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 that came out earlier this year. Even when I got chatting to a stranger on a plane, 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 catch another flight, and I didn’t have the opportunity to ask her more about her grief.
So, I’d like to ask you instead.
- How has your grief changed over time?
- How has your loss changed you?
- In what ways has your grief crept out, even when you’ve tried to keep it under wraps?
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.
Dear Lisa, this is an important topic! Thank you for writing about it.
My grief has become softer with time, although I am not sure I am “over it” yet.
It has certainly changed me. I learned some important lessons like selfcare and dealing with negative emotions. I know myself better than before. I know what’s good for me and what’s not. And I am more “centered”, if that makes any sense to you.
Grief cannot be suppressed. When I tried to do that, I felt worse than when I just accepted it. But that’s something I had to learn, too :-)!
I mentioned this to someone the other day. That I thought what I was feeling was a kind of grief. I found out last fall at 39 years old I was in premature menopause and would never be able to have children. Then I turned 40 in December. I’m about to be 41 and I swear I’m still grieving over it. I didn’t think I had wanted children anyway but I’m grieving because I’ll never have them. I’m grieving for children I’ll never be able to have. A different life. I still get upset about it. Even a year later. Actually a year later I think I’m finally able to deal with it more. I put it aside for while. Anyway…I really do think its a form of grief.
My grief is like a small dark cloud always hovering over my head. It’s rare that I ever really feel complete joy because the what if’s are always wanting attention. To know I will NEVER feel that bond and unconditional love you have when you have a child, is many times devasting to me; and to know that we are approaching shorter and darker days makes my grief worse. I have yet to find something positive in my grief and I pray that at some point I will find it.
An hour ago, at about 04.00 a.m. I woke up from a dream about my partner telling me his ex wife was going to have a child.
Then we were there when the baby was born, in a room just outside, waiting, and he was so happy, my partner, and the baby was his and he thought it was perfectly ok to be with his ex wife because they wanted a third child, and that I should just be happy for him, even if he didn’t want to try and have a child with me.
I know exactly where this comes from. When we met he was 44 and I was 39. His sons were 14 and 18 and he did not want more kids.
I’ve always felt that if he loved me more, or in a different way, he would want a child with me, too.
Stupid, I know. But obviously strongly felt, since I woke up from this dream now. Time to get back to sleep.
Is it stupid to think that if he loved you he would want a child with you? I feel exactly the same way about my husband….
Well, M2L, I know a little bit about how you feel then. And I’m sorry you have to feel that way!
Love mixed with grief and sadness, envy and anger.
Our first year together was so hard. I had to decide if I should stay with him or not, knowing that if I did, I said no to children, since he was very clear about not wanting more kids. His sons were 14 and 16 then.
Love had finally come my way, I was 39, maybe it was too late for me anyway and I couldn’t afford any other way but sex and with who – go out, find someone drunk to sleep with and hope to hit jackpot at once so I wouldn’t have to sleep with more drunk strangers?
I stayed. And I hid my grief, because whenever I got too sad, my partner started talking about us separating, since he felt he wasn’t good for me if his will made me feel that sad.
What a weird situation.
He didn’t understand then. His most common comment when I was sad was “it isn’t easy, having kids”. As if I ever thought it was!!
He doesn’t understand now. Sometimes he asks if I “still think about it”.
I nearly go through the wall every time, but calmly answer “I try not to, because it is the way it is” and then I say no more, but for a while I hate him and think that it’s a good thing I don’t have kids with someone so stupid.
And still. I love him.
I am sorry… My situation is a bit different, but I also understand that mix of emotions, despair, anger, frustration and love… The what ifs and the “should I stay or should I go.” It is also frustrating that while your mind should be at rest, it still finds a way, through dreams, to focus on those sorrows
Well, time does help deal with it day to day, but the grief will NEVER go away…..I am 46, having had my last of 4 miscarriages at 44. I have not completely dealt with the reality that it will never happen for me. My emotions are on a rollercoaster, and I hide my grief from my family. My husband is supportive of me when I can’t hold it in any longer.
I know I shouldn’t suppress what I am feeling, but I am not ready to accept it yet. I tried talking to a therapist, but it just didn’t work for me. I can’t sit there pouring out my tears and words of hurt when this stranger across from me can’t possibly know the hell I am feeling. She might understand more than I realize, but I just can’t open up.
Sometimes, I want to eat babies up with kisses when I see them, other times, I can’t look at them for fear of breaking down. I would be lost without my two German Shepherds who are so loyal and help keep me out of the hole that I want to go hide in. I can’t give them enough love and nurturing, which helps me fill the void.
I have nieces that, although long distance, I am close to and see them as much as I can. The distance hurts though and I feel we aren’t as close as we could be if I could drive them to basketball practice or make them dinner sometime.
I too have heard the words of “you’re not a mother, you wouldn’t understand”…….well, that stings more than the person saying it could possibly understand.
You see, I think that aunts, uncles, friends of people with children actually see more from the outside than the parents see on the inside. My husband and I have watched all of our siblings have children, we have seen various approaches in raising them. What has worked, what could’ve worked, etc….sometimes, if asked, our view point could’ve been something to consider. Because, when you don’t have children, your focus is more on the people and family around you and not the needs of your children pulling at you at the time.
So all of you wonderful women who can relate to this, you DO understand, you understand more than any of them will ever realize.
Thank you for letting me get this out this morning. I wish all of you happiness and many smiles in your days ahead.
Big hug! I will be 48 next month! Know how you feel!
My grief has manifested itself in different ways. When I was going through fertility treatments it was intense, often led to tears, sometimes was even overwhelming. After fertility treatments the outbursts of tears came less often, but the anger and resentment in having been, what I saw as, “cheated” of my rightful place as a mother, was often present.
Today, I feel like I have it all under control for the most part. But I’m finding out that I’m mistaken.
In March of this year my Father passed away after a long struggle with Alzheimers. I had lost my Mother to cancer 15 years earlier. Suddenly, I have no parents anymore. And I have no children either. No before and no after.
And then the insomnia started.
Despite the fact that I feel good on the surface, am totally healthy, and all is going well in my life there is this constant insomnia. The doctor told me it had to be some underlying stress, but I couldn’t identify it at first. Now I know, it is the grief of losing my Dad and losing my “future kids”.
I think it takes a long while for the grief to go away. Perhaps it never does. If you suppress it as I guess I may have been doing lately, it will find a way to manifest itself.
All I can do is give myself a little more TLC, own my grief and hope that things will return to normal soon.
I am sorry for your losses! I went through 7 years of insomnia and anxiety… I now fall asleep listening to audiobooks… They helped me to get out of my own head.
Thank you for the suggestion. I’m finding that magnesium supplements are helping me. Apparently women my age (46) lose magnesium and that causes insomnia. I’ve slept well for 3 nights in a row! Here’s hoping! 🙂
Please excuse the somewhat cheesy metaphor that follows… 🙂 My grief used to be a boulder pinning me down and paralyzing me. Now it is more like a pebble in my shoe, not debilitating but always there.
I speak freely about my grief to a very few trusted people and that helps relieve some of the pressure. Otherwise I might just explode or get very, very sick. One good friend reminds me that grief is not linear and there is no timetable. Another friend tells me to ride the wave when I’m feeling good and to be honest with myself when I’m not. I cannot express how thankful I am to have these two friends in my life.
I have to acknowledge my grief because it is a very big part of my life. I count my blessings, but I also allow myself to just be sad. The grief is always there. I can be having a perfectly fine day and then someone makes a stinging comment and the grief is right there on the surface again. But I don’t fault myself. I don’t deny my feelings (even if other people dismiss them). I am working to move forward, but I am also working to accept each moment as it comes.
I am sorry so many of you know my pain. <3
I found during the first few years there was a lot of anger and I was often short tempered (usually I’m one of the most patient of people). Being busy with work and then getting sick for a few years didn’t give me much time to acknowledge it but the resentment was always there.
As the years went by the anger diminished. Once I stopped working I guess I had the time for a lot of self-reflection which helped me to come to an understanding about it all. I also gave myself permission to have those glum self-pitying days when I needed them.
How have I changed? I’m not as positive as I used to be. I’m more upfront about being realistic about any situation, not just ‘hoping for the best, and having my prayers answered’. I’ve become a bit more introverted if that’s possible, as I was already quite shy.
I can talk with my friends about their families and not have the meltdown until I’m back at home.
I’m learning to feel less guilty about what we have and what we do. We’ve worked hard for our savings so we intend to enjoy them…. Even if it means early retirement.
It’s pushed me to discover some penfriends in the CNBC world… that’s a big plus.
Ugh, silly ads with families on TV can sometimes push the buttons. I’m yet to sign up to Facebook as I don’t need the extra daily reminders of what we don’t have. One schoolfriend announced her daughter’s engagement. The first in our school group – guess that may mean grandkids somewhere down the track – sooo not looking forward to those conversations.
I am without Facebook in my life as well Kathryn……and I’m ok with that for now. Hugs to all of you.
Very true, Lisa — grief is an unpopular subject in our society, and disenfranchised grief like ours is especially not well known or understood.
My own grief over childlessness is tangled up with my grief over the stillbirth of my daughter. As I wrote to someone at the time, I felt that she was my one shot at motherhood — and I blew it. 🙁 We lost her in August 1998; we decided to stop fertility treatments in June 2001. I think it probably took me a good five years to truly accept that motherhood was not going to happen. Grief is still there (like soft music playing in the background) but it is much more under control and muted these days. It still has a tendency to jump up & bite me when I least it expect it.