By Lisa Manterfield
At this point in my life, I can truly say I at peace with not having children. But for a long time there were days when the darkness came over me. Do you know what I mean?
Ordinarily, the darkness was a tiny ball that I carried it around with me wherever I went. It was safely tucked away and I didn’t even notice it. Then something would happen to flip the lid and suddenly the darkness crept into every open space within me.
I got tired of carrying the darkness around and finally I was ready to let it go. I didn’t want to feel bitter or sad about not having children, because honestly, I was okay. But I couldn’t remember who I was any more. When I looked in the mirror I didn’t see me. I saw a woman who looked tired and overweight, and very, very serious about life. She didn’t laugh easily or live with abandon, like the real me used to. She was cautious and unwilling to let herself go. She felt like a square peg in a world full of round holes and it was lonely to live that way.
Our experiences make us who we are, but what happens to who we were? In a universe where energy remains constant, I knew that the old me — the laughing, carefree joyous me — must still have been around. I’d catch glimpses of her sometimes, and like a huntress, I’d follow her into the woods. And yet, so often, she managed to evade me.
But I was patient. I kept an eye on her and kept moving towards her. I kept hunting her, until I caught up with her again. And finally, she I were able to stand together again and let the darkness go.
Are you missing the old you? Where might you go to find her again?
Finding “you” and finding “joy” are topics covered in Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen. You can win a signed copy of the book on Goodreads. The giveaway ends tomorrow.
This was tough for me because I was just discovering who I was after a rough childhood and then had to deal with infertility. So after stopping treatments I had to figure out who I was as a person and try to find friends with like interests that didn’t have kids.
I believe I will find myself in laughter, in praying, in acepting what I cannot change, in believing that with God everything is possible.
It will take some time but I am not in a hurry.
The old me is who made me end up here. She was unable to find a partner. She didn’t have a career that gave her money enough to try for a child on her own. And even if she’d had the money, I think she would have been too much of a coward to try anyway.
She let me down. I don’t trust her. I think she is useless and a failure. The further I can get from her, the better.
Oh Lin, you make me really sad. There’s so much blame, and shame, and I think we’ve all been there at some stage or other. Maybe you’ll be able to find some compassion and empathy for the old you, and the new improved you can take her on a wild adventure into the future? I really hope so. Sending love and best wishes.
Oh my goodness, Lin, I can relate to this. My story is also one of being “circumstantially infertile” (and oh how I hate that label).
I don’t want to offer platitudes, ’cause that’s not what we’re about here. But I’m glad you found Life Without Baby. I hope you’ll stick with us, read other’s stories, find a lifeline or two or more.
Be gentle with yourself.