Circumstantial Infertility

Circumstantial Infertility (adjective): you can’t have a kid because no one loves you*

*Disclaimer: this is not Webster’s definition, it is NSD’s definition.

While NSD normally tries to play it pretty light and pretty honest here on the interwebs, this article from Psychology Today really hit home with me. While saying I’m “over 35” isn’t exactly true just yet, the sentiment of the article rings loud and clear.

As much fun as I poke at it, NSD is not single by choice. Not alone because I’d prefer it. It’s circumstantial.

Yes, many could make the argument that I’m too picky. That I chose the wrong men. That I’m overly critical, unrealistic in my expectations. But in actuality, it comes down to the fact that I have been, on the whole, unable to find someone to share my life with. And therefore, I think responsibly, unable to find someone to create a new life with.

But the desire to have a child, create my own little family, like someone enough to actually decide to create a whole new life out of half of me and half of them is there. It’s always in my head. And its feeling further and further from ever happening.

I can live with that, I live with it everyday. I chose to not create a life with someone I’m not crazy about and I chose not to settle for someone who has viable sperm and a decent income because I feel like I’m better than that.

But this article? It rings true with everything a single woman over a certain age is afraid to say.

It rings true with everything I’m afraid to say.

So, read it. And maybe see that the career-minded, independent, successful woman you envy may actually be more envious of you than you ever imagined.

That grass ain’t lookin’ so green these days, now is it?

The article referred to in this blog is entitled “My Secret Grief: Over 35, Single, and Childless” and was published by Psychology Today online on January 18, 2012.

Airports Abound

I’ve been on a lot flights lately – a lot of coming and going. Some a quick hour down the coast, some (literally) all the way across the world.

I used to hate flying. The lack of control and fear of imminent death made me a bundle of nerves. I’d take two Xanax and hope for the best. Now, I read my book, listen to some Adele and enjoy a little time in the only part of my life that seems to be blissfully disconnected.

You also get a lot of time to think in the air. I’m not sure if it’s the processed air or the inability to check Facebook or the only things visible being limited to clouds, blue sky or lights blinking methodically in the darkness. And these days, I have a lot to think about. As an established 35-ish year old woman, I have everything I need. I have a beautiful home (rented, not owned), access to anything I could possibly need within a three mile radius, a dog who loves me more than I thought possible and a support system that can get you through pretty much anything.

Seriously, anything. They’ve been road tested.

I’m very lucky. I’m smart, successful, loved. And single.

Still that big “S” word… hanging over me, singularly defining the one part of my life that I seemingly can’t find any level of success. With professional and athletic achievements checked off the list, world traveling with some pretty impressive pins in the map and a family that is happy, healthy and finally whole, I literally can’t think of another thing in my life that I have sucked at more splendidly than romantic relationships. Except maybe that painting class I took. Good Lord, that was like throwing $200 into the wind and then looking down and finding yourself covered in acrylics that don’t come out of your yoga pants.

I’ve recently had some conversations with some other women my age. Other warriors who are also inching closer to 40 with no one to change their inevitable diapers or bandages, no one to pick them up when they can’t get up or get them through something no of us ever saw coming. A few of them are at a point of what I would consider true desperation: there is no dollar amount too high, no questionnaire too long, no first date too humiliating if it promises to get them out of single-dom.

More than a few of them are constantly questioned – almost berated – by family members about when they are going to find a husband, when they’re going to finally settle down with a nice girl, when they’re going to realize that life is better with someone by your side. As if the realization hasn’t come and once it does, the perfect partner will appear.

My family, on the other hand, is happy if I’m happy, is content with my content. And I think is secretly kind of proud that I haven’t just sucked it up and shacked up with a mediocre guy and produced adorable children with a man who I’m not totally sure about. Because if there’s one thing I’m sure of, its that I’d make some freaking adorable children. But lately I’ve realized they really are proud of me for sticking it out, for not succumbing to social pressure, not just saying “okay, fine” and getting on with it with the likes of Roger. And, honestly, so am I.

But, more than ever, this is starting to feel like a permanent state of being. Five years ago, I would likely have winced at the thought that I’d still be single at this juncture. That’d I still be on my own without a permanent wedding date, someone to make dinner when I have to work late, to take the trash down three flights when my legs are sore after a long run or pick up the dry cleaning on his way home.

Add in the fact that my brother, almost 10 years younger and a bit too handsome for his own good, has found himself literally the perfect woman and I become just in complete, agonizing awe of the way that life works. Like, really? He gets that too? He’s now dodged death, lived all over the world, found an unshakeable faith and snagged the perfect woman. If I didn’t love both of them so much, I’d probably hate them.

So, here I sit, in another airport. Another city off the list. Another delicious meal enjoyed, another friend celebrated and another story to tell… wondering if this joyful solitude is all there is or if there actually is someone out there who’d want to sit at this little bar with me, split an appetizer and relive a great weekend away.

Mundane (adjective): lacking interest or excitement; dull.

NSD has been uncharacteristically quiet, I know. It’s just that, well, there’s really nothing to report.

I did, however, finally sleep with someone else. And it was beyond fantastic. Good Lord, that a unexpected gift during a completely unexpected time. A familiar guy in a fun situation, an Saturday night that neither of us saw coming and a Sunday departure that was not awkward and not uncomfortable. A high five was in order.

And it somehow, as many suspected, seemed to be the magic pill to get me over the Unicorn. It was like all I needed was a new story, a last experience to refer back to mentally that wasn’t painful and didn’t kill my confidence or dull my spirit. The Unicorn continues to creep into my mind but more as a distant memory rather than a painful reminder. Which in and of itself is an accomplishment.

So as far as life goes for NSD, there are no tales to tell. No men who have truly caught my attention, no revelations about what it is about me that keeps me from having a successful relationship, no ex that came crawling back begging for forgiveness. Just the new Adele album on repeat as I live my daily life.

And if I’m truly candid, I have to admit that I’m relatively unhappy bored with the status of that life. Everything from my dating life to my exercise regimen seems to be in limbo. Good job? Still have it. Fancy apartment? Still mine. Girlfriends you could survive anything with? Still on my side. It’s just that it all feels… mundane. It feels like going through the motions with nothing to look forward to, nothing to focus on, nothing to strive for.

I need something new. Something to put my energy into and at the end, wherever that may be, feel a sense of accomplishment. A thing I can hold up to the light and see; a goal, an end game.

What that is? I have no f*cking idea. I just know its not a man.

Hopefully being honest with myself about how lost I feel will lead me to a faster solution. Or, it will just keep the liquor store in business.

 

Regular Roger

How Roger has not made it to this venue yet is a bit of a shock. I’ve know him for five years, a work relationship that grew into a true friendship (for me). Roger is an incredibly good guy. Incredibly. He’s kind and sweet, he has an adorable dog, he’s generous, financially secure, comes from a great family.

He was sitting on my living room floor the other night, playing with his dog, drinking a beer and telling me his latest dating woe. And I thought to myself “Can you make it work with him? Are you missing something here? Are you being too picky?”… but then it was 8:30 and I kind of wanted him to leave so I could take a shower and lay on my couch and he was still there. Talking. Playing. Becoming annoying. Get a clue, Roger… I’m done with this now.

Truth be told and all joking aside, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this guy and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. He’s a great event date. He always buys dinner, regardless of my demand to pay. He’s very complimentary. He values my advice.

And I can’t even muster up an inkling of a want to take my clothes off. When he drops me off after a night out, I feel like I reach for the door handle the absolute second it is safe for me to exit the car in the fear that he will somehow insinuate that he wants to kiss me or come up.

And I’ve tried. I really have. I’ve looked at Roger, seen that he fits all the check boxes a woman thinks she wants. And I can’t do it. He’s done nothing offensive, nothing disrepectful, nothing other than be a perfectly nice guy. He just doesn’t have it.

So, as much as it pains me him, Roger will stay in the friend zone. The place we all hate to be.

It’ll Have To Do.

On an early morning run this morning, I had a conversation (between hills when I could catch my breath and talk without gasping for air) with a girlfriend that in a few unexpected miles, opened my eyes to why I am seemingly unable to get over the Unicorn. And how I finally will.

Without getting into the details, loving broken men (actually, broken people…) is pretty much a life-long story for me. In a family riddled with mental illness and addiction, I learned a little too early and a little too young that you can’t save someone from themselves. You can’t win over a bottle. You can’t mend whatever it is in their soul that is so broken that it needs a needle. But man, you can try. You can try like you wouldn’t believe. You can completely deplete yourself – mind, body and soul – attempting to fix them. And you never will.

So, after coming to the realization that those people weren’t fixable, I apparently moved onto fixing men who were a little less broken but still pretty f*cked up. In no particular order, the men featured as part of my past have doozies of stories: think abandonment and secret families, dead fathers and wicked stepmothers, siblings that are cut off from all communication and completely hands-down-you-wouldn’t-believe-what-she-put-NSD-through mothers. Children from multiple women, drug addicted siblings, girlfriends they’re allegedly breaking up with any day, parents who are going to lose their house and begging for money, alcohol issues; you name it, I’ve dated it. And I’ve probably slept with it.

I almost didn’t realize it until I put all down in one paragraph but what in God’s name am I doing? No effing wonder I can’t find a suitable partner, I’m shopping at the Goodwill of Men – used up, abused, misused, tricky, selfish, moody. These dudes are on the clearance rack for crying out loud. Now, this is not to say that any relationship wouldn’t be full of issues – NSD realizes that sh*t happens, life happens, you deal with it. Together. You figure it out. But how I am going to pick up the pieces of any life when I’ve got a partner who’s so broken they can’t even deal with the basics of their own life? Never mind life-altering issues, sicknesses, job losses and money troubles.

Because that’s the issue. They can’t deal with their own life and they run to me. I deal with it. I listen. I throw money, love, alcohol and sex at the problem and we avoid it for a while. NSD is a master avoider, MASTER.

And the Unicorn? He needs to be f*cked up on his own for a while. His broken, drug heavy lifestyle that he turned to after he had his heart broken into a million pieces has no place for me. As my girlfriend said to me this morning, he needs to be this way for a while. He needs to cope on his own. And I don’t agree with his coping mechanisms, I don’t agree with the amount he’s drinking, smoking and going to bars alone. I don’t agree with his choices. When it comes down to it, I don’t agree with the way he’s treating himself and if he can’t even treat himself well… where does that leave NSD?

He’s still a good man. He still treated me well, made me feel wonderful and kissed me better than anyone I’ve ever kissed. But until this stage of his life is over, it has no place for me.

So I’m showing up to that meeting next week as the woman who supported him, who cares about him and who thinks he’s so incredibly handsome that it makes her chest hurt a little. But NSD is stepping away from the possibility of falling back into being the comfort he needs, the hand to hold, the little spoon, the sympathetic ear.

Go find somebody else for that, my friend. If you get all mended up and figure out what you lost, feel free to come-a-crawlin’. But until then? A simple ‘nice to see you’ will have to do.

Update anyone?

Yeah, so… there’s no update. I’ve seemingly gotten over the departure of the Unicorn, but we’ll see how long that whole “over” feeling lasts when I have to see him in a few weeks at a work event. In my mind, I arrive like Carrie Bradshaw fresh from the hairdresser, incredibly chic, in slow motion with perfect hair and makeup that looks like I’m not trying too hard. And he immediately sees the error of his ways and can’t manage the regret he feels for letting me go.

In reality, I’m getting my hair blown out to boost my self-esteem and attempting to not eat any carbs between now and then so my face doesn’t look pudgy.

As far as dating goes otherwise, there’s really nothing to speak of. In the aftermath of the Unicorn, NSD downloaded every dating app known to man and swiped right on the same 20 normal looking guys on all five apps, to no avail. All apps, and men, were deleted about a week later.

I’ve thrown myself back into working out, as generally happens after I get my heart broken. I’ve counteracted any success that would be seen from said cardio with red wine. Lots of red wine. Let’s put it this way, if drinking red wine on the couch in your robe with a dog asleep on your feet was an Olympic sport, I’d be f*cking Michael Phelps. Gold medals everywhere, laying among the empty wine bottles.

However, the lasting positive effects of the Unicorn are still hanging on. I feel more at ease with myself. I feel more attractive, more content. I feel like a man would be lucky to have me and find myself doing far less self-loathing than I’ve done after previous heartbreaks break-ups.

So even though I’m still in the robe and I’m still sleeping with only a dog, I’m on the upswing, people.

Up. Swing.

The Aftermath

Okay, its time for some brutal NSD self-awareness and honesty: I think I’m really, really bad at breaking up.

The first week after the Unicorn’s departure from my life, I was pretty okay. I was sad, which was to be expected. I was flashing back to the good times, seeing our relationship for its strong suits, thankful for what I learned about myself and what I’d put up with. There was, and still is, a little part of me that was wishing I had kissed him goodbye before I crossed that street, a final goodbye. But mostly, it consisted of discussing the ins and outs of the conversation and my dating future with friends. Totally normal stuff.

But then, the crying started… like I’m a f*cking teenage girl that didn’t get asked to prom. Never in front of people and never for any good reason, really. I’ll be lying on the couch with a glass of wine and something happens in whatever TV show/rom com/fake reality show I’m watching and all of sudden, boom. There it is: that damn tear welling up from a seemingly innocuous conversation /interaction /scene of a beach.

Three weeks later, all I want to do is call him. SO. BAD. Just his voice, I just want to hear his voice. Hear his laugh, know I’ve made him laugh. I’m starting to feel like a crazy person, like that girl who uploaded that video of how much she loves cats. I’ve got to pull myself together but I just feel like I can’t make it better. No matter how many runs, how many glasses of wine with girlfriends, how many Saturday mornings spent in bed. That damn Unicorn won’t quit.

Living in this myriad of emotions for the past three weeks has led me to one conclusion: I fall in love too quickly, too easily and too hard. It didn’t really occur to me that I actually loved him until he was gone, but I really did. Him. Not the idea of him or what we could have been, but what we were. Even though it was for such a fleeting amount of time.

And then he goes and uploads a picture where he looks so happy. And so. f*cking. handsome. It showed up and I could barely contain myself. I audibly grunted when I saw it… like my body, brain and heart were all actually going to be thrown up out of my stomach in that moment.

Disclaimer: Don’t even tell me to unfollow or unfriend him. You’re wasting your breath. I’m not going to do it. People have already suggested it and I’ll lie to you and tell you I did it if you want but it’s not likely. Ignorance is not my bliss, it’s my hell.

So, in the spirit of true honesty, I’m just saying this really sucks. And I thought if I went out and slept with some random guy, it would get better. But when the chance came, I didn’t take it. I let it pass by because I knew, in that moment, that it wasn’t what I truly needed.

What I’m left with is the constant feeling of missing a little piece of myself. This is what breaking up with someone you really care about, really feel like you could have made it work with, someone who was worth the fight feels like. A hole.

A big gaping hole in your heart. And, to be honest, in your text messages.

Independence Day

As the rest of the country celebrated Independence Day, I literally celebrated my independence. While sad to report, I must admit that the Unicorn and I broke it off last week in the most mature, calm, classiest break-up I’ve ever had. There were no punches thrown, verbally or otherwise, and we both knew it was over before we walked in there. Which I think made it more honest than either of us planned on.

While I was determined to not give up on him, determined to show him a woman who could care about him, make him laugh and not cheat on him, determined to not be the rebound chick… I realized about a week ago that the initial feelings I had of him making me feel so amazing were kind of, well, gone.

The moment I knew they were gone was the last morning of our weekend away, when I woke up to him asking me the question no woman wants to hear. Ever.

“Did we have sex last night?” I could have killed him.

“Um, yes. We did. We also had a pretty extensive conversation…”

“About what?”

DONE. Defenses up. White flag. Can’t do it. The humiliation started to wash over me. I got up out of bed, got in the shower and attempted not to punch the glass walls surrounding me.

When I emerged from the bathroom, he wanted to re-hash the conversation.

“It was hard enough for me to have that conversation the first time,” I said, “I’m not ready to have it again less than 12 hours later”. He retreated.

But later that day, as we were in the first third of a pretty long car ride home, he asked again. I had to have that very difficult, very vulnerable conversation for the second time in 24 hours. He was far less responsive without the Fireball. And I knew it was over.

For a few months, he made me feel very beautiful, very funny, very smart, very wanted. But then he didn’t. He started to make me feel like a weight around his neck, someone he had to let down easy. And I deserve better, I’ve come that far at least.

10 days later, we sat down at a bar that meant nothing to either of us and like two adults, had a very open conversation about the mistakes we had made, made admissions we both suspected were true and decided to take a break from one another for a while.

Here’s the highlight reel: I never should have agreed to pump the brakes and he never should have slept with me. He’s in no position to be in a relationship (with anyone) and has decided its best to go it alone for a while. And I decided I’m worth more than being someone’s half-girlfriend. He told me I was one of the greatest girls he’d ever met and I told him he broke my heart a little.

During this conversation, he used the words “as a friend” so many times it started to feel like all the passion was being erased. Because there was so much of it, to be honest. I have never felt it like that before, ever. And even now, as we were ending it, I felt like he was trying to act like it was never there.

I finished my drink, told him that once his beer was gone that we were done with the tough stuff, and that we’d have one more drink together before we went our separate ways. He wasn’t a big fan of the “separate ways” idea, he thought we could just be friends. His favorite word: friends. I told him I needed some time.

We had more than one more drink. We talked about life, work, money, friendship and a few times went back to our fleeting relationship. We met a guy who was on a first date, awaiting a woman he met on the latest app and chatted with him until she arrived. We talked about our families, our plans for the holiday, how the summer seemed to be passing too quickly.

And as we were paying the bill, he put his hand on the small of my back and curved his arm around my waist. And I thought “you f*cking liar”. I must have noticeably winced because he withdrew said arm pretty quickly. But the moment was there and I knew it. He was slipping back into the comfort of what he claimed never existed.

As we departed, I called a cab and he waited for it to arrive. And as it pulled up, he hugged me for too long. Way too long. And as I walked away from him, he yelled across the street “You let me know when you’re ready”. And I agreed to.

I got into the cab, looked at my phone. Multiple text messages from girlfriends who knew this conversation was happening and knew it should have been over hours ago. I started answering. And cried a little. Just a little. Not the ugly, sobby kind. Just the “that was hard” kind.

And then, ten minutes later a text from the Unicorn, seemingly not getting the “space” concept just yet.

“Good talk tonight… I’m sorry about everything, I really am”.

And then, “Well I should say I’m only sorry for hurting your feelings”.

You’re still doing it, dude. I cut you off and you’re still breaking my heart.

I didn’t respond.

A Trip with the Unicorn: Part III

Are a drunken man’s words a sober man’s thoughts? Are his defenses finally down? Is he saying what he’s been thinking all along but been afraid to say? Or is he just trying to get laid?

I don’t know the answer but either way, it worked for the Unicorn.

Shortly after our first encounter, NSD got the “pump the brakes” speech. He wasn’t ready, he’s a mess, he can’t be there for someone, his therapist thinks we need to have boundaries. (FYI, I f*cking hate his therapist.)

So, brakes were pumped. NSD abided. No sleepovers, no snuggles, just hanging out. Just two friends hanging out watching the basketball game, drinking some beers, having dinner. NSD just LOVESSSSSSSS being friends with guys she has feelings for. This was starting to feel like John all over again.

And in case anyone was wondering, the “pump the brakes” speech does nothing for your self-confidence. You go from the post-coital glow to feeling like Shrek. All those compliments start to feel like being let down easy, all the kisses start to feel like they were forced, all the feelings start to feel like lies. It was killing me.

But it didn’t keep the Unicorn from accompanying NSD to a wedding. A wedding that included a plane ride, so not exactly a nice night out and then going home to our respective homes. The first night went fine. A little friendly snuggling but nothing that could be deemed sexual or crossing a line. The second night was a bit different…

The drinking started mid-afternoon, as it usually does at these types of events, and by about 6pm the Unicorn and I were having a grand old time with a pretty good buzz. We danced, we laughed, my friends loved him. At one point during a slow dance, he leaned down and kissed my cheek. I think I audibly exhaled out some frustration. Pick a side, dude. In or out. Friend or lover. A friend texted me to find out what was happening, how it was going, what was going on.

All I responded was “The mouth says friends, the hands say more”. And those hands said a lot more three hours later.

The festivities ended and we retreated to our hotel room where he brought up something about dating another girl. Now, to be fair, I knew this girl existed. I knew her name, how he met her (online), her ethnicity (a preferred option over mine) and her value (little to none, total throw away). But for some reason (possibly the 15 glasses of champagne I had consumed) in that moment, I couldn’t let her goddamn name pass me by. And I made an… exasperated sigh.

“What?” he said to me, “I know you don’t like her”. So perceptive. You should be a detective, Unicorn. Really.

“It’s not that I don’t like her, I don’t know her. I just don’t get it”. Purposely cryptic.

“Don’t get what?”

This was it, this was the moment. I retreated “I really don’t think we should talk about this right now. Let’s just go to bed”.

Not having it. “No, let’s talk about it. It’s obviously bothering you”.

That champagne was so powerful, I basically launched into every thought I’d had over the past two months. The work we’ve put in, the connection we’ve created, the fun we’ve had, the laughs, even the tough moments. How I didn’t understand how this random girl who’s last name he didn’t even know got to kiss him and hold his hand and I was mandated to G-rated snuggles and Sunday afternoon movies. I did all of this as I continued to get ready for bed, as I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed next to him… as if spilling my soul while completing mundane tasks made it less terrifying for me.

I repeatedly said the words “unfair” and “sidelined” and even, in the dark, told him that whenever he said her name, I could feel it in my chest. That it actually hurt.

He apologized, he agreed, he wrapped himself around me, told me he was sorry, he cared about me, he liked me more than he should and he kissed me. A lot.

And a while later when there were less clothes and less space between us as we drifted off to sleep, out of nowhere he said “Goodnight, I love you”.

“You do?” I said, completely astonished. Unable to even respond.

“I do.” he said “You know that. You’ve know that from the beginning”.

 

To be continued…

 

 

The Unicorn: Part II

The Unicorn continues to be a mysterious, mythical creature. His smile continues to slay me, his quick wit continues to entertain me and his eyes continue to tell me that he wants to wrap his arms around me every time he sees me. And its amazing. But there is one part of the story that is not a mystery: The Unicorn is in absolutely no position to be in a relationship with me.

Or… with anyone for that matter. Not right now.

What it comes down to is one simple sentence: He called off a wedding two weeks before I met him.

Yes, read that again. Two. Weeks.

A mere 12 days prior to our meeting, the Unicorn was set to be married in a month. Rings purchased, wedding planned, deposits paid. He had been dating his beautiful fiancée for almost seven years. He had proposed in a beautiful, unsuspecting way (as NSD was able to read all about on his wedding website that is somehow, by some horrific twist of fate, still active) and promised to spend the rest of his life with her.

In response to that promise, she began f*cking her co-worker. For the better part of a year. She lied to him incessantly and was eventually busted by what usually does people of her caliber in: her cell phone. Her loving, trusting fiancé had a weird feeling, a gut reaction to an early morning text message he saw pop up before she awoke that fateful Saturday morning. And he looked.

And what he found was pretty bad. He found that the woman he loved had been sneaking around with her married co-worker, sending him photos of herself in various states of undress and doing numerous other things that would easily fall under the category of “big fat betrayal”. She had been working around the Unicorn’s travel schedule to arrange her trysts, using her unsuspecting friends as covers and started having less sex with the Unicorn (who if I may so myself, is not lacking in attractiveness – inside or out). When NSD met him, he was pretty out of it. He was hurt and disheveled. He was sad. But I didn’t know that what was underneath all that was this talented, hardworking, incredibly endearing, really good guy. He was still funny though, even in all the chaos, he still made me laugh. That’s how I knew he was a good one.

He told me all this on our third day of knowing one another. He said for some reason, he just felt like he could trust me and I think I fell for him right then and there. In the coming weeks, we exchanged text messages and joked back and forth and one night a few weeks later, he asked me if I wanted to grab a drink after work.

To be honest, I had plans. I had somewhere I really needed to be. But something in my gut told me not to turn him down, not to let him pass me by. So, I bailed on what I was supposed to do and we had a drink. And another drink. And dinner. And another drink. And then we got in that cab back to my apartment.

What followed is what one would suspect follows. We’re all adults here, you know what happened. I was not prepared for the level of comfort I would have with him nor was I prepared for his honesty in the hours after. People say things in the dark they wouldn’t normally say. And we said a lot of things.

What NSD was really not prepared for was his ensuing freak-out the following morning as he was boarding a plane on a business trip. In his mind, he had screwed it up. He had done irreparable damage.

And his therapist was going to kill him.

To be continued…