By Lisa Manterfield
I’ve run this post several times over the years, but it remains one of the hottest topics and the question I’m most often often asked. If you’ve been a reader for while, think of this as a chance to look back and see how far you’ve come.
The question is: is it possible to ever get over being unable to have children?
I can’t see far enough ahead to know for sure if infertility and being childless is something I will ever “get over,” but based on another life-changing experience, here’s what I think:
When I was 15, my dad passed away suddenly and everything changed for me. I remember feeling immediately alienated from the other kids in school because I was no longer like them. I felt as if everyone was staring at me to see how I behaved, to see what someone with a dead dad looked like. People didn’t know what to say me, so many just said nothing. Several adults said variations of “This will make you grow up quickly” so I took them at their word and forged a new grown-up path.
For many years, my dad’s death defined me and I saw everything in my life through that filter. I felt angry and rebelled against people who had living parents, especially if they didn’t appreciate them. Unexpected things would trigger my grief and those old emotions would come at me from nowhere.
Over time, this eased. I went about my life and slowly, the fact that I didn’t have a dad no longer factored in. The trigger situations became less frequent and I thought about his death less and less.
It’s now been 30 years since he passed away. His death no longer directly colors my life. It is something I experienced a long time ago and found my way through. I think about him sometimes, but mostly with fondness and only occasionally do I think about the traumatic time around his death.
I have never forgotten my dad, nor will I ever forget him. His memory and my loss are woven into the fabric of my being, but don’t identify me as someone who has lost. I can say that I am “over” the loss of my dad, but I will never forget that he’s no longer here.
So, now if I go back over this story and replace the loss of my father with the loss of the children I never had, I imagine the story will unfold in much the same way. I’m already on the road to healing. Situations that cause my grief to flare up are very rare these days and the traumatic period of my life is blending into my library of memories. I am well on the way to being “over” infertility and the loss I experienced because of it, but it will always be a part of who I am and I don’t expect I will ever forget.
If you’re struggling to navigate the “getting over it” road, you’ll find lots of help and ideas in Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen.
It’s on sale, along with my first book, I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No to Motherhood, for only $2.99 until the end of March.
Your story is very similar to me only I was 17 when my dad passed away and it was cancer so not sudden. It very much defined me for many years and I still feel the loss but rarely. I’ve worked my way through it. I imagine the loss of potential children will play out in much the same way. It saddens me that I feel intense jealousy at time towards friends who still have their fathers and have children.
I think it’s really positive to acknowledge and accept those feelings. Don’t judge yourself for having them. Hugs x
One of the unique features of grief is that it comes in waves. I don’t think those things we grieve ever truly leave us, but the waves come much less frequently over time. When we are first faced with the death of a loved one or that we will remain childless, those waves of grief can hit us several times a day. A year out, maybe it hits every few days or weeks. 10 years out, easily weeks if not months go by without being hit. However, while the frequency decreases over time, when a wave hits, it is still quite painful.
So true, Susan. The “grief attacks” come less frequently, but when one happens, the pain is still intense. I am grateful, however, that the pain doesn’t last as long now.
For me, I don’t think I’ll ever “get over” the loss of my Daddy (he died from colon cancer when I was 24) or not being able to have children due to infertility. I do know that I have embraced my infertility and accepted my childless not by choice life. I suppose some may say that means I’ve “gotten over it.” But for me, it means I’ve learned to navigate the grief and focus on the good…
I’ve written that I think it all depends on what we mean when we say we’ve got “over it.” For me, getting over it doesn’t mean forgetting. It means remembering without pain.
I love this, Mali. It gives me a new way to think about getting “over it.” I’m not forgetting, but I am “remembering without pain.” Thank you for sharing 🙂
Love this post – and the comments. ‘Remembering without pain’, as Mali puts it, makes so much sense. For me, I’m at the stage where I am able to feel genuine happiness for others’ pregnancy news. It doesn’t make me want to share or follow every minute of their journey.. but at least my brain is no longer screaming ‘It’s not fair!’.
In our case, the male infertility is the factor, yet since day 1 of my marriage I have been tormented. I had a bad marriage, a highly verbally abusive MIL, who would emotionally, physically and mentally harass me. Despite working equal to my husband and earning a very good income, my place in the family was just like a maid. I was just made to do household work apart from my working hours, without any rest. And what do i say about the never ending ruthless comments about not being a mother. My husband never had the courage to support me at all. He was just happy that nobody said anything to him about his infertility. When i was 7 years into this painful life, my father died. His sickness and death changed me. like someone said in the above comments, death or separation of kids would be really painful, and I do not want to go through those feelings again anymore. I fell sick and was on bed for 2 years after bearing so much. And guess what, no one bothered about me, it was my mother who took care of me and helped me recover.
So now, in all honesty, after suffering so much from the hands of my in laws and husband, i feel like i do not even want to bear a child for them, i have zero wish of having a biological child with my husband,. I no longer interact with my in laws now. My husband has now changed his behaviour towards me and is trying to be a better person and an understanding husband, and I am forever grateful to Almighty for this change. Although he has asked me a few times for IVF, but it is a big NO from my side now. I have had enough already.
So really, if at all someday i feel like being a parent, i will probably opt to adopt.
For now, I just want to heal, emotionally and spiritually.
Wow Healing Soul. That’s a lot to take in. I’m glad your husband has changed his behavior, that is rare. If you did bear a child, you would be doing so because of the love between you and your husband, not for anyone else, but I understand what you are saying. An adopted child would be subject to the same abuse from your husband’s family would be my guess. I don’t know what I would do in your situation. I wish you healing in the years to come.
No.
You don’t get over it any more than you get over a death.
I am going into my second month with no period. I am 50 years old, haven’t had sex in months and I know that there is 0% possibility of me being pregnant.
That’s it. I’m facing menopause. And it’s like grieving all over again. I mean, I had my last embryo fade away inside me over 5 years ago, and my marriage broke up. But still, there was a part of me thinking that Mr. Right could come along and I’d be a Mom. After all, my boss had her child through IVF/donor egg at 50!
But sadly, no. I’m not even divorced from my husband, and there’s no Mr. Anybody remotely knocking on my door. Yet still I grieve. I grieve for my youth. I grieve for my younger body. I grieve for my marriage that didn’t survive (this was just one of many reasons.)
I envy my best friend of 30+ years who is the same age as me and has a 6 yo and a 3 yo. Her first pregnancy was one reason why we decided to try to have our children. The playmate that her children don’t have haunts me in my dreams.
I grieve for my former self as my mother’s grandchildren make their birth announcements.
(Sorry to be so dramatic- I just took a poetry class.)
Anyway, no, you never get over it. You survive it. There’s really no choice. Even though we couldn’t produce life, we still have ours to live.