filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
As I settle into the New Year, I’m thinking about my upcoming (and some overdue) health check-ups—teeth, eyes, and, of course, the annual visit to my OB/GYN. The latter prompted this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:
OB/GYN office walls plastered with baby photos
Given that this is so often the first of many stops on the fertility trail, and given that so many of us don’t have children, but wanted them, doesn’t this seem a tad insensitive?
It’s Whiny Wednesday. What’s under your skin this week?
By Lisa Manterfield
“Ancora imparo. [I am still learning.]”
― Michelangelo, at age 87 in 1562
I am still learning. And thank goodness, too. If all I had to go on for the rest of my life was all I know now, I think I’d be in a lot of trouble down the road. That’s the beauty of age, experience, and wisdom, I suppose. It takes life experience to gain knowledge, and life experience only comes with checking off the years.
A couple of years ago, I learned an important lesson that I wish I’d learned much sooner. I learned to ask for help.
Near the end of last year, I was working through where I wanted to take this site, while trying to keep my freelance writing jobs going, and thinking about the novel I’m supposed to be writing. I was trying to write blog posts, maintain the website, fix tech issues, run a workshop, and keep a marriage ticking along. Finally, I threw up my hands and said what equated to, “I can’t do this all by myself, so I’m not going to do any of it.” I really was ready to throw in the towel.
Fortunately I have a wise group of peers and an amazing mentor who talked me through my angst and convinced me to ask for help. I found an assistant to help with the blog and found a web designer to take care of the site properly. Their help freed me up to do the work I really wanted to do, which is writing posts and developing this community. What’s more, the other work got done quicker and better than if I’d struggled along as usual trying to figure it all out for myself.
The experience gave me pause and caused me to look back at my past and take a close look at myself. Turns out I have never been a person who asks for help. It’s not so much pride that stops me from asking, but more a sense of toughness. “I can do this on my own. I don’t need help.” Now I’m writing it here, it sounds an awful lot like stubbornness, but there you go.
I was also tough (or stubborn) when I was going through the grinder of infertility and later, when I was trying to figure out how to ever make peace with my situation. I never asked for help, even though I needed it. In part I believed it was pointless to ask for help because no one else could really understand what I was going through. I also didn’t want to upset people I knew and cared about, and I didn’t want to put myself in the position of comforting them.
In hindsight, I wish I’d asked for help. I wish I’d taking the chance of confiding in a friend. I wish I’d thought to look for a support group or hired the professional help of a therapist. I would have arrived at my place of peace a lot sooner than I did. But hindsight is 20/20 as they say, and I hadn’t yet learned the value of asking for help.
How about you? Have you asked for help? If so, where have you found it?
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
“I’m so glad that I found Life Without Baby,” Darla wrote when she sent in her story for this column. “I have felt so alone in my pain for far too long, and it’s good to know that there are others like me and we have a place to share our stories.”
Yes! That’s why we do this, so that we can heal ourselves through the sharing of our experiences and support each other as we grieve our losses and find inspiration for moving forward with new life plans.
Darla was diagnosed in her mid-thirties with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), the cause of her infertility. Now 53, she is still working through the grief of being childfree, although she feels she’s reached a turning point.
After you read about Darla, I hope you’ll add your words of commiseration and encouragement in the Comments. Then, won’t you please share your story with us? Information on how to submit your answers to the “Our Stories” questionnaire appear below.
LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.
Darla: When I was sixteen I embroidered two little baby shirts (I still have them). I knew at that young age that I wanted to be a mother. I made no career plans, didn’t plan for higher education, I just wanted to be somebody’s Mom.
LWB: Where are you on your journey now? (for example: still in denial, angry, hoping for a miracle, depressed, crawling toward acceptance, embracing Plan B)
Darla: ALL OF THE ABOVE!!!!!!!
LWB: What was the turning point for you?
Darla: The turning point is now. I have suffered from insomnia and anxiety for many years, and I think there is a connection with the grief I’ve been suppressing for so long. It’s time to seek help, connect with others who know what I’m feeling, and move on and find joy in other adventures.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Darla: Christmastime is hard for me. When I hear the lyric “Every mother’s child is gonna spy…,” it brings tears to my eyes because I will never know that joy. I have no one to pass my traditions on to. No one will be heir to the things I love.
LWB: What’s the best advice you’ve received?
Darla: Your loss is very real. Seek help and let yourself grieve.
LWB: What’s one thing you want other people to know about your being childfree?
Darla: If you have children, don’t tell me how wonderful it is and how much I’m missing; I’m well aware of what I’m missing. Also, don’t tell me you understand my pain—you can’t know. My mother actually told me that she understands what it feels like to be childless. Really? She has three children. I know she is just trying to empathize, but she can’t know the pain I feel.
LWB: What do you look forward to now?
Darla: I’m hoping to travel. There is so much I still want to see, so many new places to discover. There’s more time behind than ahead, and I want to make the best of it.
LWB: What is your hope for yourself this coming year?
Darla: I’ve waited too long to grieve my loss. I hope to heal the pain and move on. It’s time.
Where are you on your journey? Are your wounds raw? Have you made some progress toward accepting a life without children? We can all benefit from hearing about your experiences, plus we’d like to support you. Please visit the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire, and consider sharing your story with women who truly understand what you’re going through.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
I love the Internet for the breadth and depth of information it provides, and for the opportunity to read so many varying opinions on one subject. But sometimes I just have to walk away.
Case in point, I was doing research for a post and came across the following comment on an article:
“I take care of my parents. My children will take care of me. You want to force my children to take care of you too, meanwhile you arrogantly and selfishly live a much richer life style. Frankly, every GINK I’ve met was an arrogant, self-righteous, elitist. You should apologize for not adding to the future of our race.”
So after I ranted to myself about not expecting anyone else’s kids to take care of me, how our race of almost 7 billion people doesn’t need much adding to, and how narrow-minded this woman was to tar us all with the same “arrogant, self-righteous, elitist” brush, I stomped off and took a long, hot shower.
This woman was clearly on a mission (she posted about half a dozen comments to the same article) and I can’t believe I let her anger get under my skin.
It’s Whiny Wednesday. What’s under your skin today?
Well, here we are in 2017, and I think it’s safe to say that most of us are ready to see the back of last year. Between political craziness, the loss of too many creative icons, and a general feeling of uneasiness in the world, I’m ready for a fresh start.
I do love the New Year for the potential it brings in terms of a clean slate and the chance to make big changes. And yet, in the past, I’ve ended up putting pressure on myself to fix all the things that are wrong with me. My goals have included losing weight, exercising more, doing a better job of keeping in touch with people, and on and on—a long list of things I’m doing wrong.
But a couple of years ago, I started to change my outlook. Instead of treating myself like something broken that needed fixing, I began looking for my potential and making progress with the things I’m doing right. I wrote a post about it last year, Looking for Potential. Do take a look as I think you’ll find it a kinder, gentler way of approaching the New Year.
So, as we go into this year, I want to encourage you to be kind to yourself, too. Instead of trying to fix a laundry list of shortcomings, perhaps you could look for where you’ve made progress over the last year and focus your energy there.
For example, let’s say you have a friend who you’ve avoided because her children are the same ages yours would have been and you can’t bear to see her. Maybe you ran into her last year and realized you’ve missed her company. Could you set a goal to reach out to her, give her a call or send a quick email note, maybe broach the topic of getting together?
Or perhaps you’ve been reading this blog for a while or working your way through my, or someone else’s, book and you’ve hit a spot where you feel stuck. Maybe a goal would be to find a therapist, counsellor, or support group and get some additional help.
This healing process takes time. Oh, man, does it take time! But progress is made by inching forward a little at a time. So, don’t try to take giant steps forward. Instead, be kind to yourself and take the tiniest, most doable step possible, something you can actually accomplish and feel good about.
How could you inch forward on your journey this year? What’s the smallest, no-sweat step you could take? Let us know in the comments, and if you need a little encouragement to take it, just ask.
For now, I wish for you a genuinely happy new year.
Even though we’re taking this week off, I couldn’t leave you without a last whine for 2016.
It has been a pretty wild year, hasn’t it? I am certainly hoping that 2017 shows some big improvements.
But, before we close out this year, here is your last opportunity to rant this year. It’s an open forum (within reason), so feel free to get things off your chest so we can start fresh next year.
Happy whining!
I hope you got through the holiday weekend intact. Feel free to use to the comments section if you need to blow off a little steam.
Kathleen and I are taking this week off to get some rest and regroup for 2017. We’ll be back after the New Year with plans to get you through the coming year. (And there will be a Whiny Wednesday post this week. I couldn’t let you down.)
Thank you for hanging out with us this year. I have enjoyed getting to know you and watching the wonderful support you offer one another. I look forward to catching up for you in 2017.
For now, wishing you a very happy New Year.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Meltdowns are no fun, and they’re especially painful when they happen in public.
Last year, I attended a friend’s daughter’s first dance recital. It was beautiful, it was funny, it was entertaining. Nothing cracks me up quite like a row of four-year-olds in pink tutus doing their best to tap on a beat.
Except this time I wasn’t laughing. Every tiny dancer made me long for the one I could have had, should have had. I sat in the semi-darkened theater, surrounded by parents, grandparents, siblings, and every form of video camera and cried. Big tears rolled down my cheeks, my nose ran like a fire hose, and when the lights came up, I doubt anyone thought my swollen face was due to seasonal allergies.
I took my first dance class when I was five and tapped, kicked, twirled, and leapt my way through childhood. I loved the magic, the music, the costumes, and even the discipline. I looked forward to one day watching my own daughter glide across a stage, and as I watched my young friend steal the show, I thought about how sad I was to to miss sharing these experiences with a mini-me.
’Tis the season of holiday performances: children’s choirs, reenactments of the nativity (I love Lisa’s description of the drive-through nativity she discovered a few years ago), pageants, caroling, The Nutcracker. I loved them all when I had parts in them, and I still love them. It’s just a little bit harder these days to keep my emotions to myself when I’m in the midst of the family fun.
So, if you notice a gal sniffling in row 12 during the curtain call, kindly pass her a tissue.
The holiday festivities can bring up all sorts of painful emotions when you’re childfree-not-by-choice. If you could use some inspiration and encouragement to get you through the tough times, check out the Life Without Baby Holiday Companion available here and on Amazon.
This topic came up on the community forums a while ago and I thought it was a great topic to explore here on Whiny Wednesday.
Not being treated like a “real” adult because you’re not a parent.
I’ve certainly experienced this myself and talked to friends who say they’re still treated like a kid because they don’t have children of their own.
How about you?
My overarching message around the holidays has always been this:
Do what you need to do to protect yourself when your emotions are still raw. Back out of the holidays all together, if that’s what feels right. Create new traditions that suit who you are now. And most of all, hang in there, because it does get easier, and eventually you’ll find a way to make the holidays joyful again.
But, this year, I want to make an amendment. Because, the truth is, for some of you, the holidays might keep sucking for a long, long time, and my being all Pollyanna about it, isn’t going to change that.
For years, I have followed my own guidelines for holiday survival. After a couple of years of trying to force the Christmas spirit, we chose to opt out of Christmas because it was too sad. Then, for a number of years, we made a point of going away and doing something totally non-traditional. It wasn’t “Christmas” as I’d envisioned it, but it felt right for us, and we enjoyed the season again.
I thought I had a different attitude about Christmas this year. Mr. Fab and I are staying at home, just the two of us, and keeping it low key. We put up a tree and decorated the house. I even wrote about how special that was in a post on my author site. We’ll keep up our new tradition of celebrating on Christmas Eve and it will be a “nice” Christmas, not perfect, but good enough.
Over the past week, I’ve talked to several friends, fellow bloggers who, like me, are several years into being at peace with not having children. They each talked about plans for a quiet celebration, of an adapted holiday experience. And each of them also added that some part of their plans had triggered the old sadness or poked at a tender spot. Not one of us gushed about the jingly joyful celebration we were planning. Instead, we talk of an “almost-but-not-quite” Christmas.
As I was rooting around in my mind, trying to find a point to this post, I suddenly thought about my dad. My dad hated Valentine’s Day, not because of the commercial tackiness, but because his own father had died on February 14th. Even two decades later, he couldn’t find joy in the day, and none of us expected him to. I tiptoed around him and, by February 15th, he was his old self again. As a young girl, hoping to get Valentines in the mail, I couldn’t understand why my dad felt this way. But, of course, I understand it fully now.
I stand by all my guidelines about the holidays: It does get easier. You will find a way to get through the holidays and even enjoy them again. But, odds are, they will always tap a sore spot and serve as a reminder of what’s missing. It might always be “almost-but-not-quite” Christmas.
But, before you know it, it will be January again, a new year and a fresh chance to live the life you do have to its fullest. I don’t know about you, but the New Year is fast becoming my favorite holiday of all.
~ "a raw, transparent account of the gut-wrenching journey of infertility."
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