crying at the drop of a hat.

As I got older, I got it in my head that showing emotions was somehow a bad thing (no doubt being raised by someone who was also told this exact same thing).

When I married Michael, everything changed. It was okay to cry and show emotion. I was encouraged that I tell him how I felt, and he didn't make fun of me or call me 'emotional' for doing so.

Michael didn't mind that I'd cry at another BFN, or failed cycle or another pregnancy announcement.

Even now, ten years later, he doesn't have a problem when I start crying because I'm frustrated that we are struggling to have kids while others are not.

So why do I hate crying?

Because I hate how transparent it makes me.

I hate that I still have a reason to cry.

I hate that I'm still hurting because of IF.

I hate that my children weren't meant to be here on this earth with us.

I hate that I'll never be okay with a woman I know getting pregnant.

I hate not knowing if we will ever be parents.

All of this makes me cry and I struggle to not let to show on my face. I still apologize to Michael whenever things that are IF or pregnancy related make my cry. He always tells me the same thing, "Its okay to be sad. We have struggled for a long time", and then he hugs me and lets me cry some more.

'BLSSDX4'

This is the license plate Michael and I saw on a vehicle the other day while driving to the movies (yes, we go to the movies a lot).

Michael: So do you think 'BLSSDX4' means that they have 4 kids?

Me: Yes I think so, would it mean anything else, otherwise?

I knew Michael was being facetious when he asked me this question. The sentence dripped with so much sarcasm I could hardly answer him back without laughing. It was blatantly obvious that the vehicle in question, a ginormous red Suburban complete with the family STICKers on the left hand side of the rear window, intended to flaunt share with the world that they have 4 kids...or have been blessed 4x.

The laughter soon faded as the cynical part of my brain took over.

Damn Fertilists, why do they get to define what being 'blessed' means?

Once again a 'blessing' or 'blessed with' is equated with being on the receiving end of having children. And once the child(ren) come, they are equated with being 'miracles'.

Don't get me wrong. I truly understand the sentiment. Children really are miracles when you think about the fact that a typical couple, with no fertility issues, only has a 25% chance of conceiving each month. And once that couple has conceived there is a 10% to 20% chance of losing that baby through miscarriage in the first 20 weeks of gestation. So I get that babies are 'miracles' and parents are 'blessed' when they get them.

I just hate that these two words are used all the time in relation to babies, fertility and parenthood.

What about the rest of us, who have not been chosen to be 'blessed' with a 'miracle'?

I know for me, I feel left out, ignored and forgotten by God. I know that is not true, but I feel it on days when others people's fertility is being shoved in my face. God is not even the one doing the labling of what a blessing or a miracle is, its people.

Why hasn't God chosen to bless us with a miracle? Well, He has, but not with a baby or a pregnancy, and not in a way other people may view as a blessing or a miracle.

God has blessed me with a great husband, one who loves me, communicates with me, respects me and is sarcastic with me. A man who takes me to the movies every weekend in the Summer. A man who takes me to Disneyland every year on our anniversary and my birthday.*

The greatest miracle God has blessed us with is a great marriage, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

*I understand that there are a lot of Mes in that paragraph, but this is my blog. I can put as many Mes as I want to :)

"I Ain't Gonna Steal Your Kid, Lady."

I love going to the movies. I especially love some of the kids movies that come out. I'm a huge Pixar fan (however, I have yet to see 'Up', but its in my Netflix queue) and I like some of the Dreamworks films.

I especially loved "How to Train Your Dragon", that film was so clever and funny. I was really glad I made Michael come with me to see it.

I remember being in the lobby, balancing my Raisinets, Michael's Reeces and a bottle of water, walking back from the concessions to my seat. This little girl about 6 or 7 years old holding her own tray of popcorn, turned to me and asked me what movie I was here to see. I told her I was going to see "How to Train Your Dragon". She was so excited and told me that was the exact same movie she was going to see. She turned to her mother, who kept looking at me with this freaked out expression on her face, and told her "she's going to see the same movie we are, Mom."

This mom kept looking at me and the space around me, no doubt trying to see if I came with a child because then it might have been okay if her daughter was talking to me. She kept alternating her gaze from me to her daughter, and finally said to her, "that's great, do you know her?" "No," the little girl said. The mom quickly shooed her daughter away from me and said something to her about not talking to strangers.

All I kept thinking was, "I'm not gonna steal your kid, lady...she's too old and not very pretty." I do, after all, have standards.

I understand that this mom was just looking out for her daughter, but thanks for the confidence. Do I really look that menacing?

Flash forward to last Friday in the theatre waiting for Toy Story 3.  There were so many parents and kids. I don't think I saw another childless couple in the whole entire theatre. I seriously felt like I didn't belong at this particular movie. I felt scrutinized by all the parents there. I couldn't figure out if they were jealous of me and Michael, or if they were worried we might steal their kid during the movie.

I told Michael what had happened to me when we went to see "How to Train Your Dragon". He laughed and said we should have a t-shirt printed that says,

"Yes, I'm Infertile. No, I'm not going to steal your kid. She's too ugly."

Heehee :) That man of mine cracks me up and he really knows how to cheer me up.