Relinquishing control and embracing the in-between
So that my type-double-A-no-chill personality doesn’t ruin me
There are times I reread my own work—journal entries, manuscripts, Substack—and cringe, though I imagine many writers experience the same phenomenon. Other times, like today, I laugh. A journal entry from a few months ago starts, “I woke up today and chose violence.”
That’s the spirit, Bia! Love that for you!
How could you possibly love that, you might ask.
Easy, I tell you. It’s because it means she’s (I’m) still fighting. To me, in this case, violence means fighting for my peace, my goals, and my joy—without letting all the nonsense happening in the US (and my life) wear me down.
January has been one hell of a month, in which I recoil at the news almost daily. I usually love January, the month of doors, of change, of new beginnings. A time to dig deep, reflect, and soften in preparation for growth. But this January was sandpaper, wearing me down until I had close to nothing left.
That’s the way they want it, I suspect. If we are all worn down, we can’t fight, we can’t resist. We may not have control over each decree, but we do have control over ourselves and what we can give to other people. Kindness, patience, respect, mercy.
For me, this entire month has been about relinquishing control and learning to love the moments in between. It has been a slog. There were tears, and anxiety, and breakdowns, and fear, and anger. Then nothing.
I don’t want to be numb. But I don’t want those other things either.
Last week, I mentioned a woman at a conference speculating that the two things that provide the most meaning in life are having kids and writing a book. This sentiment keeps percolating in my brain. I can’t just get over it. For starters, how wildly inappropriate it is to prescribe meaning to another’s life. But also… because they are the two things I’m fighting for the most and I have absolutely zero control.
Like most people, my infertility journey has been far from fun.1 When it got really bad, I spent ages convincing myself I didn’t want kids. Sometimes those thoughts still pop into my brain. When would you write? You wouldn’t be able to travel as much as you love. You love your quiet time! But when push came to shove, I still wanted all the messiness and creativity and joy that comes with having kids.
Huz and I are lucky enough to consider surrogacy. It was meant to be a solution to a years-long problem. I thought once we made the decision things would move quickly. Spoiler alert: they do not. After months of interviewing agencies, we submitted an application full of photographs and heartfelt messages and insights into our family. We even submitted a video a few months later. Still nothing.
Several surrogates have passed on us—some because of our location (CT is awesome, by the way), others because they don’t meet our doctor’s criteria. Still, it’s those few no’s that have crushed me. I have done everything I possibly could at this point [footnote: yes, including engaging adoption agencies] to start a family. Six surgeries, three rounds of IVF, a failed transfer, supplements, acupuncture, yada yada yada. Now that fate rests in someone else’s hands. Someone has to pick us.
The struggle to build a family feels eerily similar to another uphill battle I’ve been fighting—publishing my first book. You spend years working on a book, take all the classes on querying, editing, the publishing process, then send out scores of queries…. And just wait?
It’s like I became a Pick Me girl, clamoring for attention, overnight and I never wanted that.
All this anxious waiting, lack of control, and depressing headlines made for a rough start to the year. I was feeling numb. Then one lucky shower thought hit me. My life is so much better than it was five years ago. At that moment, it felt like a light pierced through my foggy numbness. I had been so consumed by what I lacked that I’d forgotten to celebrate what I had already built.
I am lucky. I know that. I have family and friends that give my life meaning. A husband who supports my writing (even about my personal life—you’re a gift, huzz!) and makes every moment fun. A business I started that has continued to grow and surprise me. Two whacky, cuddly dogs.
In focusing all my energy on the things I didn’t have (yet), I was letting the good things slip me by. When that happened, I lost all intentionality. As I wrote last week, intentionality is what gives life meaning.
So, I’ve decided to keep choosing violence—the good kind. The passion and intention that make life worth living. I’m embracing every messy, uncertain, in-between moment of my story because that’s where the living happens. In choosing to embrace the messy in-betweens, I’m not giving up control—I’m finding a new way to fight. And that, I think, is the real meaning of January.
Essay for another day.