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Tag Archive for ‘Desire’

I’m something at Igor

I don’t know what I am at him. I want to say angry but that doesn’t feel right.

Here is what I know. When I started seeing Igor I wanted to go home. Back then I knew where home was. I hated where I was. I still wanted a baby even though I knew I would never have one. And I knew I wanted to write and publish a book. Back then there were things that I knew that I wanted.

Now, two and a half years later, I don’t want to move back to Chicago. Now I am okay with being where I am. That may sound like progress to you but to me, as of last week, I started to wonder if it was apathy, surrender, and a general loss of hope. I have no desire to have a child, I am too old and that ship has sailed. And I have absolutely no desire to publish a book. None. And I would like to blame that last one on Igor only all the credit for that lost dream goes to iPad. As soon as I started to read books on iPad I no longer had any desire to publish a book. To want to publish a book in today’s publishing world is like wanting to break into silent film just as the talkies came out. Books, I am afraid, are a dinosaur that is moving into hospice care ( Borders is shutting down stores and when you go into Barnes and Noble and they are selling a device that will soon make their store unnecessary, and Amazon is now selling more electronic books than actual books). As soon as I read my first book on an iPad I just didn’t care about publishing anymore, video had killed the radio star. I am already working in the realm of digital media. I have two blogs and a web page. That is much online presence as I want.  I don’t want to publish “books” for Kindle. Does that mean I am old and outdated? Or does it just mean I know what I don’t want?
Continue reading ‘I’m something at Igor’

What to serve at a pity party?

I know intellectually that it isn’t true but yesterday I got hit hard by the feeling, the feeling that my childlessness is proof that there is something inherently wrong with me, a sort of scarlet “I”. I know it isn’t true. You don’t have to tell me that it isn’t true, I know it isn’t. Yet it feels true. Yesterday I was in a room filled with mommies. They were all young, beautiful, with Pilates bodies and pretty and perky dispositions—and then there was me. I felt like the wallflower in the corner that no one asked to dance.  I sat alone at a table keenly aware that we had nothing in common. I know shit about formula or cribs or what kind of diapers are the best.  And I sat there feeling all kinds of shame and loneliness. Every now and then I could feel their eyes looking at me, I tried to imagine their fantasy of me. My version of their fantasy is likely untrue. I won’t bother to write it. It seems too massochistic to give space to.

I was sitting and waiting for someone to arrive. It was a someone that I didn’t know. He was running late and my my thoughts were running wild. Something about sitting and waiting took my mind to the last time I was sitting and waiting for someone that I didn’t know. She was a famous person. You may know her. She is big and I was so very excited to meet her. This famous someone learned of my infertility and she wanted to know every detail of my infertility journey and then she told me, ” I don’t really want to have kids. I don’t really think I do. But I am going to. I am going to have kids because I don’t want to miss out. If I don’t do it now, I might regret it.  And I just don’t want to regret it.” This famous woman continued to ask me details about the expense and the pain and the ordeal of it all. She didn’t ask out of concern or compassion for me, her questions were for the purpose of information gathering. Not once did this famous woman apologize for my cruel fate, the way someone with empathy might do. Not once did my childlessness impact her line of questioning. Once I told her all of the stats of how many shots, for how many days, and what the side effects were and how much I paid, she then wanted me to know about the very famous sperm donors she had lined up and what great insurance she had and how very certain the doctors were that she would easily get pregnant. I sat there waiting, my mind vacillating between the Pilates-bodies mommies, the fear that I might be stood up and wondering if this famous woman had gotten pregnant by the famous sperm.
Continue reading ‘What to serve at a pity party?’

Je désire (a post of wanton desire and lustful, hedonistic and capitalistic greed)

1. Recently Deja Pseu was raving about RéVive’s Eye Renewal Cream. As soon as I read her review I knew I was sold. The problem is that it REALLY works( and that problem comes from this not being a cheap eye cream).  However an eye cream that is cheap and doesn’t work is no bargain( and I have a shelf filled with these eye cream failures). The ReVive eye cream is on my list of BEST MONEY I EVER SPENT( a list I will soon write up and post—this post also features such expenses as grad school and therapy).  It is so magical that know I want the whole ReVive line. After two days of having a sample of their neck cream and their famous Moisturizing Renewal cream I know I must have them. This is where the bad news comes in. ReVive makes this product called ReVive Peau Magnifique. This 28-day program of magnificence costs a whopping $1500. And it is supposed to be used twice a year. I know it is insane( and I assure you I am not even close to considering buying this) however it is supposed to take 10 years off of your skin and people who have used it say that people thought they had a face lift after the 28th day. If it really works $1500 is much cheaper than the cost of a face lift. And, I would rather not ever have a face lift and still look like I did.

2. I want this chair. I am not at all sure why. But I feel sure that He-weasel could make me one. I, he, and you( if you ever came to visit me) would likely never sit in this chair. That said, must we always want things that are functional? Can’t desire just be about beauty, on occasion.

Continue reading ‘Je désire (a post of wanton desire and lustful, hedonistic and capitalistic greed)’

I dream of boots and beauty and making up

My  84-year-old  fantasy boyfriend and the father of Archetypal psychology, James Hillman*, says that a great clinical question to ask patients is “what do you want?” Hillman wants to know what patients are fantasizing about having? He wants to know this not to help them make that desire happen but to get where their libido is and what they are symbolically trying to get. He says that to know what a patient wants it is more important than to know about who did what to who when they were five. Not to disagree with my brilliant BF, but I do tend to think that what happened at five is pretty important stuff, but I also think what we want says a whole lot about us and lately I am wanting stuff. I want lots of stuff. And all the stuff I want is stuff that I wouldn’t dare tell Igor about. Continue reading ‘I dream of boots and beauty and making up’

Belette turns green on the streets of Valencia

I wish I could blame it on PMS, alas I cannot. I had a bit of a fierce temper tantrum on Friday night. It started when I decided to finally bite the bullet and see if our insurance covered IVF with oocyte donors. It turns out our insurance covers nothing. That means that we cannot try again.

I am as shocked as anyone that I was really considering entering the office of a Reproductive Endocrinologist again let alone start with shots, ultrasounds, and the whole roller coaster of IVF and yet seeing that the doctor last week opened the door that I was sure was permanently shut. It turns out the door wasn’t. If our insurance had covered it I would have tried again. Instead of writing this post I would be making doctors appointments, buying prenatal vitamins and researching the success rate of IVF after 40 with egg donors. As our insurance will not cover it and we don’t have an extra 35 thousand dollars lying around, I am here complaining about it.

As soon as I learned that our insurance covers nothing I found myself hating He-weasel’s company for being so stingy with their medical coverage. If they had been willing to be just a little more generous with benefits we might have a child. Because they chose to save money there is no chance that we will. It was then that I started entering tantrum territory. “I hate them, I hate them. I hate them.” Poor He-weasel tried to comfort me and then he made the minor mistake of defending his company and saying how lucky he was to have his job in the economy. True enough but not well timed.

He-weasel and I went for a walk with Lily. It started off well and I seemed to be walking off my anger at He-weasel’s company. We walked a half a block and then the tantrum began. I started thinking of a friend of mine who has everything I ever wanted. I did a compare and contrast of our lives and how everything has worked out so well for her and she got everything she has ever wanted and that nothing about her life would ever inspire a therapist to say “Oh my gosh, how did you survive all that?” Not only did she have two beautiful children but she has never suffered a trauma. That is when the “it’s not fair” started to echo in my head building like a storm.

The melt down was not terribly dramatic. Here is how it went: The “it’s not fair” began with something I said internally and then it started to sneak its way out my mouth. I said it over and over and then the sobbing and then I couldn’t walk. I stood still as if the pain of it paralyzed me. It made the pain of the ovarian cyst seem like a slight ache. I did an inventory in my mind of every unfair thing that ever happened which only exacerbated the pain.

I am old enough and, ahem, wise enough to know that life isn’t fair. Friday night I didn’t care, actually I don’t care now. I want life to be fair. Or, if it is going to be unfair I would like it to be extra kind to me as it has in my friend’s case.

I have a new list of unfairness that I am moaning over: If I hadn’t the ovarian cysts rupturing I wouldn’t have had gone to the doctor. If I didn’t go to the doctor I wouldn’t have had the idea of egg donor or embryo donor suggested. If I didn’t have the suggestion I wouldn’t have reopened the door to maybe-baby. If that hadn’t happened I wouldn’t have had enough hope to check out our benefits package and find out that there is no way we can try again. If I hadn’t come to that conclusion again I wouldn’t have had the wound reopened and there would have been no melt down on the streets of Valencia.

I am going to a hand surgeon next week. I am a bit terrified what that visit may lead to. As I am in Eeyore mode I feel pretty sure he is going to tell me I need to quit typing, writing and using it to blow dry my hair and apply makeup. If I disappear all of a sudden you will know that my fear was justified.

Here is another post I wrote on the subject: The Amazing Green Hulk of Residual Estrogen and Envy.
Here is a wonderful web site that lists companies which may offer infertility benefits.
Here is a list of the Top 50 Fertility and Adoption Friendly Companies.

Please remember to enter The Skincare Secrets Contest. The contest ends and winner will be announced on August 10.

Hair scares

The gorgeous WendyB and me were talking yesterday about the search for the perfect haircut. Both of us are feeling a little hair fatigue and in search of a haircut will allow us to rule the world
( hey, it could happen). But, I find that I am am afraid any hair cuts that might prove hair raisingly terrifying. I have specific and strong hair cut fears.

The hair cuts that I want to avoid:
1) The stuck in my glory days. Oh, this is a common one. People going back to the same hairstyle that represents the zenith of their youth, beauty and pulling powers. However, the haircut that works at 17 is sad at 37. Isn’t it? A little?

2) Realtor. The realtor hairdo is seen in every real estate office in the USA and is always pictured with the hand on the chin and clever sayings like:Everything I touch turns to SOLD or We have lots to sell. The photo often looks like it was taken at a Glamour Shots Studio. Now, if you are a realtor and you are reading this blog I know for sure you don’t have the realtor hairdo.

3) Soccer mom. If I was a soccer mom I wouldn’t mind looking like one but since I am not I refuse to pass for one. Arty, edgy and cool? Yes. AYSO and the bringer of the snacks? No.

4) The I have given up so I will just put my hair in a ponytail every single day. I do sport this looks for days and weeks at a time. I tell myself that I look French and chic in my ponytail; my capacity to lie to myself is astonishing.

5) The long hair that doesn’t do anything for me and I keep it long so I don’t look old and instead I just look a little sad, muttony and drippy. This is the look I think is my primary look and hence why I am searching for a new haircut which will me make less sad, muttony and drippy.

6) The Mullett. For obvious reasons.

7) Short hair.
I could never-ever-ever do short-short hair. I have a serious moon pie face and with short hair my head might be mistaken for a planet and be named the tenth planet in the solar system and then find telescopes pointing at my big ol’melon. Not good.

So, go on and tell me your hair fears and feel free to make haircut suggestions that do not fall into any of the above seven categories.

About Me

My name is Tracey, aka La Belette Rouge. I am a psychotherapist and the author of Freudian Sip @ Psychology Today. I blog about psychology, my therapy, dreams, writing, meaning making, home, longing, loss, infertility and other things that delight or inspire me. I try to make deep and elusive psychodynamic concepts accessible and funny. For more information, click here .
These blog posts are informational only and not meant to replace individual psychotherapy, counseling or medical advice. If you are in need of help, reaching out to a professional may help you decide how to proceed or how to find the care you need. For a referral, contact

Fertility Planit Video: Letting Go of the Hope of Having genetic Offspring


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