0.5 #NaBloMoPo Day 6 - Dusting Off a Draft Post

Several months ago I wrote this post and for sone reason never hit the publish button. Without further ado, here it is:

Recently, I wrote about my emotional reaction to fascial stretching, and last week was the appointment where I (against every fiber in my being) had a vulnerable, open conversation with Stretch Guy. It was a draining session between having the conversation and letting the tears come when I was on the table.

Before I was able to finish the post I started writing, this phone call came.

I have never believed that things happen for a reason and when they are supposed to. I didn't believe it about infertility, or becoming a parent to our kids. I have always been able to rationalize that if it weren't X and Z, it would be other kids. I really don't think that they found us or we found them.

This, though. The stretching, the trusting a stranger to help and support me, and then the very next day getting a phone call that has rocked my world, THAT seems to have happened for a reason. If the phone call came 10 years ago, I doubt I'd be open to the conversation. If the phone call came 5 years ago, I would have been in the throes of adoption journeys and infertility grief. It came after I've done a shit ton of therapy and figuring out how I feel about what happened to me, my mother's shame that kept us from bio-dad and extended family, and my father's complicitness in going along with her charade.

Through it all, S has been a rock, holding me in the kitchen as I randomly break down, sitting on the couch when me as I cradle my coffee staring at the floor seeing nothing. Listening and not judging me as I work through all my complicated feelings and try to figure out what to do next.

I can't ever say my life has been dull.