Terrified

If I had to describe my mood one year ago today, it would have been terrified. Perhaps the scariest day of my life, to be honest, though I know that means that I've had a relatively charmed existence. It was the day that I got the email inviting us to join the Marshall Islands program.

Why on earth would this be terrifying?

To be clear, I'm going to talk about my thought process, not Paul's, and I'll start from the beginning, because I've heard from enough people that have walked through this thought process to know that it's important to talk about. Long post with some less pleasant things, so yeah, you've been warned.

Roughly 6 years ago, I told one of my best friends that I thought Paul and I wouldn't have biological kids. Let me tell you- this feeling came out of nowhere, and hit me like a ton of bricks. This was well before I started having fertility issues, before I knew this would be a dilemma. We could have gotten pregnant before then- we'd been married for almost 4 years, I'd taken time off of birth control and stuff, but I wasn't even remotely concerned yet that we would have issues with conceiving. And yet, I had this gut instinct, and it was sudden, and overwhelming. I also largely forgot about it in years to come, particularly as I was unwell and didn't know what was wrong yet.

5 years ago, I started to get sick, and I didn't know why. Over the course of about a year, I was diagnosed with endometriosis, then Celiac Disease, then insulin resistance, then Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS).  Over this year as well, probably stupidly in hind sight, we started trying to get pregnant. Needless to say, that didn't go as planned.

4.5 years ago, our friends Courtney and Chad adopted internationally. I asked Courtney every question I could think of, and adoption was blossoming in my mind. I didn't even know her well (yet), and Courtney answered extremely personal questions of every kind. Welcome to adoption, folks- make sure you're wearing your thick skin.

3.5 years ago, I had surgery to remove endometriosis. It helped with the pain, but it didn't help with the pregnancy.

2 years ago, Paul and I decided to adopt- we just had no idea what that would look like. The conversation had been happening between us for 2.5 years, but we didn't want to wait to start our family to see if I would ever get pregnant or not. We agreed on some programs, and not on others. Nothing felt right, nothing was fitting well, and we took this so seriously that we knew we both needed to be 100%, all in, in order to make it through the actual adoption process. We needed to be unified.

In March of 2013, I found out about the RMI program, which I've mentioned before- and it looked like the wait would be years. Possibly 5-6 years, theoretically, if every interested family signed up. I added our names to the list. We were number 79 on the waiting list just to GET information.  After March, though… we had no direction. We discussed domestic adoption, foster care, other countries internationally, but… everything felt wrong. I voiced this to Courtney once, and she said simply, "You're struggling because they're all good options. All adoptions are worthy of your time, all of them deserve your care and your energy. It's hard because they're all important."

For 7-8 months, this feeling of dread was tearing me up inside. What did it mean that we couldn't agree? What did it say about us that we couldn't come to a decision? Courtney's comment kept coming back to me, in both good and bad moments. Sometimes, it was "See, ANY program is good! Let's just go with one and start getting ready!" Other times, I was furious- if they're all worthy (and the kiddos definitely, definitely are), then how selfish were we to be dawdling around, weighing our options?

And yet, we still couldn't agree. I thought (and probably said) awful things about myself, about my husband. I was frustrated and terrified and growing wearier and wearier each time I skipped a period and still wasn't pregnant. Several times, I skipped 3-4 months in a row (a symptom of PCOS) and still… no little blue line, a doctor still shaking her head. I forgot that my husband was on my side, that we were a team in this, that he was hurting as well, that this was wearing on him too, that not deciding on a program left him in limbo just as much as it did me.

Was the world colluding against me to never, ever have children in my family?

And then, one year ago today, I got the email, and I was absolutely, completely terrified.

The email was simple- your number is up, we're ready for you. Here's the info, you have five days to decide. FIVE DAYS. Five days to make the most important decision of our lives, after the 2.5 years it took us to decide on adoption at all? After the last eight months, when we couldn't even agree on domestic or international? FIVE DAYS?!? I was sold instantly- this felt right in an ocean of uncertainty. I remembered believing years prior that this was how Paul and I would have children, and it felt like we had come full circle. This was why nothing else fit- because this was what we were meant for. If you haven't read this early post on why we chose the Marshall Islands, check this out.

Even though I was ecstatic, I also freaked out, because in the minute it took me to read that email, I had gotten my hopes up, higher than they'd ever been, and I wanted desperately to avoid those hopes coming crashing down. I panicked, and I didn't tell Paul until late that evening. We had friends coming over for dinner, and I held it together until they left. My mind was racing though- the question that overtook my brain was simply, What if he says no? What if, after all this, we can't agree on the only thing that has ever felt right?

Thankfully, there's a happy ending, obviously, and a happier ending to come. Things have worked out well, though the last year hasn't been in a walk in the park- but we have never, ever, second-guessed that decision. I can't go back in time and change how I handled the pain, the frustration, the fear. I am so happy about where we ended up that I think we had to go through this to get here. But if you're where I was… talk to someone.

To be honest, I was conflicted about writing this, because I don't ever want our child to think that they were our lesser option, because that is NOT the case. Adoption is not less than, it is not the plan B, it is not something we resigned ourselves to begrudgingly- we take joy in being where we are, and we are thrilled to be on this adventure. But I've found that there are a lot of beautiful stories about families that choose adoption even though they could theoretically conceive, and I love them for choosing this worthy, important child. I love them for standing up for those in need and for showing everyone the many ways a family can be made, and yet, I've always felt left out. We did try to conceive first, and we did struggle. Twelve years ago, when we started talking about our future family, adoption wasn't on our radar, and I feel this enormous guilt for that sometimes. I feel like that needs to be clear, because I'm not the first person to have struggled with fertility issues, and I'm not the first person to doubt themselves. I want to be faithful to that story, our story, and I'm tired of feeling guilty for that.

So this anniversary, this terrifying moment in my personal journey- it's symbolic now. It's symbolic of the shedding of the doubt in my heart, the letting go of the baggage that had been weighing me down. It represents the peak of fear, and what's on the other side. It's also a sign of the great things that come once the storm has passed.

Thanks to those that actually read this- we love you all (whether you finished or not)!