filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
Often we feel pressure to do something incredible with our lives because we won’t be doing the other “incredible” thing: being mothers.
In the past it’s sparked some healthy discussion, so I thought I’d use it as this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:
Feeling the pressure to do something else amazing instead
Let the healthy discussion begin!
This month marks nine years since I wrote the first post for Life Without Baby. It will be a whole decade since I acknowledged that I would not be a mother by any means.
Ten years sounds like a really long time, doesn’t it? But I have passed so many milestones on the way to getting where I am now.
First there was the decision to get off the fertility crazy train. I passed that milestone several times, each time hopping back onboard for one more try. Eventually, I passed it for the last time. I cancelled my next doctor appointment and never went back.
I passed another milestone when I stopped envying/hating/coveting every pregnant belly I saw. I have since held other people’s babies, made it through Mother’s Days without tears, and gone shopping for baby shower gifts. Each was a significant milestone.
Eventually, after a number of years, I stopped being so sad about all I’d missed out on. I started building a new life and taking advantage of the benefits of not having children.
Ten years ago, I could never have imagined I’d look at my life, see how completely different it would have been with children, and feel satisfied that things worked out well after all. I hadn’t even known that milestone would be there until I passed it one day a couple of years ago.
None of this came easily. I went through dark periods of grief, of feeling angry and resentful. I’ve felt horribly lonely and alienated from people with “normal” lives. I’ve been in turns bitter, embarrassed, defiant, even vengeful about being infertile and childless. I’ve also felt relief and even slightly smug.
And after these ten years, I feel acceptance of my life that way it is, an understanding that when the motherhood door closed for me, others opened (although I sometimes didn’t see them at first.) I like my life just the way it is.
Maybe you can see yourself at one of these milestones. Maybe you’re making peace with the hand you’ve been dealt, maybe you’re moving on with a different kind of life, too.
If you see yourself all the way at the beginning of this post, wondering how on earth you’re ever going to be okay again, hang in there. You’re not alone. I, and many other readers on this site, are here to tell you that it does get better in time. Most likely, it will take longer than you ever imagined, but from my experience, the end result will also be better than you could have possibly foreseen.
***
The other surprise outcome of my infertility is that I have written books about it. That was never part of my plan either. (I had always hoped to write fiction someday, which I have, but writing about infertility was an unexpected and rewarding detour.)
I wrote about my infertility journey and my decision to stop trying to be a mother in my first book, I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No the Motherhood. Then, after blogging my way through coming-to-terms with that decision and dealing with the loss, I wrote a guidebook to help other navigate their way. That book is Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen.
And now I’d like to ask you a small favor. If you’ve read either of these books and found them helpful, would you take a minute and leave a review on your bookseller site of choice? It need only be a couple of sentences about what you liked (or what you didn’t, if that’s the case), but it will really help others looking for this sort of book, and of course, it would be a huge help to me. You can click on the links below and they’ll take you where you need to go.
This is a hot Whiny Wednesday topic and I’m sure you’ve all heard this at some point. I’d love to hear your thoughts:
“Why don’t you just adopt?”
My friend Paula turned 50 this year. It’s been more than a decade since she and her husband realized it was time to accept that they wouldn’t have children. For ten years she’s been working through the mess—the grief, the anger, the sadness, the despair, the big, big question of “what am I am going to do now that I won’t be a mother?” And because her older brother was a confirmed bachelor, Paula also felt pressure from her parents to produce a grandchild, even though they never said it out loud.
But that was a long time ago. If you ask Paula now, she’ll tell you she’s “cured.” She’ll tell you that, most days, she doesn’t think about the fact that she’s childless. She and her husband travel, they have a broad circle of friends, she’s been able to hop on career opportunities that would have been difficult with small children. She enjoys her friends’ children and she enjoys handing them back to their parents. In her candid moments, she’ll say her life worked out better than she’d expected and might not have been so great if she’d had the children she once so desperately desired.
Life is pretty good for Paula.
And then her brother fell in love, married, and shortly thereafter announced he would become a father. Paula called me in tears. She was utterly blindsided by her tearful reaction.
“I thought I was over this,” she said. “I wouldn’t swap places with my brother for anything. A newborn at 53? Nightmare.”
She told me her parents were over the moon, that her mother was telling everyone that she was going to be a grandma. “At last,” she told people, giving Paula a meaningful look.
“At last?” Paula said to her father. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
And that’s when her dad opened up. He admitted how “difficult” all this waiting and longing had been for them. He’d felt left out too, he told her.
She understood, but his confession found its way deep inside Paula, to that one small dark spot that had yet to heal, and poured salt into all those old—and now reopened—wounds. The guilt and shame that consumed her in that moment was overwhelming, and the tremendous weight of that was part of what took her by surprise. Her brother had made her aging parents happy, had given them the thing she couldn’t. The family torch had been passed and it wouldn’t be to Paula.
When I talked to Paula again a couple of weeks later, she assured me that she was going to be okay. She said a part of her was looking forward to being an aunt and that her big grown-up self was happy for her brother and her parents.
“But,” she added, “people always ask how long it takes to get over not being a mother. I always thought seven or eight years was about right, but now I think maybe the answer is ‘never.’”
You’ve probably noticed that there are triggers all around—at the mall, in the mail, on TV, in the streets. So this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is this:
Being caught in public by surprise feelings of loss or grief
Whine away, my friends.
“I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.”
~Anaïs Nin
There’s an idea going around that not having children somehow makes us “less of a woman.” I don’t subscribe to this idea.
As this quote by author Anaïs Nin states, I am many, many women, and “mother” is only one element of me.
I am a writer, friend, wife, cat mama, reader, thinker, curser, fighter, nature-lover, spider catcher, traveler, cook, gardener, daughter.
All these women are fluid. They ebb and flow in me as needed. And when one of them isn’t able to fulfill her purpose, the others quickly rally to fill the gap, so I am always whole.
I am never less of a woman.
We could easily compile an entire encyclopedia of unhelpful, and even hurtful, things people have said to us. I think this one stings as much as any:
“Everything Happens for a Reason”
Do you agree? Or do you have your own favorite “helpful” slight?
Although my relationship with Mr. Fab survived our infertility, Valentine’s Day has become another holiday that’s lost its luster. For the most part, we ignore it.
I know it can be a difficult day (or week) for many of you, so even though it’s a little late, this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is:
Valentine’s Day
And, by the way, if you have any tips for how you approach this day, please share it here for readers who might be struggling.
Valentine’s Day can be challenging, full of triggers and missed experiences and what-ifs. So as thoughts turn to love this week, I want to ask you the same question I ask every year around this time:
“What are three things you love about yourself?”
A friend asked me this once, and I was shocked to find myself stumbling over my answer. I couldn’t even name one thing.
I think many us (especially we women) were raised to be modest, not boastful. We often have no problem telling someone else what we admire in them, but can’t then turn the spotlight on ourselves. And even when we do, we can so often point out all the areas for improvement rather than the good things we see in ourselves.
Fortunately for me, my friend is persistent, and she wouldn’t let me off the hook. So here are three things I love about myself:
So I challenge you now. What are three things you love about yourself?
Most people in my life were supportive when I told them about my decision to end my quest for motherhood. But there were some who didn’t want me to quit. They kept offering unsolicited advice and stories of other people’s miracles, when what I really needed from them was a kind and understanding word.
So this week’s whine topic is:
People who won’t let you quit
Happy whining!
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