Wednesday, December 12, 2012


Unfinished Mountains -- by Meirav Gebler

One of the biggest takeaways I have from life lately (because you're all dying for Sage Wisdom right? har) is that once you tackle one Really Big Mountain, or at least accept that you're climbing this thing, climbing a lot of smaller mountains that also come up becomes remarkably easier.  In tackling the idea of what a future family that we build will look like we have discovered that making other hard decisions has become easier.

From a typography standpoint (say that with a stuffy British professor voice) it's kind of like this:
Leave family and friends and move away
Live apart
Leave our little house

By accepting one really huge change in our lives that potentially really does change things big-time, possibly hugely-hugely for the rest of our lives, allowing ourselves to be open to other changes has become easier.  The living out those changes is still hard. But accepting them and rolling with them is easier.  I think I never would have said yes to all of this in 2011.  But now?  Yes.  Okay.  And after the big one, the other changes seem smaller.  Small potatoes.

I'm not saying I'm glad for this challenge, or some of the other challenges, because like most people I like my challenges neatly tied up with string and presented to me when I'm feeling most able to tackle them (preferably right after a breakfast of french toast and rum/hot cocoa, maybe some grits), which is exactly when challenges do not appear.  I'm not glad for this, nor am I thankful for it.  Maybe someday, but not now.  But not being thankful doesn't mean I can't try to find good outcomes, even though I'd rather they not have had this catalyst.  I'm glad that Patrick and I have been able to navigate something stressful and tough and come out okay so far.  Sure, one could say that's kind of like saying hey, the Fellowship made it all the way to Amon Hen and so far so good, so everything's sure to turn out okay for all characters, right?  But this kind of struggle can be very grounding.  And that's a good thing.  Still.  Not thankful.  Not in the traditional sense of the word.

It has been heartbreaking and as far as I can tell will continue to be so in different ways.  But the person I see I'm turning into isn't someone I hate either, if she's more willing to make big changes even when they hurt.  The first mountain is the hardest.  After that, it's lighter hiking.  Of course, the catch is that you don't get to necessarily hike one at a time.  We're over the initial infertility shock, which is a mountain, but the whole process of figuring out *how* to achieve whatever that family will be is still a long hike.  But we're hiking it.  And in hiking it, hiking the other smaller mountains at the same time is okay.

So, there's that.


  1. Yes exactly. I have felt this whole thing more like jumping off a cliff (sorry for the drama), than climbing mountains. But now that we've jumped... we've started swimming, and not that it's easy cause it's not, but accepting it comes a lot easier. That first jump was incredibly hard.
    I hope this will be over soon for you guys.

    1. Yeah -- dealing with this issue has dwarfed a lot of other problems in life for us. We don't have the energy to devote to worrying about some things anymore, so if when we're juggling jobs and infertility other things end up falling, then they fall, and that's okay sometimes.

  2. This is super well put. I totally feel much more able to tackle big stuff with S than I think I would've been a few years ago, but then infertility has always been part of what we knew was coming so we had a lot more time than most to prepare for the 'trek.'

    1. Yeah, for us it was an out of the blue shock, one that I don't think we were entirely prepared for. But, we're learning and, to keep up with the hiking metaphor, forming blisters and callouses.

  3. Your metaphors are so great. IF is a mountain, and it has made so many other mountains look like little hills.