It was a slow progression, really. I suppose that’s how it always starts, doesn’t it? Because when your fingers reluctantly tap their way through the word “infertility” on that tiny fluorescent screen late one sad night, you’re suddenly sure you’ve solved it. And that’s the beginning, you see. The organic and the gluten free and the grassfed, it can all be traced back to that darn screen.
But those first few hits on Google, they’re like magic, sprinkling fairy dust upon that innocent confidence in the space between problem and solution. And that’s precisely when you find yourself bolting down that gluten free aisle. Because, don’t you know? Gluten causes infertility, just look it up on Google!
And then the blows, they sort of knock you off your feet. Month after month, they come. And you try, you really do, to stay positive in the midst of all the heartache. First there’s the, “it’ll happen when it’s time,” quickly followed by the, “God has a plan,” until you reach the, “eff it all.”
And it’s there, somewhere between the “eff it all” and the “I don’t give a damn” that you find yourself devouring the largest chocolate chip cookie you can manage to get your hands on. Because, really, is flour the cause of nine whole years of infertility? And suddenly your on-again, off-again relationship with gluten/dairy has provoked rebellion within you. Pasta! Burgers! Ice Cream! Cake! They are yours for the taking.
But here’s the thing… guilt. It hoards up the space between you and that darn pizza, each bite becoming a volatile balancing act between staying rational and “this pizza is ruining any chance I have at being a mother.” It eats away at you, really. And your perfectionist spirit keeps crying out, “you’re doing it all wrong!”
Still, time ticks on and those empty arms begin to buckle under the weight of this void. And it’s then that you find yourself at that ragged edge between complete surrender and all-out war. You dance along that edge for some time, flirting with the possibility of jumping into the abyss of surrender. But the fighter in you keeps nudging your toes away from that ledge, pulling you closer and closer into battle.
…And that’s when you decide to HIPPIE THE CRAP OUT OF THIS FIGHT!
And that’s where I am, you guys — one month into this final fight. And, you know? It’s not so bad. I mean, aside from using salt rock deodorant and dousing myself in coconut oil after each shower, this journey toward a life free of gluten, dairy, refined sugar, phthalates, and plastics hasn’t been so horrible. Well, I take that back. The whole no frozen yogurt thing has been a little tragic, but all-in-all, I’m hanging in there. So, if there’s anyone else out there in “hippie infertility land,” I wanted to share some of the products that have kept me from concocting shampoo recipes in my kitchen sink. There’s also some great food recipes in the link below!
And this website is a wonderful resource for recipes.
Fight on, sisters. Fight on.