Eggs For Sale.

When I was 26 I was so desperate for money that I made an application online to donate my eggs. I have never told another living soul about this. If you’re reading this you are now privy to my secret egg donation story. It’s one of many stories I’ve never shared because, well…let’s face it, it’s kind of fucking weird. Nonetheless, I'm going to go there because I know there are women feeling what I felt in those moments of desperation and I’ve learned so much since then. I want to share with you what I have learned. I want to tell you this story so that you will understand that in your deepest, darkest moments of desperate loneliness and fear there are others feeling that same wave of sadness and defeat. You are not alone. You’re never alone. I’ve been in that place as well and I’m not there now. I want to show you the road map out and I want you to hear me in this moment as I whisper softly just to you: “it won’t always feel this way. It will get easier. You can be anyone”

My ex husband had an ex wife. Her name was Trina. She had a mental illness and she was not supported. I was guilty of judging her behaviour and her situation. I was guilty of being an ignorant and non-empathetic 26 year old girl who didn’t try to understand what she was going through or offer her help and compassion. My twenties were filled with an over abundance of self absorbed moments and in these moments I judged everyone and lived only for myself. Trina one day shot herself in her bedroom, leaving my then husband and myself to raise five kids. It is a shocking and horrendous story. All throughout my late twenties and early thirties I made this story mine. I’d tell whoever would listen, and feel their shock and awe and compassion wash over me like a salve. It became a need. Instead of feeling the sadness for Trina who had ended her life early, I fed my own sadness and fear with my story about Trina. I made Trina’s devastating end about me. We do that so often as humans. We make the shitty things that happen in life our memoir. The attention we garnish from our negative stories becomes our identity and so we tell it often. Hoping for the next biggest reaction. It’s like an addiction and we nurture it sometimes for years and years. We become our story. It consumes us and eats us until all that is left if we allow it, is our negative story.

I went online to sell my eggs after Trina died because I was 26 years old and we were feeding five kids and two adults with one small income. I had no education past high school and no real skills or energy to offer any employer. To say I was depressed is probably an understatement. I was a shell of a human being. I was as unhappy and loathing of life as any person could become. Yet, nobody knew. Nobody knew that I hated myself for hating my life. Nobody could tell that I was so hard up for money that I was willing to sell my eggs online. I lived in a nice home, wore pretty clothing and I smiled a lot. I also washed my walls every single day with an entire bottle of Mr Clean.

Each day I would wake up and before I could do anything I would wash my walls. I needed to smell the lemon freshness of those clean walls and God forbid someone would pop by unannounced before those walls were washed. I needed to wash my walls like I needed to breath and eat. It was a hunger and an intense desire that probably killed more than a few brain cells from breathing in all those chemicals and definitely was bringing me down. It went on for almost two years. I had to repaint my house because I wore off the paint with the cleaning. And yet, in those moments and years I didn't think much of it. It was only after I sought help from a therapist because I was so down about being a woman in her twenties raising five kids, that it was brought to light.

“stop washing your walls now” The therapist named Betty said to me.

“You are washing your walls because it is the only thing you think you can control in your life right now. Do not buy any more lysol and STOP washing your damn walls.”

I took Betty’s advice. It helped a lot and I did stop washing my walls. I don’t know that I became any more self aware or any nicer because of the therapy, but the wall cleaning stopped and for a while I felt a bit better.

I’m telling you about my previous life because I know there are those of you out there struggling. Women who feel like they are not their true selves. Beautiful souls clamouring from the inside to be released into the light filled world. I have been you. I have been in that deep darkness and I want you to know there is a way to the surface. I want you to know that there are ways to climb out of it and feel the warmth of the sun shining on your heart. You CAN feel better. You WILL feel better.

For almost ten years I would have the same dream almost every night. It was a vast darkness and I felt as though I was awake, swimming and climbing through a thick dark nothingness place. I would feel as though I was screaming into the blackness with an intense panic and fear. As I woke there was always the instant desperate thought that I had forgotten something vital and if only I could just concentrate hard enough I would remember what it was and I could stop the dreams from occurring. It was only after I figured out who I really am in this life and the keys to unlocking myself that these dreams ceased. I truly believe that these dreams were from my subconscious self, trying to guide me to become the person I am today. Trying to help me remember how to unlock all of the abundance, happiness and potential I had to offer the world.

I never sold my eggs. I came as close as talking to a kind woman on the phone and filling out an application form. I researched potential side effects and I truly considered how much that ten thousand dollars could ease the financial burden in my life, but I couldn’t actually go through with it. I can look back on those difficult times almost 20 years ago now and see that I needed all of that. The strife, the heartache, the sadness. I needed to experience it all so that I would understand how to love in the face of it. The dark parts of life are just part of the journey. They guide us and build us into people who can withstand fear and turn to love in spite of it.

I spent so many years feeling sorry for myself. When Trina killed herself I felt sorry for me. My first reaction was “fuck. now I have to raise five kids”. Instead of being a loving, kind and supportive step mom I was instead a selfish and horrified woman who had no idea how to deal with adversity. I know now that all of that was part of the journey I needed to experience to get to where I am now. I know that it was just part of my soul’s evolution. The reason I share this with you is this:

Find the ways to grow NOW. Search for meaning in everything and use it to become the person you are meant to be NOW. Don’t wait to become self aware. Don’t wait to activate your true heart purpose. Be the you that this life intended you to be and start today. You will always get there. It’s how life works. You were meant to get to the place that you end up at in the end. That’s just the nature of the universe, however I firmly believe that there are multiple ways to travel to that destination. You can go by foot and navigate it without a map or you can take the jet plane and type the fucking coordinates into your GPS first.

zoom zoom babes. Let’s go there together.

Trista xo

Trista SmithComment