A haunted house

Did you hear the news?

They’re engaged.

They’re having another baby.

They bought a house.

She started her student teaching.

She weighs 9 lbs, 3 oz.

I smile.

I congratulate them.

After all, I really am happy for them.

Infertility taught me how to compartmentalize my own grief with others’ joy a long time ago.

It prepared me for my divorce journey. I'm a natural now.

I can swallow the tears and find a way to bring light into my eyes.

You would never know I was sad, unless I want you to.

Besides, other people deserve good things, and they deserve to be celebrated.

So I will smile through the new babies, job promotions, and engagements (even my ex-husband’s).

Their joy doesn’t diminish my own.

However, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel left behind.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel like a failure.

Ghosts and Cobwebs

Sometimes my body feels like a haunted house.

A place that once held life.

A place that once held dreams.

It’s just empty now.

A vessel wandering through life trying to survive, but not live.

And there are ghosts, reminders of what used to be there.

Scars on my lower abdomen.

A tattoo on my forearm.

A phantom line on my ring finger.

There are moments when I have to leave my body.

Moments when it is too painful to be truly present there.

When I return, I allow myself to be alive again.

But with life comes pain, and I have to let myself feel that too.

Shame.

Guilt.

Sadness.

Anger.

All deep wells of pain.

I wanted...

I just wanted that life.

I wanted it more than anything.

I wanted the white picket fence, the porch swing, the dog.

I wanted the house full of kids and laughter.

I wanted the minivan full of booster seats and car karaoke.

I wanted to go back to school someday.

I wanted a partner to support me and my aspirations.

I wanted champagne toasts when we reached our goals.

I wanted ice cream pints when we failed.

I wanted someone to grow old with.

I wanted someone to buy me flowers.

I wanted someone to celebrate my birthday.

I wanted someone to celebrate.

I wanted to surprise him with little love notes in his briefcase.

I wanted to cook his favorite meal when he was having a bad day.

I wanted someone to watch movies with when the kids were asleep.

I wanted someone to help fill the cooler with the kids' favorite snacks before road trips.

I wanted someone to sing the lullabies when I was too tired.

I just wanted someone to help carry it all.

The groceries.

The backpacks.

The pain that life brings.

I wanted someone to get rid of the bugs in the house and help me fight the bedtime monsters.

And maybe, someday, I will have all those things.

I am still hopeful.

But for now, I will continue to celebrate those around me who are living my dream.

I will save the tears for when I am alone.

I will find new dreams and pursue those instead.

But the truth is this:

My body is not a haunted house.

My old dreams have not disappeared.

The porch light is still on. I suppose that means someone's home.