The New Normal
Fifteen years ago this weekend I packed up all my belongings, waved goodbye to Michigan and the life I knew, and headed west to San Jose, California.
I was truly a stranger in a strange new land. I knew two people in the Bay area: my brother who lived an hour north in the East Bay, and a long-distance friend who also lived an hour from my new home. I didn’t know the lingo — Silicon Valley buzzwords and acronyms filled a notebook I kept to try to make sense of it all. I got lost driving to the grocery store and dry cleaner (this was pre-SatNav mind you). I struggled to find my footing.
Gradually, with some trial and error — some of it quite embarrassing and awkward — I got into a good new groove and found a way to fit in. Today, I identify as a Californian.
I share this because it parallels a transition to another “new normal” — the one I write about here: pursuing a fresh start when nothing seems to fit, when the future looks murky, when life feels unfamiliar. It’s never easy to find a new normal when you’re in the midst of major change. It’s chronically exhausting and emotionally trying, but slowly, slowly you find your way. Before too long wounds heal and you’re back on your feet striding forward with confidence and purpose you never thought you’d find again.
I am reminded of how important it is to capture the full story of change — from the isolation and pain to the place of acceptance and peace — when I hear from Silent Sorority readers who only are beginning to understand the scope of the experience contained within it. You’ll see what I mean when you read this review posted yesterday on Amazon.com from the mother of a daughter struggling with infertility:
“I am deeply grateful to the author for writing this book. My stomach turned when I read some of the stupid comments made to encourage and give hope, the insensitive things said in ignorance or impatience, because I was guilty of saying them myself to my own daughter. I have a much better understanding of what she is experiencing. I have felt puzzled and helpless when I have seen her lose it with pregnant friends and family members, but knowing that every blasted 28 days she receives another reminder of loss and failure really brings it into focus. This is a cross no one should have to bear. It is more pain than anyone should have to endure. I now notice all the constant reminders that are all around us every day, all the time. A ceaseless reminder of the one thing she desires so much being beyond her reach. But the hope that Pam gives for finding her way out of the pain is beautiful. There is no recovery from this. How can one recover? It isn’t possible. I am going to send a copy to a family member who has been especially insensitive. She should have to go through the Twilight Zone.”
My heart goes out to the reviewer’s daughter and to the reviewer herself for recognizing how she can make the experience less isolating. In the words contained above I was transported back to the angst I once felt. Some memories will always prompt a deep emotional response and leave an indelible mark.
Fifteen years later when I drive by my old neighborhood and the dry cleaner that was once hard to find I still recall how it felt to sit crying inside my car because I felt so lost and alone in a strange new place.
Sometimes we roll the dice on a new life, and sometimes life rolls the dice for us. There can be great tension and anguish while we wait for those dice to fall. Either way, you can still come out a winner.
Jane G
I recently read your book, and have been meaning to contact you ever since. I found so much resonance in it. I laughed and I cried. The experience is so universal to anyone who has experienced infertility anywhere in the world, be it the US, UK, here in Ireland or anywhere. We all experience similar emotions and have to put up with the same insensensitive clap trap from people who just don’t get it.
Fair play to the reviewer quoted for reading this book as a way of understanding her daughter’s pain. I recently opened up about it to my only sister. She has known for years what we are going through, but not really thought about how I see things from my perspective. I am going to pass your book along to her, and hopefully she will pass it on to other members of my family. I think people have no idea of the issues infertile people have until it is absolutely spelled out for them. Well done on writing the book. You verbalised so well what I could not in a million years. Thank you so much.
And by the way, if you are ever back visiting family in Dublin, I live in Tipperary and would love to meet for a coffee and a chat :)
Pamela
Dear Jane: Thanks so much for your comment. I greatly value hearing from those near and far — actually we’re all nearer than we might think given the bond we share! It’s wonderful to connect with those who understand and get it. I’d very much enjoy a coffee and chat. We try to get to Ireland at least once a year. Will keep you posted on any new plans. Meanwhile, wishing you the very best…
loribeth
Great analogy, Pamela. Growing up, because of my dad’s job, I moved around a lot & was often “the new girl.” I hated being singled out like that. It always seemed to take so long to feel some measure of belonging & acceptance… but of course, when it came time to pack up & move on to the next town, I wouldn’t want to leave there either. Being the lone childless adult woman in the room sometimes does make me feel like that new girl/odd girl out again — although the older I get, the more comfortable I feel in my own skin.
Jill Pugh
Just finished your book and then tracked down this blog. Thank you for your writings! I’m 5 years into the infertility journey but I started a little later than you. I needed your book. Love this post & I am going to quote the rolling the dice quote on my FB page. I’m also striving to embrace “the new normal”….some days better than others. Thank you for a new vocabulary and perspective.
Pamela
Dear Jill,
Thanks for taking the time to locate and comment on this blog. It’s always gratifying to hear from readers who found value in the book. I love your description “a new vocabulary” … it’s so apt! I remember before starting the blog and book struggling to find words to relate the experience in ways that would allow others to understand. All the best, Pamela
p.s. Alex was central to forming the dice concept…I want to give credit where it’s due!