Guest Post, by Jane P (UK)
I first had a desire to accept—to let go of my plans for motherhood—when marriage issues and signs of depression followed six failed IVF cycles. My husband could not continue fertility treatment and I could not stop. I would not contemplate accepting infertility, as it meant a life without baby. After 17 years of marriage, the word “divorce” came up.
I asked my husband to help me accept. He agreed to come to a counselling session with me at our local GP. There, the Counsellor asked, “What would a world look like to you if you could accept?” A simple question and my response was along these lines:
The bickering and arguments would stop. We would laugh again, we would plan again—not just plan, but look forward to things. (I felt that I had been going through the motions of life.) I wouldn’t feel pain or anger every time I walked through the town or in the office, turned on the TV or heard a casual baby/child related comment from colleagues, friends. (Everything was a trigger. Every minute of every day I was consumed with a massive sadness that wouldn’t shift. I countered this thought for years with, “Next time we try it will be different.” It never was.)
So, I was left thinking about my reply to the question from the Counsellor. I needed to accept so that I could stop feeling the pain, I would stop arguing with my husband. We would feel love again, enjoy life again…
I started to seek help. This came from LWB and through continuing to speak to the Counsellor. We found a way back to each other and through a final IVF treatment with donor eggs that ended with emergency surgery for an ectopic pregnancy. For the first two years I was tormented with wanting to try again, wanting to stop, but I’d promised myself and my husband that this was the end of the line.
Four years on, we stopped pursuing any more treatment. I am now officially too old at 50! So, why do I still wake up frequently and stare at the ceiling every day before forcing myself out of bed? Still ask the same questions, still feel the same sadness at the “motherhood” and baby conversations I overhear, still want to run away when a colleague makes an announcement, or leave my desk before her presentation on leaving day?
Initially, I thought acceptance would mean no more pain, looking forward to life again. Well, my marriage is back on track. I definitely look forward to things and plan fun events and holidays. I seek to relish every day in small ways—my latte treat at 11:00, having my hair done, buying a new lipstick here and there.
The triggers are still there, though. They don’t have me running away anymore, and I counter the feelings with acknowledging the loss and rationalising that motherhood is full of difficult days as well as joyous ones. But, I still feel the pain, and recently I wondered if I have truly accepted.
The word “acceptance” conjures up a feeling that “it’s OK that I didn’t get to experience motherhood and hold my baby”. But it’s not OK. You can’t stop the pain and it’s unrealistic to not feel the loss in some way.
So, maybe I don’t have to completely accept. Perhaps this is now what acceptance means to me:
Allowing myself to live again, letting in joy, loving my husband. Not expecting to not feel sadness when I see pregnant women, small babies or toddlers.
It means, loving myself, valuing myself, grabbing the life I have and enjoying it again with as much passion as possible!
What does acceptance mean to you?
Note from Lisa:
Jane P (UK) has been a long-time member of the Life Without Baby community. We really appreciate her writing this heartfelt guest post.
I don’t think I’ve truly excepted it yet. Or just when I think I do I start thinking I’m going to live my life and die and that’ll be it. I’ll leave nothing behind. No legacy. All the things I’ve learned and enjoyed and helped with won’t have been passed on. And I don’t know how to get past these thoughts. I went into premature menopause a few years ago. Premature ovarian failure. This year I’ll be 43. I guess I just focus on other things.
Hi Christine – so sorry for all you have been through, I do remember a time when I couldn’t stop thinking about photographs and my doll collection and who would I pass my thoughts and possessions to. It troubled me for a couple of years – don’t be hard on yourself. I thought of various things to do with my dolls – charities etc, I havn’t done anything with them but having a plan to pass them on to someone allowed me to feel a little better – I reminded myself that even if I had children they wouldn’t necessarily have wanted to play with my dolls or toys. I also pondered over how many things I had of my parents or grandparents – I only have one photograph of my grandmother, yet I have treasured memories that have never faded – this helped me lessen the grip on what people may or may not treasure or remember me for when I’m gone. Keep doing what you are doing and focus on the here and now – try not to worry about a future that for now is a perception. Thank you for your comments – it takes a lot to work through these feelings.
Omg, yes to all of this, Jane. I am right with you on those mornings when I wake up and (again) find myself staring at the ceiling and wondering how it the heck I’m going to get myself out of bed and into the day.
I agree that acceptance isn’t like some one-and-done deal. It’s every day making choices. For me it’s also accepting that the pain comes and goes, and it’s okay…or I’ll be okay somehow.
Also, the hard stuff softens with age. It’s not gone, but I am not as traumatized by mean comments as I was just a few years ago.
Thank you so much for writing this.
Thanks Kate – yes, realizing the pain doesn’t go completely and “I’ll be okay somehow” – really helps. I’n starting to feel some pride now on the very difficult days and getting through it.
I’ve written quite often on this subject here –
No Kidding in NZ posts on acceptance
To me, acceptance isn’t saying “it’s okay,” as this implies that we really don’t mind. I think that acceptance is simply saying, “this has happened to me, and I can’t change it, so I’m going to live my life as it is now.” Acceptance means enjoying the good things of our lives without children without guilt, but also knowing that there will be occasional triggers and sadness.
It takes time. I’m glad that you’ve found your definition of what acceptance means. It’s really the best definition (in my view), and our only option for happiness.
Finding enjoyment in little things, or in hobbies, in time spent with your spouse, or friend, or loved ones… I think all of this goes a long way towards healing. I don’t think it is something, we ever “get 100% over”, but I do think it gradually fades a bit from our everyday thoughts, and that we become less sensitive to the issue, if we can find a new focus, and if we have good social/family support and networks. Sometimes in the past to help increase my “acceptance”, I have purposely painted far less rosy images of parenthood, and all the “what could go wrongs”… I do often think this world is going to hell in a hand basket, and I worry about the children that are born now.
Wow, I always feel so much hope after reading everyone’s experience. I intellectually accept a life with children but that journey from head to heart had been ongoing. I agree with acceptance not meaning it’s ok, there has been nothing ok about this but to it means I will be ok, and what inner strength has come from this crappy experience. For me our adoption that we had the chance to bring an infant home only to have to return him was unacceptable but it still happened. I do think it means giving g yourself permission to carve out a good life, at times feel pressure to achieve something g so miraculous because of not having kids. Thanks for your story Jane it helps to measure my progress and also where I need to go with infertility and childless not by choice.
This post and the comments are very helpful for me. I like that acceptance is “allowing myself to live again” and “not expecting to not feel sadness.” It helps to know that acceptance doesn’t dismiss everything I’ve been through; acceptance doesn’t require me to be like, oh good everything is fine now.
What has helped me on my path to acceptance is changing where I lived and what I wanted out of life. If I was still living in the house I bought for my children and doing the same routines and maintaining the same dreams, I would be very, very sad because that life (the one where I got to be a mother) just wasn’t happening. Moving out of that child-centric area and creating plans with my husband for a new life full of dreams that don’t involve raising children has helped me a lot. That doesn’t mean it has been easy or that I never feel sad, but I am grateful to actually feel excited about other things now.
Acceptance to me feels like I’m letting something inside me die. It’s so painful to even say the words, “I accept that I’ll never be a mother” How can I give up…how can I let go? But it is what it is. At 52 and premenopausal, life beyond my own is gone. Adoption, foreign adoption, foster care…tried them all. Nothing produced a child for me to mother. A childless mother…what could be sadder, right? So now in my fifties the ‘no baby’ thing has been tormenting me more than ever. Maybe because of being menopausal and knowing it is truly the end. But for some reason, I was led to the book Life Without Baby and this blog. And I wonder if God is taking me into the dark waters or leading me out of them. I guess I’ll find out eventually. But I’m not anywhere near acceptance, I’m still so angry and a lot of the time live in denial, still bleeding into the same wound.
So, I guess…as I undergo this journey (a little kicking and screaming)…maybe I will see what acceptance will look like to me once I am willing to entertain the notion of ‘letting go.’
The book and the blog have already been so very helpful in this journey I am struggling terribly with.
Thank you for sharing your story, it was very encouraging.
Acceptance to me means realizing and acknowledging that my life going forward is not going to include children (my own children, anyway). As Mali said, it doesn’t mean that’s OK or that I’m happy about it — but it does mean that I’m at least starting to explore other ways to bring some joy and meaning into my life, and to recognize and appreciate the good things that I do have in my life.
I like how Kate said, “It’s not gone, but I am not as traumatized.”
After years of heartache I can finally(maybe) say that I’m on the road to moving forward. Reading all of these posts is such a comfort knowing that I’m not alone. I wish we could all meet once a week, face to face and just hug, share, and love one another(LOL). A couple of years ago I started a support group for those dealing with infertility. It was short-lived but taught me that there are so many women that still feel the pain of infertility even after having a child. At that time, I was just viewing the path that showed me and my husband living out the rest of our lives without children. It was difficult supporting other women who struggled with infertility but were now mommies. I loved them but didn’t feel like I could help them, when my own wound was so open and raw. My parents are not grandparents and I’m blessed that it is harder for me to accept that then it is for them. I’m so scared of getting older because I don’t want to be completely alone if my husband goes first and scared for him if I should go first. Since we will not have children to hold us and mourn with, I hope there is someone there. I have never thought about our elderly, who still go through the pain of being childless, not by choice. I want to find them and love them. Sorry, I’m a little all over the place but that’s what this journey feels like most of the time. Thanks for reading and being supportive. I hope my story will help others not feel so alone.