Friday, June 28, 2013


Occasionally, my oh-so-measured, thoughtful and patient perspective fails me and I'm subsumed by rage at my imperfect situation. A confluence of events or thoughts or moods will set me off down a resentful, regretful, growling path of anger. Ready?

I am angry that I chose the wrong man to marry. I'm angry that I stayed with him too long. I'm angry that the relationship stole my most fertile years. I'm angry that it left me so financial insecure I still cannot feel confident about bringing a child into my world. 

I'm angry that I let myself fall in love with and build roots with someone else who does not want another child. I'm angry that I clearly don't know how to plan my life well. I'm angry that I didn't realize years ago how much I'd want a baby now. I'm angry I didn't freeze my eggs earlier. I'm angry that I haven't done the right things to create a life secure enough to raise a child. I'm angry that I didn't realize or ignored that I needed to be seriously thinking and planning for that years ago.

I'm angry that I was raised to believe I could pursue any life or ambition I wanted and it would All Be OK if I worked hard enough. I'm angry I believed fate would be kind to me and magic would give me what I wanted. I'm angry that my women's lib education never included a chapter about planning to fit a child into my life, a chapter that would include straight talk about fertility and the very real dangers of staying too long with Mr. Wrong. I'm angry that I for too long chose what I thought was love over my own desires and needs and better judgment.

I'm angry at the passage of time. I'm angry that I'm aging. I'm angry that my body is losing its buoyancy and fertility. I'm angry that my energy level and time is limited. I'm angry that I will be approaching old age when my child, even if I have one tomorrow, graduates from college. I'm angry that I'll likely not see my grandchildren become adults.

I'm angry at the influence fear has had on my decisions and subsequently my life. I'm angry that I can't or don't know how to do more to make my situation better. I'm angry at the imperfection of life, and the fact that we have to learn to accept the things we cannot change. I'm angry that I'm disappointed.

Whew. Do you feel better now, too? It's always good to let it out. 

I post this rant with great reluctance because it's not normally how I feel about my life. The rage is like a mean thunderstrom that passes through my pscyhe. It thrashes and booms and blows, but then it goes away and the sun comes back out. I return to feeling OK, albeit not thrilled, with How Things Are.

But if I'm being completely honest about my experience on this blog, and that's the idea here, I must share the dark and ugly of it as well as the hopeful and happy. This is not a walk down the yellow brick road. Wait, that passes through the Witch's Wicked Forest, doesn't it? Well, my point exactly. We all run into our malicious haggish selves sometimes, but if we're courageous we find ways to melt her. 


  1. Love this post! I heard recently an interview with Claire Messud about her new book Woman Upstairs. She talked about how important (and unacknowledged) anger is for women. You might like the book. Sounds like it touches on similar themes!

    1. I bought that book a few weeks ago! Haven't started reading but it's on my nightstand...