What the hell type of a sugar am I supposed to add to that?
„When life gives you lemons, use them to make lemonade.” 2008, I used this saying as my opening sentence for an application letter. Glass half full or half empty. Et cetera. With drinks, the concept of “it all depends on how you choose to look at things” seems kind of fun, simple and straight forward. Naturally, the glass is always half full! (Preferably filled with lemonade, understood…)
But can this principle really be applied on all of life’s circumstances? Does it really only depend on how I choose to look at things? How do I “make lemonade” when my problem doesn’t consist of vitam-C-containing citrus fruit, but, say, a miscarriage and 15 months (and counting) of unfulfilled hope for a baby?
My colourful collection of lemons in this scenario: insecurity, doubt, back pains, abdominal cramps, pulling in my breasts, exhaustion, pimples, blood, disappointed hopes, loss, grief, helplessness. And not once, but in ever changing combinations and intensities every few weeks anew. That’s bitter. What the hell type of a sugar am I supposed to add to that?
I don’t pretend that I am above all this these days. I still get a few days each cycle when I find myself, let’s say, not exactly in the best of moods. But I don’t drive myself crazy for weeks anymore. And I no longer feel this same intense desperation when I am forced to admit to myself that, once again, it didn’t work.
What I am about to share with you might be uncomfortable to read and maybe you would prefer not to know all these details. But I want to share with you which ingredients I found to transform this unenjoyable concoction into a bitter-sweet cocktail for myself. (Which I think are the best ones, anyways!)
The first ingredient: Sugar of Knowledge
I would have never learned how many women and couples I actually know personally who had to live through miscarriages themselves — sometimes multiple times. Or who gave birth to their dead child. Or who had to burry their newly born baby after just a couple of precious hours or months together.
Up until March I knew of exactly one miscarriage. And that was all I knew. This woman had a miscarriage. Period. Now I know of so many personal tragedies that I stopped counting them. My gynaecologist told me: “If a woman has at least two children, it is more likely than not that she also went through at least one miscarriage.” WHAT!? I guess that is the unmasked truth behind: “Many things can still happen in the first three months of a pregnancy.”
I was completely overwhelmed when they told me in the hospital: “Yes, the embryo didn’t develop as it should. Would you prefer to take pills to terminate the remainders or would you rather have a curettage?” First, I try to understand: what exactly is a curettage? And I learn that it is an operation where some sort of vacuum cup is wedged into the uterus to suck out the remaining material of the pregnancy. The tablets on the other hand cause small contractions that are meant to help the body reject and expel the tissue. However, sometimes that alone is not successful, and the tablets have to be followed up with a curettage after all to finish the job. I only want to cry, but it seems clear that I am expected to grief some other time. A couple of hours later for example, when I flush everything down my toilet at home. And afterwards of course. Now, I need to sign forms and make decisions. I take the pills, and everything works “well”. Brilliant.
I learned so much about how my body works. That it can take a couple of months for the natural hormone balance to establish itself after 13 years of hormonal contraception. What purpose these hormones naturally fulfill in my body. That sex is a necessary pre-condition to becoming pregnant, but that it is absolutely inconsequential for most of the days in a woman’s cycle. And even if you happen to hit the few fertile days (which are hard to predict) and egg and sperm cell happen to find each other and succeed to merge, there are still a million things than can go wrong and the pregnancy never really begins.
Today, I have learned all this, but I also came across a whole bunch of new questions. Does sexual education for young girls really have to focus pretty much all of its attention on scaring us to the bones about unwanted pregnancies? Should we really continue not sharing any of the rest of the story just to be sure? Isn’t there at least a time a couple of years later when we should close that information gap? Do I really have to google all this stuff for myself and somehow try to make sense of which information is legitimate and which is just a claim that isn’t necessarily substantial? Did I just simply not pay attention when all of this was explained back then? Or do we really think it’s a good idea that the first time I’m ever exposed to all of this is in the hospital while I am under shock? No, I don’t think that is a good idea. That’s why I decided to share my experience with as many people as I can and why I am sharing this story with you today.
The second ingredient: Sugar of Strength
I didn’t just take an intensive masterclass in biology, medicine and sociology on my own body. I am also working to qualify for honorary certificates in skills such as patience, trust and humility. A little shocked, I had to admit to myself recently that I couldn’t really count any of the above characteristics as my strengths last year.
Amongst all the lessons I learned throughout this process, one stands out as the most valuable to me: I don’t make a baby. And I also don’t plan a baby. A new life is given to me in its own time and not when it suits my schedule. All I can do is welcome this new life and invite it to grow inside of me. My baby needs to rely on me. But it also independently determines its own fate from the very first moment. I cannot force it to accept my invitation.
This realisation is a gift from my first child. We only had six weeks together. And, from a medical perspective, it was never more than a cluster of cells in my uterus. Nevertheless, it changed me forever. I think it helped me become a better mother. (Imagine if I got pregnant last year in June. I would probably have considered the child my property for the rest of my life and constantly reproached it for not showing me more gratitude… Brr!)
And it gave me the confidence that I can get pregnant. I no longer doubt that sooner or later we, too, will experience a real birth and hold our child in our arms. And for all this I am very grateful. Even if patience continues to regularly test me.
The third ingredient: Sugar of inspiration
How is this connected to my path to self-employment? Deeply. For one, because this my wonderful coaching community helped me through this time like no one else. Because they inspired and competently guided me to discover and taste the lemonade in this heap of lemons. Because I know from the bottom of my heart that coaching can have a positive influence on a person’s life. Because I want to pass on this gift — now more so than ever. Because although I was on sick leave for the last two weeks in March, the day after my miscarriage I coached someone else and felt absolutely great for those two hours. (While I wanted zero to do with my “real” job.) Because my ingenious master plan actually envisaged that I would start my self-employment during parental leave so that in case I failed, thanks to German law, I would still have a safe job to return to after two years. Because this plan didn’t work and the repeated delay and uncertainty drove me crazy. Because that finally led me to gather all my courage to jump and leave the corporate career. Because now I am very proud to be the Sandra who takes her life into her own hands and not the one who just sits around unhappily and makes all kinds of plans but never acts. Because I made lemonade and because every now and then, I see how my story inspires others to work out their own recipe as well.
You, too, have the choice now. You can let my much too detailed story spoil your mood. Or you can do something else with it?
Read on to discover how my journey continued.
