By Lisa Manterfield
Spring has sprung and, as usual, I find myself in a cleaning and decluttering frenzy.
I’ve made trips to the thrift store with bags of clothes that are too big, too small, or just plain ugly. I’ve purged my kitchen of all those “good idea” gadgets, rusted cake pans, and broken plates that I’ll get around to gluing “someday.” I’ve even parted with a box full of books, which is a big give-up for me. And I’ve been eyeing the curtains in my living room and thinking about throwing them in the washer.
I go through this every year and find it very therapeutic. But in the past, it’s also been a dangerous pursuit, fraught with emotional landmines.
One year, while rummaging through a rarely used cupboard, I came across some baby-related stuff. I’d been getting rid of all those things bit-by-bit, and I was fairly sure they were all gone. So it was a deflating moment when I unearthed some items that had slipped through the net.
This find was particularly difficult, as it was the glossy information packet we received from our first fertility clinic. It had a picture of a beautiful glowing baby on the front and was filled with encouraging stories, happy family photos, and explanations as to how the expert team would help us build the family of our dreams. Inside I found test results, ovulation charts, and notes written in my own handwriting, reminding me of where I’d been. The whole thing reeked of hope and it stirred up some of those old emotions.
To my credit, I ditched the whole thing without getting upset. I didn’t keep one scrap of paper. There was another, similar item in the cupboard, too, but now I can’t even remember what it was, because I tossed that out as well.
After that, I went to my bookshelves and pulled out the Knitting for Two book I’d been keeping. In addition to the maternity cardigan I started (that was still somewhere in the house) I’d actually used the book to knit a sweater for a friend’s baby. I only did it once, because it was so painful, and I realized that it was part of the hair shirt I chose to wear for a while, when I was forcing myself to be around other people’s babies, and to be “genuinely happy” about pregnancy announcements. This was long before I figured out my need to grieve and heal, so that I could genuinely be happy for someone else’s news. At that time, I had opted to torture myself by knitting from my baby’s book. So out it went.
My purging of baby stuff was a gradual process. At first, I couldn’t get rid of anything. After a while I threw out the assorted test kits, and the doctor info, moving slowly towards throwing out baby clothes (and even a maternity top a friend had given me.) The fertility and pregnancy books went next, and so it continued.
I’ve no doubt that there will be other landmines scattered around my house, even now, and that they’ll come to the surface some day, but now I know I can handle them. And I know I can throw them away with no (or little) love lost.
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Just a reminder that the ebook versions of both I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No to Motherhood and Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen are half price ($4.99) on Amazon until tonight.
I went through a similar experience when, being a couple of years behind, I did my taxes for the year of our final IVF treatments. Seeing the entries for the lab costs, pharmacies, and the meals we ate at the hospital, brought back painful memories.
This resonated with me. It took me nineteen years before I could let go of my collection of infertility books. I too had to take it slowly. It was a long hard process.
I donated all my dolls and toys that I was keeping for my future babies. It was a hard decision but I had to do it. And…while doing taxes, I claim no dependents… that is every year..
I am not on any social media since all the ” perfect, happy families” , ( even though we know they are not) reinforce my own sadness over how life has turned out. No attending baby showers either; just send a nice gift and a big smile when you next see their precious bundle.
I relate to this post a lot right now as I am in a Spring Clean mode both with my home, and my life in general. The last few months I have been preparing and planning to purge my entire house, and overhaul each room. I started a few weeks ago and it’s been a surprisingly emotional process.
We bought this house a year or so into our infertility struggle, it was our first home, the perfect house to start a family in. We had so many plans, and as a person who loves crafting and decorating, I couldn’t wait to start creating this house into a home. Infertility changed everything though and we stayed stagnant for years, bedrooms contain boxes for a life not realized, and I unconsciously found myself ‘waiting for the kids’ before doing any renovations, even the simple ones like painting a wall. Everything we had emotionally, financially, and physically went into having a baby, and just holding on until one came. As painful as it is to sort through your life, let it all go, and stand in the empty room you had filled with so many dreams, I’m learning bit by bit that by clearing it out I’ve made room for new dreams.
As I go through each room, trying to imagine paint colours and actual uses for the two rooms left unused I feel bit by bit, the old version of myself spring up from inside; joy is beginning to return to my life in small flashes. Now that the focus is ‘what can this room be’ instead of it simply being the nursery that never was, there is a bit of excitement back in my spirit. Then I open a drawer or unfold the flap of a cardboard box and the tidal wave of the last thirteen years hits me. It’s not just the things we had saved and kept for our future children, but all the things that remind me just how much I lost within myself along the way in the struggle to get to this point. It’s the oddest sensation existing at opposite ends of the spectrum, switching from a state of grief to excitement. It’s like constantly being released from a prison in short spurts. It feels very foreign.
This spring cleaning session is a few years overdue, and along with the dirt and clutter, it feels as if I’m getting rid of a lot more inside myself, than within the walls of this house.
What a beautifully written post. I found myself relating to much of your story, and wondering myself how I will try and “rebuild/reframe” this house we bought just two years ago to start a family in. I often fantasize about just buying a new house for the new life we will have without children. I guess the next best thing is to redefine what purpose each room will have. I, too, postponed any real commitment to colors for spare rooms, held onto a TV we don’t use to possibly use in a “play room”, and still have one room filled with boxes (thinking once we find out we are pregnant we will gleefully get rid of the boxes).
Recently my parents forced me to take some toys home that they had in their attic. So now I have the dolls from my childhood and even one doll passed down from my mother that I will never get to share with anyone. It’s sad when you realize that a lot of what you were saving in life was to share with your future children. Now it doesn’t seem to make sense why I held onto things, and when I see these things they feel different to me now.
I can relate so much .. I am moving out of my apartment that I have lived in for four years .. my second bedroom remained empty in hopes of having a baby in here one day .. time passed and it was left empty and my dream on hold .. a few months ago, i started working from home and made it into a home office .. i must say it looks fabulous and more full .. even though i wanted to bring a baby into this room, other things happened
I will be moving in about a week or two and i am dreading coming across fertility bills and pamphlets .. sigh
There are landmines of hope through out my childhood room. Things that I had planned to give my child.
I am an only child with little family. There is no one to give my fathers hankerchiefs too. There are baby blankets that were saved or gifted to me, for some day. The onesie that I have been saving for 15 years.
The books about pregnany after 35 were difficult to give up but didnt feel like pieces of me. The intent for these objects has been in place for so long now.