Recently, a reader commented that she’d had an idea to write a letter to the child she never had, and she asked if I thought it was crazy.
Here’s what I told her (edited slightly to maintain her anonymity):
“Writing a letter isn’t crazy at all. One of the things that makes infertility grief so unique is that there is seldom a finite end to the journey. There’s almost always some option still open and the loss is more of a gradual moving away from the dream, rather than a sudden end. It makes it really hard to acknowledge the end and grieve that loss.
Doing something tangible, such as writing a letter, creates a kind of marker that says, “this is the end.” And the other ladies [in the program] are absolutely right about not being silent. If you need to find a time to be alone, close the door to your room, and just let it all out, do it. It’s exhausting, but it’s amazing how much grief you can purge with a good cry.”
I told her I would write a post on this topic so that you could share your experiences with creating an ending to something that has none. So here it is.
In order to start moving on with your healing process, did you need to create an ending with something symbolic and meaningful to you? Please share any “crazy” ideas that helped you find a stopping place and begin coming to terms with your life without children.
I think writing is one of the most cathartic things you can do for yourself in times of grief. I read something on this page not long ago about a woman who was able to answer the question of why she doesn’t have kids honestly and nonchalantly. And it made me think; why can’t I do that? Why can’t I just say “no we don’t have kids, we tried and my body won’t do it. Anyway, what’s new with you guys?” And just move on without getting that “poor you” look. So, now, when people cross the line and ask the personal question about why my husband and I are childless, I tell them. I still get hurt looks and the “oh, you never know!” But, I’m getting better with my responses. I recently wrote a sort of manifesto for myself about how I feel about infertility and what I think when others offer unsolicited and unwanted advice about how I should procede. I’ve been thinking about posting it on my social media channels. But, for now, it’s just for me and really gives me relief to go back and add to it, edit it and just read through it.
Writing a letter sounds like a great idea! I was able to become pregnant once and I started a journal for my pregnancy with each entry addressed to my child. When I miscarried, I kept on writing in that journal until I felt I had said my peace. I like tangible things to mark the passage of time. So I re-read that diary every year around the time I miscarried. I often give myself a day to myself. I have also found other ways to move through the grief. I’ve planted flowers, gotten a tattoo (not for everyone obviously, but I had a lot of tattoos prior to this change of life path), spent time doing special faith practices, worn all black for days or weeks when I felt in mourning. Anything that helps express what’s going on inside and doesn’t make me feel like the lack of a child is forgotten by myself.
This is a good post and idea Lisa – thank you. I also like the two comments above, they are really helpful, we definitely need to find ways to express our grief and ways to express an end to ourselves is really helpful. I found that I couldn’t let go even two years after we had stopped treatment. I still wake up some days (5 years on) not really able to grasp the fact that it truly cannot happen now (51 yrs old and 3 years into hot flushes and menopause)! Doesn’t stop my mind drifting back to “maybe”. I found that posting my story here on LWB was when I really acknowledged to myself that the journey had reached an end. It was indeed helpful to get a lot of feelings out and have that acknowledged by those who know how hard it is. I’m picking up responses to the “do you have children” from everyone’s posts and I practice them in my head, they are now creeping out and I’m getting a little better at expressing myself. My instinct is to avoid it though for fear of people saying hurtful “helpful” advice – which is rarely helpful or even acknowledging. Thank you everyone for your posts – I would not have let joy back in again without this site.
I really like this idea, but I don’t feel like I could do it yet. Everything is very recent for me. This past week I was cleaning out a bunch of drawers and cabinets and came upon a bunch of extra unused pregnancy and ovulation test strips. I threw them away, and for me it marked that I am most definitely done trying, and this is the official start if me trying to move forward and explore my life without baby. I had already technically decided this, but that was a physical marker for me.
Emily, I so know this feeling. I had a tearful goodbye when I threw out my ovulation kits. I still have a pregnancy test though. I don’t know why. I’m not sure what my issue is. But it’s the same with writing. You do what feels good to you when you’re ready. This infertility crap isn’t easy and not very many women (and men) can relate. Despondently waving goodbye to my child bearing years is the worst heart break of my life. I really appreciate you sharing. Knowing I’m not alone in this helps so much.
Jenn
When I told my doctor I wanted a baby he said to start taking prenatal vitamins. He said having them on the counter would be exciting. It was. Then it wasn’t. About two weeks ago I used my last vitamin. After six years the only thing I had to show was an empty uterus and an empty nest. I threw the empty bottle in the trash. Then I bought regular vitamins for regular people. Not having that constant reminder of my crappy my stupid uterus with it stupid oversized ovaries is a bit of a relief.
I like this idea a lot. Sometimes I talk to the child that isn’t there… I get to choose whether it’s a boy or girl (or neither) and their age. I tell them what they might be doing in that moment, how I might be responding, where we might be going. I imagine it’s a window into another dimension – one of the multiple-similar-but-different universes where I DID have a baby and right now we’re walking together, doing whatever it is that I’m imagining in THIS dimension… It’s bittersweet. Maybe somewhere’s always are. Often makes me feel poetic, perhaps I’ll write a poem someday…