Day 3 of “Voiceless Emily.” I made the attempt to go to work today and promptly fell back into bed after taking a shower wiped me out. So today, I make the trip to my doctor’s office to hopefully get some “magic pills” to make me feel better.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I hate having to get antibiotics to get rid of a bug. I’d rather do it the old-fashioned way with lots of fluid and lots of rest. But this one … I don’t know, I just haven’t been able to “break” it just yet. And I’ve gotta be better by this weekend, as it’s my cousin’s wedding!
Thank you for those that responded yesterday to my post. Part of me knows that I’m just being stubborn and spiteful. And the other part of me knows that I’m doing this for self-preservation as well. Because if I continue to subject myself to “saving face” just to “keep the peace”, then I’d be back-pedaling in my progress towards happiness.
It’s just rather strange for me to be listening to that “other part of me,” because I feel as if that’s the selfish part of me. The one who only thinks about herself. The one who was told time and time again in her youth that it was bad to be thinking about my wants and my needs. My job … my duty, was always to think and care for others. (No wonder I became a nurse!) And I’m sure that lesson was reinforced over and over again by both the Filipino culture I was brought up in, as well as the twelve years of Catholic school.
And not that I mean to emphasize the point over and over again … but this is probably the biggest reason why it’s been so difficult for me to deal with my infertility. First … let’s not talk about my issues so as not to make you feel uncomfortable. Next, let’s take care of everyone else’s needs rather than take care of my own health. And finally, let’s just stifle all that unhappiness away and pretend that it doesn’t exist.
In any case, it took a long time for me to realize that I couldn’t continue to live this way. That my own body was telling me that I could no longer hold things in. Seriously, when your blood pressure continues to sky-rocket despite taking medications and you find yourself having a tremendously difficult time performing such simple tasks like taking a shower … and your mind is so muddled because you can’t even begin to determine what to “fix” first … well, then it’s time to seek some professional help.
So yes. I admit it (as it’s hard to do for most Asian-American’s), I broke down and called my former RE’s office and asked for a good therapist; one that had experience in dealing with infertility issues. And from that first meeting with her, I felt as if I struck gold. She has been that wonderful.
From our sessions, I’ve learned that one of the biggest things I needed to do was listen to my body. Which, of course, was hard for me to do … as throughout my IF journey, I’ve felt I’ve been betrayed by it month after month. But it’s those headaches that I frequently got that told me that my blood pressure was bordering at extreme highs. And it’s those days where my body refused to get out of bed that told me that I had stuffed waaay too many emotions inside that my body simply refused budge until I felt or expressed something.
And that’s why I began to blog. My outlet. My way to talk about the complex things and complex relationships I have going on in my life.
Duh, I can hear y’all saying … it’s not like I haven’t said this twenty zillion times before in previous posts.
But then part of me begins to wonder. Am I revealing too much? Am I expressing those feelings too intensely? Am I hurting others by writing exactly how I feel about the situations I’ve been in?
Is the proverbial pen mightier than the sword?
The reason I pose these questions is because I’ve been “asked” to refrain from blogging about certain people and certain situations I’m placed in, Which my gut instinct is to say, “F*ck you. This is MY blog. And you don’t have to read it, if you don’t like what I have to say.”
But then I began to think that maybe what I say in this blog may push things to the limits. That instead of making it easier for others to understand what I’m going through, I’m making them more uncomfortable. And hence making it more awkward for them to talk to me in real life (IRL). That I’m further isolating myself by “talking” about these things. (Of course, this pertains to IRL people and not you, my dear bloggy friends.)
Then there’s the Filipino-Catholic in me. The person who feels like she’s being self-centered and only thinking about herself in these situations … and not about how others might react to what I’ve said. That I’m hurting others by the words I write. And that I’m now sufficiently doomed to H*ll.
I have, in the past, PWP’d (password protected) a few blog entries, but have hated to do so, for reasons I’ve mentioned before in this post. I think it protects certain incidents and people involved in them; which could be good. And yet it also isolates a potential reader …. someone, who like me is looking for someone to relate to … from not feeling comfortable in asking me for a password. And while I might continue to do so in some instances, I don’t like it. It makes me feel, for lack of better words (ha!), “voiceless.”
And the irony of it all? I can’t even speak a word above a whisper right now.
What do you suppose my sick body is telling me? Is it just telling me to shut up and not “say” or blog about the emotions attached to those complex relationships and situations? Or is it telling me to ease up on myself; that I’m once again being too harsh on myself that my body, or rather my voice needs a rest?
All I know now, is that I’m seriously doubting myself … if what I do and say on my blog is helping me IRL or hurting me even more. And if I should permanently remain “voiceless.”
Help me, oh bloggy friends. What should I do?
Do you remember the band Oasis? If you do, then you’d remember that the band comprised of two brothers named Liam and Noel Gallagher. I don’t listen to them as much anymore, but back in the mid-1990’s the songs off their album, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory, played a prominent part in the day’s following my 1996 wedding to Hubby. To this day hearing these songs, particularly “Don’t Look Back In Anger, remind me of driving in our convertible rental car (with the top down, of course) back to our hotel in Kaanapali from Lahaina on the island of Maui. That song just happened to be playing on the radio as we drove up the coastline while watching the sun set on the ocean. It. Was. Heaven on Earth.
