Life Isn't Fair

I've been working this concept lately, that life isn't fair.

It first came to me when my dear friend C, and her husband confessed to me that they are struggling with infertility. The details aren't important, beyond the fact that they haven't been trying long by infertility standards, a bit more than a year. But what struck me was when C said, "I don't understand why this is happening to us. It isn't fair."

And I so deeply appreciate the trust that she placed in me for sharing all this.

But my immediate thought was not, I'm afraid, sympathy, but remembering her perfect wedding, that seemed to come in a two year period of friends joining in wonderful unions with amazing partners. I adore C. I love her husband. And together, they are amazing.

But when all my friends were getting married, lord, I was lonely. My heart ached.

I thought, "why not me? what's wrong with me? It isn't fair."

But then I would think of another beloved friend with an amazing husband... and a brain tumor. And another amazing friend with no partner AND... with breast cancer. The second friend will soon make five years cancer free, has just fallen in love for the first time, and seems to have a bright future. The first friend has since had a beautiful baby girl with her handsome husband... and lives every day knowing she is on borrowed time.

Life isn't fair.

I got a great deal out of life. I dare not complain.

I made my peace with single-dom. I'm happy now. I'm not lonely. Not only do I not yearn for a partner, I can't even imagine having one (except for loving the idea of help with dishes and finances). I don't want anyone to intrude on my life.

But here's the thing that I continue to struggle with.

My body.

And compared to infertility, it's so stupid.

But in today's society, not having a body that's a normal weight means there's something wrong with you.

Right?

I imagine people judging me all the time.

Of course it's me judging me most of all.

Of course, I'm in excellent company. I think something like 2/3 of American adults are overweight. I know lots of overweight folks who are amazing, even amazingly attractive. I love them dearly. I don't care about their weight.

But I can't get okay with it for myself.

My friend is (more or less) effortlessly thin. And I fail at every diet I try. Yet I have a darling dumpling of a baby girl. And I'm pretty sure she would happily trade in her weight for a baby.

But that's not a choice we get to make.

So I'm struggling with the unfairness, of being told by a doctor that there's nothing I can do about my weight until I wean Calliope (and all efforts to lose weight seem to confirm this), even while I appreciate his honesty. It's far better than being told that there's nothing wrong with me and thus feeling like my problem is all in my head.

And realistically, I don't hold much hope for his liver cleansing cure. Nothing has helped so far. Why should that?

Regardless, I'm struggling mightily to find my peace with life's inequalities, and also to not beat myself up and feel guilty for my emotions.

I'm having a hard time with this challenge.

Even while I am, truly, loving every other aspect of my life. (Okay, the fatigue isn't my favorite thing either, but it's certainly bearable.)

I'm ashamed to admit all this, but I'm hoping that somehow airing it out will liberate me. I hope you all don't think I'm insanely shallow for these thoughts. I'm not proud of them.

PS the NYTimes photo is unfairly flattering.