filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
Happy Whiny Wednesday! I hope you’re doing okay today. If not, this is the place to get it off your chest.
This week we turn to spotlight on the men in our lives and discuss the topic of:
Spouses or partners who aren’t dealing or healing
If you have one of these, we’d like to hear to about it.
By Lisa Manterfield
Recently a friend posted this question of Facebook:
“Are you the adult you dreamed of becoming?”
I laughed when I read it. No! Of course I’m not. The adult I dreamed of was an international engineering consultant, living in a large house with a circular driveway, with a fabulous husband and four beautiful children, including one set of twins.
Aside from the fabulous husband, that adult is almost the polar opposite of the adult I am now. I’m a writer, who works from my very small rented beach cottage, and of course, there are no children in my picture. And yet, once I stop to consider my friend’s question, I realize that I’m a lot happier as this adult than I would have been had my expectations been met. I’ve met the person I’d once dreamed of becoming; she wasn’t a very happy person and she definitely had more grey hairs than me.
Half the battle of coming-to-terms with a life without children is letting go of our expectations—and creating new ones. This is never more true than during the holiday season, one of the most difficult times of the year to be childless.
When I think of my expectations of what Christmas should be like as an adult, those four children are always there, gathered around the tree, gathered around the dinner table, and then gathered around me as the day comes to a close. Even when I realized that children wouldn’t be part of my life, I still strived to make Christmas live up to my expectations. Consequently, Christmastime was very sad time for a number of years. I knew there was no way my expectations could be met, and eventually I stopped making an effort to celebrate.
The worst year was when my husband and I found ourselves sitting at home, with no Christmas tree, no plans, no celebration, and we knew we’d allowed our lack of children to take over our lives. We also realized it was time to set new, more realistic expectations.
When I took a step back and looked at what I really wanted for Christmas, not on the surface of gifts, family, and decorations, but on a deeper emotional level, I discovered that my spiritual wish list included love, peacefulness, companionship, and a good dose of silly fun. I needed to explore new ways to get what I really wanted.
It took a couple of false starts to find a new way to celebrate Christmas, but a couple of years ago we nailed it. Mr. Fab and I rented an apartment for three days in a nearby beach town. We celebrated on Christmas Eve with a lovely dinner at an historic hotel with an enormous Christmas tree, roving carolers, and even an outdoor ice rink (in Southern California!). On Christmas Day, instead of sitting at home feeling sad about a pathetic Christmas for two, we went to the zoo, like a couple of big kids, and had a whale of a time. I even got to feed a rhino and have an ice cream. We both agreed it was the best Christmas we’ve had for a long time, plus there were no tantrums or mountains of dirty dishes to deal with.
It’s hard to let go of our expectations, especially when they’re often so deeply engrained, but if you’re struggling to find your holiday cheer this year, I encourage you to look beneath the obvious losses and examine what’s really missing for you. Even if you can’t meet your tangible expectations of what the holidays should be, you might be surprised to find you can satisfy your true needs in unconventional—and unexpected—ways.
I sat down recently with Jody Day of Gateway Women to talk about how we’ve adjusted our expectations and reclaimed the holidays. You can find the interview at Gateway Women.
By Lorraine Ash, M.A.
©Dave Bredeson | Dreamstime.com
After my daughter, Victoria Helen, was stillborn at full term, I received a strange message from many people, all carrying a theme: I was incomplete.
I wrote a memoir about surviving the stillbirth. I never thought I’d write a memoir, but, of all the genres, it was the most perfect and necessary for me to process the violence that had rocked my life.
The book, Life Touches Life: A Mother’s Story of Stillbirth and Healing, gained readers and touched hearts throughout the United States and in the Middle East, Australia, Europe, China, Canada, and Mexico. Later, I wrote a sequel, Self and Soul: On Creating a Meaningful Life, about how my life, years after the loss, blossomed. What wonderful communions I enjoyed with my readers.
But none of that stopped the insistent message that my life was fundamentally flawed.
One book reviewer told me my story was not one of courage, but of cowardice, because I didn’t get pregnant again.
“You stopped after failing,” she said.
“I couldn’t get pregnant after that,” I’d replied. “We tried, but it didn’t happen.” She remained immovable in her opinion.
Indeed my husband and I had made a decision that was right for us: we opted against fertility treatments. We’d just gone through hell and barely come back—literally, in my case. The Group B Strep that took my daughter’s life almost claimed mine. For a couple of weeks, I was touch and go. When I was suspended in the uncertain hell between life and death, we became very respectful of the powers of Mother Nature. We decided not to try forcing her to do our bidding.
Once, a well-meaning friend offered this thought: “You had half an experience—a pregnancy up to giving birth. Go and complete it. Adopt somebody else’s newborn baby.”
The piece de resistance, though, was the advice of a famed author who saw the Life Touches Life manuscript in its early stages.
“Stop writing this,” she said. “It’s not an appropriate topic.”
“Why ever not?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.
“Because stillbirth is something that didn’t happen,” she said. “Write about something that did.”
She’s the narrative expert, I thought, but apparently there are stories she doesn’t understand. Something happened, all right. Trust me.
So now two things are true of me: I do not have progeny, and I do not live out my days insisting upon, or lamenting, a destiny that did not, for whatever reason, materialize. I know my genes will not live on. Instead, I embrace a different kind of legacy. I approach eternity not by looking to some faraway future, beyond the imagination, but by embracing the moment called Now as it resonates through my whole being—body, mind, and spirit.
My life is about helping others reach those places inside themselves, too, and encouraging them to tell the full truth of their stories as they are—not as they could have been. My message is that today is the only day any of us can affect and that today, no matter the circumstances, is full and complete.
As the great Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has said, “Life is available only in the present moment. If you abandon the present moment, you cannot live the moments of your daily life deeply.”
Tomorrow will be full and complete, too—but different. I can trace the change while still acknowledging the completeness. Becoming whole is a spiritual process. No matter what happens on the outside, it’s an inside job.
Do you live fully in the story of your life, as it has unfolded? Or are there still gifts in your experiences, however painful, that you have not yet opened?
Lorraine Ash, M.A., is a New Jersey author, award-winning journalist, essayist, book editor, and writing teacher. Self and Soul: On Creating a Meaningful Life, her second book, is available in a variety of formats and online stores, all presented here. Reach Lorraine at www.LorraineAsh.com, www.facebook.com/LorraineAshAuthor , or @LorraineVAsh.
Mr. Fab and I got rid of our TV when we first moved in together and—apart from on a handful of occasions—we haven’t missed it at all.
One of the things I definitely don’t miss is the topic of this week’s Whiny Wednesday:
Kid-centric advertising
I’m sure you know what I mean—those ads selling products you might actually use, but which start out with lines like, “We know your family is important to you that’s why you use [fill in the blank product].”
It’s Whiny Wednesday and open season for any topic that’s on your mind.
By Lisa Manterfield
Imagine you have a good friend who experiences a death in the family right before the holidays. She’s dealing with funeral arrangements and in among the holiday cards that people sent before they got the news are sympathy cards and notes of condolence. She has her loved one’s belongings to go through and her mind is anywhere but on the holidays. She is mourning and there is little or no room in her grief for festivities.
You understand this and so you forgive your friend when she doesn’t send a card or a gift this year. You don’t expect her to attend the annual get-together you usually have with your group of friends. Instead, you check in on her to make sure she’s okay and you let her know that you’re there for her if she needs anything. You both know next year will be different, that she’ll be back celebrating with you, even though this will always be a difficult time of year for her.
If you’re in the earliest stages of your journey, where perhaps your latest round of IVF has failed or you’ve just come to the realization that children aren’t going to be part of your plan, you’re also grieving a great loss. The difference is, most people around you aren’t going to understand why you aren’t in the holiday spirit and they’re going to expect you to attend events, show up with gifts, and contribute to the merriment. They probably won’t make the same concessions you would make for your friend, so it’s up to you to treat yourself as kindly as you would treat her.
If this year feels too difficult for you, consider taking the year off.
Seriously, what would happen if you didn’t send out cards this year? What would happen if you mailed gift certificates instead of subjecting yourself to the mall and all its triggering festivities to shop for gifts? Do you have to decorate? Can you make excuses for parties you don’t want to attend? Could you even take a year off from whatever family obligations you might have?
It’s just one year. Will the people you love disown you? Some might be upset and yes, there’ll be that relative or friend who’ll never let you not forget, but odds are, most will forgive and forget.
We often try so hard to be there for other people, to meet their expectations and give them the holiday experience they want. But maybe this year you could give yourself what you need instead.
This week’s topic is for those of you who arrived here via the infertility route.
Do you feel you were left hanging by the fertility industry?
Okay, I know that’s a loaded question, so if you don’t feel like jumping in on this topic, or if it doesn’t apply to you, feel free to bring your own whine to the party this week.
Tomorrow is Bonfire Night in the U.K. As a child, it was one of my favorite nights of the year, second only to Christmas Eve.
We’d have a bonfire in the backyard, and my dad would bring home a box of fireworks to set off and a couple of packets of sparklers. We’d have baked potatoes and roast chestnuts, and my mum would make parkin and gooey, delicious bonfire toffee. It was an evening spent outdoors, clustered around the fire. It was about friends and food and a little bit of danger.
It’s one of the many things I miss about my homeland, and it’s one of the traditions I would have enjoyed sharing with my children. And that’s the topic for this week’s Whiny Wednesday:
Traditions you won’t get to share with your children
Happy Bonfire Night and happy whining.
By Lisa Manterfield
I’ve been writing and talking a lot about grief lately—here on the blog, in my fiction, in my personal life, in the novels I’m reading, and for the Life Without Baby book I’m working on. Even when I got chatting to a stranger on a train, the conversation turned to the topic of grief.
Over paper cups of tea, this woman—who had lost her brother to suicide—and I talked about how grief stays with us long after we’re “over it”, how the shape of grief changes with time, how it can change us, and how everyone carries around their own personal grief.
My only regret in the discussion is that it didn’t begin sooner on our journey, because I would have liked to hear more about what she had to say on the subject. But eventually we parted ways, she to her office and I to airport, and I didn’t have the opportunity to ask her more about her grief.
So, I’d like to ask you instead.
As a society, I don’t believe the topic of grief gets enough attention. We’re uncomfortable with grieving people, no matter what type of loss they’ve suffered, but it’s especially true when the loss isn’t understood.
So let’s start the conversation now. Let’s talk about this grief. I’d love to hear what you have to say.
This week’s suggested Whiny Wednesday topic is thought-provoking:
Fearing the quiet we will have for years
How do you feel about this? Is it something you worry about? If not, what is on your mind this week?
By Lisa Manterfield
The other day I spoke to a friend who had just been sideswiped. Like me, she’s been off the “baby train” for several years and has truly come to terms with the fact that she won’t have children.
Then she had a birthday and found herself totally sideswiped, caught off-guard by her grief, and in the kitchen having a meltdown.
What happened?
She’s not sure and neither was I. Maybe her birthday signified moving one step closer to menopause and the final loss of the possibility of motherhood. Maybe spending time with a friend’s son reminded her of the missing part of her life. Maybe she was feeling alone in her family-oriented community.
The point is that sometimes, even when we’re sure we have it together, even when we’ve done the grief work, even when we’ve cried an ocean and think there’s nothing left to resolve, sometimes we just get sideswiped.
Has this happened to you? What unexpected trigger has caught you off-guard?
~ "a raw, transparent account of the gut-wrenching journey of infertility."
~ "a welcome sanity check for women left to wonder how society became so fixated on motherhood."
