You came in the house. You looked around, noticing the placement of furniture. The decorations. The curtains. The lights. The texture of the walls, and the floor. you went, "Hmm."
You immediately imagined how you'd change this chair from the window to a corner- "it would look better that way."
You gave in and moved a little statue from a side table to the mantle. Emboldened, you relocated a plant from the corner of mantle to a corner where the window is.
You got yourself hooked- you moved the stuff to another room, to paint the walls in a color you like, "that's who I am." You replaced the carpet, for something that is more to your taste.
You then found yourself moving around the furniture- the sofa, now upholestered in a fabric you prefer, is now in the center, not against a wall anymore, "to make it two rooms." The armchair that was resting in one corner is now at one side of the sofa. You replaced the shades of the lamps for something you like, "the shades looked so old, time to bring in new!"
You went through the books, tossing out books that made you go "eww" "nasty", and then re-organized the books you determined worthy to keep, alphabetically.
You replaced the art on the wall, that defines you.
Can you see the problem here?
You just changed MY house, into something that YOU like, to define YOU, never mind that it's MY house.
The house, who is an echo of who I am, my personality- and you attempted to change all that to match YOU, to make you feel comfortable, to match your expectations.
That's the problem-
You tell me how to get better; you're just moving MY sofa to one other side of the room.
You proclaim to me on what to do with my health; you're re-organizing MY books.
You give unasked advice about how I "should" handle my grief; you're upholestering MY favorite armchair.
You, uninvited, try to fix the issue that I live with; you're putting artwork on MY walls, pretty much a band-aid.
You get frustrated or angry about how I deal with my own mental/emotional health, on my own time; you're replacing MY carpet for a rug you prefer.
And you declare your displeasure about my journey; you're painting MY walls in your favorite color.
You're trying to change me into someone you think I should be, when it's NOT who I am. At first I was going to say "I'm sorry for disappointing you, not meeting your expectations," when I realized no... it's YOU who should apologize for trying to change me into someone I am not.
Would anyone wonder why I'd toss you out the door if you tried to change my house?
******* This post is for us who go through the infertility journey, dealing with good-intended yet hurtful advice, and judgmental comments. Can also apply for individuals living with chronic illness, grief, trauma, mental illness, domestic violence, recovery, etc.*******