I let myself hope again.
In the 10 months since I started tracking my cycle with an app on my phone, it has almost always been 26 or 27 days. Once it was 25, once it was 28.
This month it was 29. That extra day killed me. I couldn't even sleep because I was so excited.
I'm normally and naturally a pessimist. Have been my whole life. I like being a pessimist because I'm terrible at being an optimist. When I hope for something and it doesn't happen, I don't handle it well.
My first thoughts this morning when the hope ended were...
I suck.
I'm stupid.
I hate myself.
I'm a failure of a wife.
Of course something that great wouldn't happen to me.
It would have been a miracle. It was our last chance for it to happen on our own before having to go to a doctor, admitting our problem, and getting tested to maybe find out the why.
I'm so scared to talk with a doctor about something so private. I'm scared for any kind of medical testing. I've never even had a blood test before.
As time goes on, it's getting harder to forget and ignore this issue. It's becoming something that occupies my thoughts in moments when I should be focusing on something else.
We're moving home to America in 2 days after a year and a half in France. I've been counting down the days for months, but right now I can't manage to feel excitement.
When I'm home, people will ask awkward questions. I'm a Mormon in my late 20s who's been married since September of 2016. I'm well aware that everyone from close family members to random people at church will be prying into my personal life concerning this issue the second I'm home.
I already have some snarky replies in mind. #copingstrategy
In the 10 months since I started tracking my cycle with an app on my phone, it has almost always been 26 or 27 days. Once it was 25, once it was 28.
This month it was 29. That extra day killed me. I couldn't even sleep because I was so excited.
I'm normally and naturally a pessimist. Have been my whole life. I like being a pessimist because I'm terrible at being an optimist. When I hope for something and it doesn't happen, I don't handle it well.
My first thoughts this morning when the hope ended were...
I suck.
I'm stupid.
I hate myself.
I'm a failure of a wife.
Of course something that great wouldn't happen to me.
It would have been a miracle. It was our last chance for it to happen on our own before having to go to a doctor, admitting our problem, and getting tested to maybe find out the why.
I'm so scared to talk with a doctor about something so private. I'm scared for any kind of medical testing. I've never even had a blood test before.
As time goes on, it's getting harder to forget and ignore this issue. It's becoming something that occupies my thoughts in moments when I should be focusing on something else.
We're moving home to America in 2 days after a year and a half in France. I've been counting down the days for months, but right now I can't manage to feel excitement.
When I'm home, people will ask awkward questions. I'm a Mormon in my late 20s who's been married since September of 2016. I'm well aware that everyone from close family members to random people at church will be prying into my personal life concerning this issue the second I'm home.
I already have some snarky replies in mind. #copingstrategy
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