Sunday, January 27, 2013


It's almost 10pm on a Sunday night.  It's been raining ice all day, and snowing in the evening. It's chilly and drafty.  It would be the perfect night to curl up under the covers and be kept warm by someone special.  But. . .I am alone.  And, for the moment, I am going to allow myself to grieve that fact. 

It's easy to say that I feel empowered by entering this journey; that I am proud to be doing it on my own.  To rivet is to fasten; to hold together.  To be riveting is to be held firmly in place.  And, I am in many ways, all of those things.  But to rivet is also to bring two peices together to make a whole, and at present, I feel like a single entity looking in vain for something to grab on to.  Yes, I am making a child on my own; I will be the force that holds us together.  But this child hasn't appeared yet, so for now, I am masked in solitude. 

Is it even logical to try and date anyone at this point?  I know many women are able to do so sucessfully.  A couple of weeks ago, a guy walked into my life when I was least expecting it.  He is sweet, smart, charming, handsome; etc.  When I saw him for the first time, IT was there.  That undeniable spark that has been there with every man I have ever fallen in love with.  Not to say I am expecting to be in love; I'm not even thinking of that.  But I can't deny the pull is there; without it, love can't happen for me.  So, I decided to go with it.  We exchanged numbers; got to know each other.  But, no official date yet.  After a couple of weeks, I can assume he probably won't ask. 

Was it fair to myself to even hope?  Is it fair to him to put myself out there knowing that I will have to let him in on this sooner or later? Is it wrong to want to have some male attention, some affection; maybe even, dare I say it, some sex?  Am I even worthy of it?  I'll never know. 

Which brings me to the grieving.  Last summer, my midwife told me that I would experience a lot of emotions; that the losses I have had would come to the surface.  I expected that I would grieve the loss of my child all those years ago.  I never thought I would also feel the absence of the other loves I had lost.  It's as though I am feeling the longing, the yearning, the wanting while at the same time the hurt, the bitterness, and even the rejection of some of their infidelities.  Do I want them back?  No.  I have moved forward, and I have even forgiven all but one.  But, it doesn't make nights like tonight any less lonely.

To deny something is to prolong it's presence.  To acknowledge it is to begin to conquer it.  If I said I was solely the Riveter, I would be in denial and thus never conquer.  So, for now, I grieve.     


  1. I wish I could say having the baby means less loneliness...but it doesn't. All it means is that before when I felt lonely I could pop out and meet a friend for dinner or go dancing, and now I can't. I'm looking forward to the day when B can talk and engage in activities and is more "company" than he is now. But the good news is I no longer feel the pressure to be out on the town trying to "meet someone" to have a baby with. So, that's definitely an improvement.

    1. Yeah, I'm coming out of it slowly. Having work and educational things to focus on has been helping immensely. I think you're right; being pregnant will reduce the pressure to find "The One," making it easier to be more selective in my relationships. And parenting will probably be a good distraction, at least initially. I think extending my network to include parents of young children will help me get out a bit. It's just the intimacy aspect. I have a great support network, but . . . if I were conceiving with a partner, I would be nurturing a relationship, making love regularly. I think the clinical aspect of this feels kind of cold sometimes. I'm absolutely resolute in my decision; I guess there is no magical way to completely replace the lack of intimacy at this point. I can only acknowledge it and try to cope. And I probably will be fine (?).