Barren Doesn’t Mean Empty

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Come on in. We’ve got room in front. Okay, everyone settled? Can you hear me in back?  Good. Now, I’ve got a few confessions to make.

As those of you who have been with me from the beginning well know I started this blog feeling broken, empty, isolated — in a word: LOST.  I’d been living with infertility for more than a decade and, at 43, found myself confronted with the unthinkable. Infertility treatment of all sorts had proven futile. Time was running out on a spontaneous, miraculous pregnancy and that stark realization flattened me. I was angry, bitter, despairing, prickly. I felt my body had betrayed me. I felt massively misunderstood and, not surprisingly, I didn’t like the world very much. A spin through my earliest posts reveal that I channeled my blackest ire at women who conceived easily.

But what caught me off guard completely in the emotional department were the days when I felt positively hateful toward once infertile women who succeeded where I had not. At times their comments felt beyond disingenuous. Their glowing posts about pregnancy after infertility were a stake in my fragile heart. “Look at me, I’m so very pregnant now! Here’s my belly (which you’ll never have….) to prove it!

Yes, I confess that I never came right out and said it then, but those posts cut deeper in some ways than hearing about pregnancies from women who had never visited a reproductive endocrinologist. In my angry world, infertile women who posted baby pictures and raved about their newborns were the equivalent of women who unabashedly brought their children into fertility clinics. Have you no decency, no compassion? I screamed more than once at my computer screen.

What riled me up the worst? When women in treatment who did go on to conceive and deliver — between posting about the joys of motherhood and the cutest thing their child just did — breezily exclaimed that they could have happily built a live without children if the treatments hadn’t worked. “Oh, yes, I know I could have been happy. I would not have looked back …. now here’s Junior at 3 mos!”

It’s damned easy to be magnanimous, I grumbled, when you’ve gotten that which someone else can’t achieve. When you’re grieving the last thing you want to hear is the equivalent of, “Oh, it’s not that bad. I know I’d be fine in your shoes. Tra la.

Just as I could never begin to pretend that I know what it’s truly like to feel a baby stir or kick in my womb, women who have never ACTUALLY felt the devastation of knowing that conception and pregnancy will never occur won’t ever truly know what it means to accept that the delivery room is permanently off limits. The finality is overwhelming. Some experiences you have to actually live to know.

Furthermore, there is no joy, no celebration in stopping fertility treatment (well, other than seeing your bank account stop hemorrhaging and your belly and thighs recover from the bruising). It’s not a choice in an empowering sense. When financial and emotional resources are rapidly depleting and you’re not getting any younger, you are faced with the unpleasant task of deciding when it’s time to throw in the towel and step away from the clinic. It is one in a series of difficult decisions that haunt you. That’s because stopping treatment doesn’t eradicate the tiny hope that nature might, just might, pull out a Hail Mary pass.

Until I formally hit menopause I expect to hear a small voice continue to wonder about whether a spontaneous pregnancy might possibly make the record books. And that rather torturous wondering in and of itself is something one has to come to terms with, each in our own way and in our own time. There is no neat formula. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.question

It looks more like this image I created (see left). So, in sorting out all of the complicated emotions that accompanied the realization that life wasn’t going according to plan, I learned to appreciate that I’m stronger than I ever thought I was. The barrage of pregnancies in IF land and the unexpected behaviors I witnessed all around the infertility blogosphere provided a boot camp of sorts. The “days until delivery” widgets and discussions about what color to paint the nursery toughened me up along the way and prepared me to do battle with the real world.

In time, I stopped being angry and bitter in an unproductive sense. Rather than let those emotions control me, I got the upper hand. I mastered and channeled them into something productive — building a comfortable life as a family of two and treasuring my husband (whose canonization for sainthood is all but a sure thing). I also came to appreciate and accept that loss can be transformational if we allow it to be so. Like a metal that’s been forged in fire, I have been strengthened by what has been, at times, an unbearable heat.

I realize how far I’ve come when I see search terms like “barren and empty” point women to Coming2Terms.

I am living evidence for any visitor coming to this blog for the first time who does feel barren and empty today, that barren doesn’t mean empty forever. Like a desert that carries its own beauty and life within, there is a remarkable beauty and a peacefulness that reveals itself in time.
sunriseAs I make clear in my book, Silent Sorority: A (Barren) Woman Gets Busy, Angry, Lost and Found, love can be strengthened by loss. My story will continue to unfold. For those just undertaking the journey of coming to terms, I encourage you to be gentle with yourself. Feel free to comment here on this blog as many new readers arrive every day and the perspectives from other women who are coming to terms can be remarkably healing. Take it from me, I know.

p.s. Last confession: I haven’t been completely silent these past six weeks. Those of you who follow me on Facebook or Twitter know I’ve been writing for other sites during my Coming2Terms sabbatical. That’s right. I’ve been testing the waters and getting comfortable writing for a wider audience. For instance:

55 comments

  • I was wondering if this day was coming. While I will miss you in this space, I’ll be seeing you in the places you mentioned.

    I’m so glad Coming2Terms brought us together, Pamela Jeanne. You are a gifted writer/thinker, and I wish you the very best in your creative endeavors.

  • Pamela, I just want you to know how much hope your blog gave me during some of the hardest times in the last year and a half of my life. Knowing that someone was able to face involuntary childlessness with as much grace and compassion and wisdom as you have shown – well, it just made it easier to know that that was even within the realm of possibility. Part of my way of dealing with scary things in my life is to turn towards what I fear and to let it in instead of running away from it, and it helped so much to know that even in the midst of the uncertainty of our TTC journey, that there would be joy and laughter (and heartbreak and grief and loss) no matter what the outcome was.

    I hope none of this sounds like “oh, I know I could have made peace with it if I hadn’t gotten pregnant” cause that’s not how I mean it at all. I have no idea and I hope I don’t have to find out. Instead, I want you to know that you are a shining presence who brings light to some of the darkest places that we, as a society, least want to admit exist. And so you make the world a better place, just by doing that. So from the bottom of my grateful heart, thank you, thank you, thank you.

    Not goodbye since I’m already your friend on FB, but I’m raising a glass in your direction, brave and beautiful PJ!

  • Pamela – Look how far you’ve come! I’m going to miss your posts but this latest one is a perfect final step on a long journey that has helped so many. And of course, you’ll continue to speak out in many new and interesting ways. I’m so proud of you! susan

  • I can not even explain how much I will miss your voice. xoxo

  • Pamela,
    It will be sad to see you not posting here anymore, but I completely understand why you made this decision. I am bitter. I am bitter at all my IF readers who miraculous seem to be pregnant right now and have suddenly completely forgotten how heartbreaking it is to see pregnancy and baby blogs because their IF blog immediately turned into one of those. I try to be supportive, but it hurts. Why do all these people get to have their babies and I don’t?

    I’m still trying to come to terms with that. I realize I should be grateful for my husband and enjoy that he is my family and that I have him. I have my moments where I am able to live in that moment, but then the darn work of IF draws me back in. it seems to be a never-ending path. Have you heard ‘Chasing Pavement’ by Adele? It’s a song that totally relates to my IF. I want to ‘give up’ but I just can’t. I’ll think I gave up, but I didn’t.

    I don’t get on twitter much, but I’ll be sure to get on once in awhile to check in with you.

    I’m currently reading your book (borrowing it from my friend Jeanne at ChronicHealing.com). I really like it.

    Thank you for writing on this wonderful blog. This blog that at times was the only thing I felt I could relate to in this world.

    Yaya (Alicia)

  • You give me hope…and let me know that no matter what, I WILL BE okay..and I really appreciate that. Thank you.

  • Sounds to me like you really have “come to terms” (or at the very least, come a long way!). And it looks like I am going to have to get with it & try this newfangled Facebook thingie in order to keep tabs on what you’re up to. ; ) I will very much miss your voice here, my friend, but am glad you are still sharing it in other forums! All the best to you!

  • Mel

    I was thinking of you just last night. I’m sad to see you go from this space, but glad you are still having a voice out there. Please post links in LFCA too so people can keep up.

  • I’m going to miss your blog posts but I’m really glad you’re going to keep writing elsewhere. I’ve learned so much from you and while we’re not moving on to living child free yet, you’ve shown how it can be done with class and without apology. Thank you so much for demonstrating that being a woman without children is not shameful.

  • Invivo

    This blog at one time felt foreign, a reality I never thought I’d come this close to. Although I’ve not walked your journey full circle and might never know first hand the reality of it all, I feel blessed to have known your voice. A voice that has and will bring comfort to so many that will follow in your footsteps.

    Thank you for sharing this part of your life with so many of us.

    Looking forward to hearing more of you as you venture into the future.

    Wishing you many more safe returns!

  • I’m going to miss seeing you here PJ! It’s like moving a friend into a new house — unfamiliar, but with the opportunity to make a whole new set of memories. Best to you in your new adventures, and I will see you on FB 🙂

  • I am sad that you won’t be posting here anymore, but I will follow you on facebook. I have appreciated your honest, insightful posts for years now. You have been an important voice in the infertility community. Wishing you the best.
    Sassy

  • Hey there — I just left a note on your Silent Sorority page on FB. I’ve decided to pick up blogging again, so I hope you’ll follow me there. Looking forward to reading your book! And I hope to see you on Facebook as well. I’ll send you a friend invite there.

  • Andie

    I will miss your posts here – but I’m glad you will keep sharing your thoughts, feelings & wisdom in other ways. I wish you the very best along your future path.

  • PJ, like Calliope I can’t express how much I will miss your posts here. Thank you for all that you have shared with us.

  • Thanks for writing this blog for as long as it made sense for you to do it, PJ. It is SO important for the story that ends *without* baby to be told. Best wishes in all your endeavors. I’ll keep following your SS page on FB!

  • Pamela Jeanne, I can’t begin to describe how much I appreciate you sharing your story and for nailing my feelings on so many occasions – this post included. It’s like you are in my head. (-;

    When I read your book, I just kept nodding and agreeing and feeling so understood. You give me hope that I won’t always be stuck where I am now. You also make me feel like it is okay to just be where I am to work through it all. It’s just a process that we have to go through in our own time.

    Thanks for leaving your blog up. You will definitely be missed here.

  • Shaz

    I LOVE this piece Pamela! Beautifully written and so honest. For those of us who haven’t been where you are, but are walking a mile in a similar pair of shoes, its very familiar. And while I will never know your pain, I can relate to so much of what you’ve said!
    (((hugs)))

  • sherylhs

    Wow. The end of an era. It’s been remarkable taking this journey with PJ – and all of you. I’m in her exact situation right now, and so I’ve grown and shared the same experiences with her – and all of the posters here – for 2 years now. Because there is no sympathy or understanding outside of this ‘circle’ and ‘safe haven’ that I’ve found here, this site has been a God send. Truly invaluable. My wounds are much less raw now, too, although they threaten to open every now and then. But, in the end, I am definitely stronger. I know now what I can face and what I can get through. Kinda scary, huh? But the biggest lesson I take away from my experience — which so mirrors PJ’s — is that I will do my very best to NEVER, EVER treat anyone’s pain – no matter WHAT THE CAUSE IS – as trivial. I will not patronize, I will not minimize, and I will not ignore another fellow human being’s suffering. I will not allow anyone close to me to face anything painful alone and without my complete attention and sensitivity. Yep, I’ve definitely learned how important that is. I’ll leave you with these words from an old hymn:

    May none, then, call on me for understanding, May none, then, turn to me for help in pain, And drain alone his bitter cup of sorrow, Or find he knocks upon my heart in vain.

  • I’m saddened, but maybe not entirely surprised, that you’re moving forward from this blog to other means of advocacy. I’ll certainly miss reading you here, though. Best of luck!

  • Kelly D

    You will be missed. Unlike some other former-infertiles, I know that I would not have been able to come to terms with all that you have had too. You are an inspiration to others who never overcome infertility. I’ll see you on Twitter and Facebook!

    Best of luck!

  • Thank you for taking a different path and leaving a trail.

    I am half way through your book and I am eating up every word. So much of your experience, your thoughts, your feelings were much like mine; but then I went one way and you went another. It is strange to connect, but still be in such a different place. There is so much I want to say about it – how and where it makes me think, how and where it has moved me to tears. I have marked sections where I hope to quote it in my blog someday.

    I hope it wasn’t me who commented that I could have been happy without kids because I have commented with something similar on your blog or one other (family of two)

    I hope it is understood that I NOW believe that I could have been happy IF I could have figured out how to turn off that innate need to have a child, which is impossible, I believe. But you can’t live both lives so I couldn’t have known that had I not experienced it and I think I would have been slower to adjust than you seemed have been.

    I hope I will find a way to stay in touch. I have very much benefited from reading your blog and I am sure others have as well.

  • Jen

    I just wanted to say that I just read your book and enjoyed it, despite being one of the newly infertiles that you mentioned. Yes, I want to still have hope, but I do appreciate the wisdom that you provide. I have just moved from 6 months of Clomid to Letrozole, and we have been trying just over a year. I know that isn’t much compared to you, but man, it still sucks!

  • Pamela,

    I’ve stopped by here several times to leave a comment & haven’t been able to before. Each time I’ve tried to comment, I have started to cry (hard). Well I’m crying now but it’s time for me to get on with it. Here I go.

    Just over a year ago, I started writing my blog. I know your blog is one of the 1st I ever read. If I’m not mistaken, your blog was in the handful or less that I followed before starting my own blog.

    As you’re aware, the topics of endometriosis & infertility are what helped me find your blog. Once I found you, I admired how well written your posts were, your humor in the face of sadness, and your courage. I admired the sheer number of people you were helping with this amazing blog.

    As time went on & I got used to writing my own blog, I began admiring “blogger details” such as the aesthetic beauty of your blog, ease of navigation and classiness. Frankly, I’ve always also admired the sassiness. Your spunk.

    One day I popped in to check out your blog when I was overdue for a visit. That was when I found what you had written about renovating your house. The “burial” of the swimming pool and all that was mentally attached to it for you made me sob. At the same time, your hilarious description of the 2-burner stove had me laughing out loud.

    You’ve made me laugh. You’ve made me cry. For some reason my brain had this mistaken notion that your blog was some sort of “permanent fixture”. How silly am I? Why would I assume such a thing? I guess sometimes we take things for granted until we know they are going away. 🙁

    I am sad this blog is ending but I am HAPPY for you!! I know that the end of this blog means new opportunities for you… ones you’re already pursuing!

    For anyone reading this who has not yet read my review of Pamela’s book, I posted a book review on Amazon.

    Pamela, I know I’ll be seeing you on twitter and Facebook and that I shouldn’t be sad. I can’t help it, though. I just am sad. I think it’s fantastic that you are leaving the blog up and that people will be able to keep posting comments. You have a tremendous body of work here. While you are moving on to use your writing talents in other formats, your work here lives on and will surely help many. (So long as this link works, I know I’m keeping you in my blogroll)!

    I never had to say goodbye to a blog before. It feels very odd! I guess I’m just grateful that I’m saying goodbye to the blog & not the author!

    Reading your book was very emotional for me. I wish you and Alex the best! Your writing is so good that I feel like I know both of you even though we’ve only “met” online. SPOILER ALERT: God, I loved the part of your book where you explained how the blogosphere helped you (when you explained how blogs can essentially be support 24/7 from people around the world, the initial impact on your inbox & that insomnia can be dealt with by connecting with people in other parts of the world… I was dying). Your writing here will be missed but I am happy for you!!

  • The blogosphere won’t be the same without you. You helped me find my voice and gave me a connection that was invaluable. I could breathe again just knowing that somebody knew and understood my pain. Reading your blog was like sitting with a dear friend in a way and I know that one day we’ll meet soon. So thank you, from deep down in my heart, thank you for helping so many others in their journey simply by sharing your own.

  • As so many others have already said, your posts here on Coming to Terms will be much missed. Thank you for all you have written here, and for the support you have offered in the form of comments on my own blog; I cannot begin to sum up how much your words have meant to me. You are a true inspiration, Pamela Jeanne, and I wish you all the very best in whatever writing ventures you choose to pursue from this point on.

  • I am not surprised to hear that you’ve decided to stop writing here. As I’m coming to realize, it becomes extremely difficult to truly move ahead with a new life path while still talking about the old one that will never be. Can’t let go while still holding on, so to speak. I’ve become much more quiet online. And I’ve shortened my blog list quite a bit — why torture myself. I totally get why you’re moving on from here. I very much hope we’ll stay in touch, despite the fact that I’m not on Facebook, and I surely hope we get a chance to meet someday. For you are one of my role models … and in this fertile world, that means a great deal to me.

    Be well, buddy! Wishing you peace and happiness always!

  • I’ll miss this blog. I’ve followed pretty much all the way (I started blogging in May 2007). You’ve offered me such an insight into coming to terms with infertility. I’ve loved your writing, and the way you engage with everything that comes your way.

    I don’t want to offer you any platitudes – it’s not your style or mine. I’ve enjoyed being your blog friend, and I wish you so very well for the future.

  • waterbishop

    I knew this post was coming.
    I am happy for you to move on. I don’t think you’ll ever know how much you helped some of us with your words. I am eternally grateful. Congrats and good luck. Take care.

  • Io

    Pamela, I have really enjoyed reading your blog. You always offered insightful and brutally truthful posts that have moved me greatly. I’m a fan on facebook and I look forward to following you there and elsewhere as you move forward on your journey. Stay awesome sister.

  • Beth

    Pamela Jeanne,

    Thanks for the support you’ve offered all of us. You will continue to be the IF spokesperson in my mind. Your wisdom, courage and honesty have been like a lifeline to me when there were days that I wasn’t drowning but waving. I hope that others add voice to the movement when we’ve all been hiding in our own isolation. “Silent Sorority”– the title says it all sister. I miss you already.

    Thanks also for once again having the courage to out the insensitive. As if we IF’s don’t torture ourselves enough, we need to look at your baby pictures?? Have a heart!

    Much admiration and well wishes in all you do!! Keep up the great work!!!

  • diaphanta

    Thank you. I never have posted before, but I have been an avid lurker – there must be a load of people like me. Your writing has helped me so much. Good luck with your future plans, and your full and meaningful life that has been hard earned. You deserve all good. And your partner should get that recognition – he sounds so great. Good luck to both of you.

  • Thank you for your post on my blog! I am sorry to come here and see that I am coming in at the end of your blog journey — it sounds like you have made quite a contribution to our IF community. I will definitely have to check out your book!

  • I think that in sharing your story you’ve been able to show women facing infertility that even if the end of their story doesn’t include having a child that life can still be fulfilling. I wonder what impact having that knowledge would have had on me when I was just starting with infertility treatments. I think that I thought life wouldn’t be worth living.

    One of the things I’ve said to people throughout the years is that I hope that I would have known when to stop if it took a long time. I believe that after reading your story, stopping seems like something that at least needs to be considered.

    I know we’ll continue to be in touch and I agree – you have made a very big contribution to the infertility community.

  • Bea

    Nooooo! Pammmmmmeeellllaaaaa! (They’re right – it works better with “Stella”.) Don’t make me have to get the hang of using twitter AND facebook…

    I’m very glad to hear you’ve got to the other side… if that’s an accurate description. Your book is on my amazon list ready for the next order!

    Bea

  • Trust my luck to find this blog just as you are about to end it!!! It’s interesting cos I’m 43 and I think I’m at the point where you started. Although I must say I don’t ever use the term barren to describe myself. I may not have children – but I’m not barren. In fact, being involuntarily childless has made room for so many other things in my life. I think we should fight against being labelled as that – and personally it puts me off your book a little that the word is in the title.

    • Ah, yes, I was 43 when I started this blog! In time — as my posts reveal
      in often raw and painful ways — I worked through a lot of angst here and came out stronger as a result. My life is a happy one. I wish all who visit here much peace, strength and happiness.

      As
      longstanding readers know in the more than 200 posts contained here on
      Coming2Terms, I explore in some depth the challenges of labels and
      perceptions since words mean different things to different people and
      carry implications or baggage or comfort for that matter. I play off of
      terms such as “fertiles vs. infertiles,” “childless” vs. “childfree.” I
      also explore the meaning of barren, which goes back a very long time —
      indicative of the centuries long struggle women before us have had in coming to terms with the often difficult experience of not being able to conceive and
      deliver. Rather than associate barren with negative imagery, I see it as
      potent and powerful and beautiful in its own way. A friend of mine
      calls our experience moving from barren to “baroness” — we grow
      stronger, more regal by owning it rather than letting it own us.

      Barren
      also predates by a long shot “infertile” or “involuntarily childless,”
      each of which put me off more than a little the first time I heard
      them. They struck me as stark and sterile (forgive the pun). By
      comparison “barren” feels almost warm and fuzzy — maybe it’s the B
      sound.

      As for my book it is as much an exploration of how
      society views those who are unable to successfully conceive and deliver
      as it is a personal emotional journey. Ironically, even when those of
      us who are “involuntarily childless,” “infertile” or “barren”  come to
      terms with our lives we often find that society and even those closest
      to us still view us differently than we may perceive ourselves. Labels cut both ways — they either bring people together with a sense of inclusiveness and common interests or they have the power to exclude and drive people apart. It’s up to us, in the end to decide what feels right.

      In short, the
      sub-title is meant to be provocative as is my book. And, remember you
      can’t judge a book by its cover (or it’s subtitle) so I hope you still
      have interest in reading what’s contained within it

      • Stoneweaver

        Well – I should come clean. I’m a writer myself and I have my own slant on things. Good for you though for writing about this often taboo subject and giving people like us a voice. We do need to be heard.

      • myrtle

        It’s been a year since I started following your blog. I found you in my last ditch effort to have IVF. In dealing w/the devastation of failure, you were such a lifeline. As everyone quickly became exhausted with my sadness and bitterness, your space allowed me to pour my heart out without feeling totally deflated – as often happens when one shares with others the most personal and public of tragedies in a face-to-face encounter!

        I remember walking on the beach and just feeling so alone and hopeless. Having this outlet helped me through my meltdown which I masked everyday as I went to work. I won’t follow you on twitter or facebook b/c I am a very private person and don’t want others to know my personal turmoil – it is too painful and I would not be able to deal with others’ talking about it or offering me sympathy as if they understand me. Although I visit you only once a month now, (usually during the hormonal time of the month:)), during my crisis I checked your blog neurotically and found solace in your words and your responses to others’ comments. I will always be deeply grateful to you for your bravery in exposing such a deeply personal painful journey. I will definitely look for your kind voice in other publications and will definitely give myself your book as a gift! All public libraries should carry books like yours!

        • Pamela Jeanne

          Dear Myrtle (and others who visit but don’t comment),

          I’m so glad you found this blog a comforting, welcoming place to be understood and a space that allowed time to heal. Like you I also remember feeling so alone and without hope or understanding in the wake of my last IVF. We and others who have spent time together here have all helped each other.

          I poured much of myself and my experience (along with segments of this blog) into Silent Sorority so that it could be easily accessed, shared and portable  — taken to a beach or a park or someone more comfortable than a computer screen — for future readers who also need to be understood and comforted by knowing they are not alone in making sense of the conflicting and hard to reconcile emotions we’ve faced. 

          I’m happy to report that I figured out how to add tabs to this blog (see headings at the very top of the page) so that I can update and keep my new writing/various posts and pieces accessible outside of FB or Twitter. I’m also mulling over a new space that will allow for anonymous, access as we move to the next chapter of our lives. More on that as I figure out the specifics. Meanwhile, sending my best to you and all of the members of our Silent Sorority…

  • ah, pamela jeanne, your voice will be missed. your perspective offers so much and your departure from this space will leave a void, for sure.

    however you leave so much in the wake of the path you trailblazed. you were here. and others will benefit from reading these words.

    this blog is an enormous contribution to thinking people everywhere, raising awareness, inspiring the hopeless, and instilling compassion for the plight of infertiles.

    I salute all you have accomplished, here and elsewhere. and I hope you continue to find your healing path, and may it bring you great joy along the way.

    I plan to follow your other endeavors as I can, so keep on writing, my friend.

  • monica lemoine

    Awesome post, Pamela, and awesome book. We are so lucky to have you at Exhale, and hope to keep you even as you embark into famous-authorville!

  • Geohde

    Ah, PJ.

    I shall miss your insight here, but I’m so very glad you’ve found blogging a useful outlet,

    much love,

    g

  • Hi Pamela, Just to let you know that I am a regular reader of your blog. I don’t comment as my English continues to be with some limitation. You inspired me and thought me that there can be a fulfilling life even with infertility. Your blog made me deal my infertility with dignity. I am not less of a person because of my infertility. Thank you for commenting on my blog regarding Revolutionary Road. I was embarrassed when I found out that you’re the “Pamela” who commented because you are such a good writer.

  • I’m sorry this blog is not to be continued. I have nominated you for a blogging award all the same, because I think you deserve it. Go here to check it out:
    http://solotrekkingthroughrpl.blogspot.com/2009/07/winning-streak.html

    I’ll still be following your other exploits, and wishing you the best of luck for your upcoming projects….

  • bankie

    Pamela Jeanne,

    I echo what so many of the other ladies here have said – your voice in the IF blogosphere will be sadly missed, however I am happy that your thought provoking posts have not only helped so many of us, but have also enabled you to move on to the next stage in your life.

    After numerous failed IVF attempts I am nearing the end of my journey to conceive. I recognise in myself so much of the earlier bitterness that you said you experienced. It has helped me enormously to realise that it’s OK to admit and even embrace this, if only so that I can one day (hopefully soon!) let it go and move on to a more positive space.

    I have just one more IVF treatment to try before throwing in the towel for good….living without children is still something that terrifies me, but your blog has and will continue to help me so much in coming to terms with this potential outcome.

    Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  • A perfect, perfect post. Thank you. As a brand new visitor in very similar circumstances, I’m grateful for your wisdom and bravery and eloquence.

    Cheers to moving on.

  • Kathy

    I’m sorry to hear you aren’t posting here anymore. You were a comfort and a distraction while I was trying to conceive, and although I am now the enemy, having entered into mommyhood, I still visit once in a while to see what you’ve written and gain new insight. I wish you well in moving farther forward.

    I also wanted to mention, since you reminded me about “UP” in this post, that “The Time Travelers Wife” apparently also contains sensitive material concerning miscarriage. Its apparently graphic, too. Just thought you and some of your readers would like a heads up.

  • Carlynn

    You are a rare role model and I thank you for showing me proof that one can emerge from this painful experience stronger and a better person. I think if I had never read your blog, I would not have believed it possible. There are too few women who blog about living childfree not through choice but because of their reality. I think it is the hardest thing to do and your lessons are doubly valuable because we so rarely hear about them. They may scare us but sometimes it’s the experience we have to live with and you are doing it with a grace and elegance I would not have believed was possible.

  • AE Cote

    Best of luck to you Pamela. You have been an online mentor and inspiration to many. Looking forward to the next phase of your writing career!

  • Glenn

    Just discovered your blog. Its very moving and inspiring. Thank you.

  • Sian

    I have just finished reading your book! Well done. It is a masterpiece.

  • I left you an award at http://www.babyjahn.blogspot.com. Thanks for getting me through some tough times!

  • All I can utter through my tears is… thanks.

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