filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
Aloha!
It’s Whiny Wednesday, the day for grumbling and griping about whatever’s on your mind.
I, however, am in Hawaii with my mum, so I have absolutely nothing to whine about.
But please, don’t let my Aloha spirit wreck your Whiny Wednesday.
Whine on, my friends.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
“A couple of lousy choices in men (damn the nineties) and some reproductive system woes later,” and Nancy Van Iderstine found herself “Not Pregnant at the Ob-Gyn.” Her story is part of a collection of funny, sad, and eye-opening essays titled No Kidding: Women Writers on Bypassing Motherhood edited by Henriette Mantel. (Available in Kindle and paperback on Amazon.)
I was introduced to Nancy by a mutual friend maybe 10 years ago: “You’re both great writers, you both work in entertainment!” But it wasn’t until this book came out that I learned we were also both childfree-not-by-choice. I wanted to hear more about her journey, and she agreed to chat.
LWB: Did you always want children?
NVI: Yes, but I personally did not endure a lot of external pressure to have kids. I was active in life, and when I was younger, I thought: “Everything is still going to happen.”
LWB: When did you know for sure you weren’t going to have kids?
NVI: About 12 years ago I was in a difficult relationship, and it was clear I could not bring a child into it. [She later ruled out adoption due to the “demands of (her) work and involvement in various social, environmental, and animal causes”.] But part of me didn’t fully give up until I had a hysterectomy seven years ago. That brought with it early menopause and the related physical, mental, emotional, and financial challenges.
LWB: How did you face this?
NVI: I had a meltdown, and I went into mourning.
LWB: Are you still mourning?
NVI: I still go ga-ga over strangers’ babies; I am drawn to babies like magic. I see in them this awe of life, and it is exhilarating to be around them. It used to rip my heart out, but now I have cats and I treat them like babies.
LWB: How do you respond to the accusation that we are selfish because we don’t have children?
NVI: Women are put in the hot seat more than men over the baby issue. We’re told anything we experience in life is nothing compared to having kids. I was talking with a relative of mine, a woman who is of the 1950s generation. I was telling her how heartbroken I was over issues in a relationship, and she came back with “Imagine doing all that and having children.” It totally removed all the legitimacy of my concerns, as if my concerns only mattered if I was a mommy. I started to cry and said to her, “Do you have any idea how much I wanted kids?” It hasn’t worked out for me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to feel pain and express it. Because I’m not a mother? Sure, overall, friends who have kids are less self-absorbed because circumstances pull them out of themselves. But people in animal rescue exhaust themselves doing good work too.
LWB: What do you wish you could have told your younger self?
NVI: “Please trust your intuition” and “Please stop selling yourself short.” I ignored my inner voice. I wish I had allowed myself to be confident; I would have made fewer mistakes. There’s a lot to be said for feeling empowered.
LWB: How did you come to be part of this book?
NVI: I spent a year back east helping my mom and I bumped into Henriette. We had grown up near each other in Vermont. She told me she was working on a project and asked “Would you like to submit something?” She knew I was an actor/writer, had seen and enjoyed my one-woman show, and she knew my history, including my hysterectomy.
LWB: What was the experience like?
NVI: I sensed most of the contributors were comediennes and I wondered if there might not be enough of a mournful side. I wanted to present the sorrowful side, and then I second-guessed myself: Do I want to be the unfunny one? Do I sound whiney? I felt like I was lamenting it—my tale of woe, my bad dating, my lost uterus—but I’ve found my story is much more universal than I’d thought and I was okay with it. I don’t know many hyster-sisters, and I feel good about giving them a voice. One woman came up to me at a reading and said “I was so moved” even though she was a mom. She also went through the process of a hysterectomy. I became aware that this is why you do it. I feel like in everything I do, I want people to take something away, to feel, happy or sad.
LWB: What has the reaction to the book been like?
NVI: Hugely positive. I’m kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop! Overall, readers are intrigued by it, and they’ve embraced it. The only backlash I fear is that I often write for people who have kids. They may have the perception that I don’t like kids, since they don’t know my background. I’m surprised the book was so well received because women deciding what to do with their lives pushes buttons.
LWB: Do you have any advice for our readers?
NVI: I think there’s a reason we are drawn to what we do. Whatever our choices, we are right (if you’re not a criminal). Whenever I returned to somewhat puritanical New England, I apologized for all of my life decisions—until about two years ago. It never really helped me. We have been apologizing to ourselves, justifying ourselves. Do we have to answer every critic? We really don’t. We’re three-dimensional. We need to stop apologizing and just give something to the world.
No Kidding: Women Writers On Bypassing Parenthood features 37 essays from amazing, funny women, including Margaret Cho, Wendy Liebman, and Nora Dunn.
In addition to her contribution to No Kidding, Nancy Van Iderstine wrote Twentieth Century Fox: The First 75 Years, edited State Of Mind (the first book in Sven Davison’s Godhead Trilogy), and authored Vegan & Gluten-free Recipes To LIVE For: Comfort Food That Comforts! A performer with a gift for character voices, Nancy stars as Mama Chu in Little Big Panda, and she remains one of a small group of women who have played monsters in the Power Rangers franchise. See what Nancy’s up to at http://nancyvaniderstine.virb.com/.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
By Justine Brooks Froelker, LPC, CDWF-Candidate
Battling through IVF and learning to accept a childfree life means we are faced, sometimes daily, with uncomfortable social situations and questions about our motherhood status and how we got here. It also means the wounds of infertility, especially in the beginning when things are completely raw, continue to be open, gaping wounds. And at times, it can feel like society callously pours salt into us over and over.
Infertility, IVF, pregnancy loss and childfree acceptance are some of the most shamed words in our lexicon. The blogging universe has helped move us past this shame in many ways; however we have a long way to go in my opinion. My blog, Ever Upward, is my story; completely honest, completely open and without much shame…anymore at least.
Owning my story, completely and out loud, for the world to read has changed my life. My healing journey continues to improve and I am making connections with so many people all over the world. However, I completely understand and get that this is not how most of us going through infertility and childfree acceptance feel. However, I would like to offer a permission for all of us.
No apologies.
If you aren’t ready for that baby shower, politely decline. If your friend only talks about her brand new baby or her kids, respectfully ask her about something else in her life or bravely ask her to stop. Or simply greatly limit your time with her. Only you know what you are ready for with wherever you are in your journey. Give yourself permission to ask for what you want and need and to set boundaries. And do it without apology, especially to yourself.
As I write, I am headed home from my certification training with The Daring Way™ based on the research of Brené Brown. Through my work in the last 5 days I have learned more about my shame surrounding my IVF journey. Of course the misunderstandings and judgments that society and others have surrounding infertility can make shame envelope me so quickly that I completely shrink. But, through my work I also learned that at times I shut myself down in telling my full story because I know it is difficult for others to hear. Not only do they not want to discuss shamed infertility but they also don’t want to have to feel how sad my story is. Or how much they wish I could be a mother because they know I’d be a great mother. I find that I quiet myself and don’t share because I shield myself from feeling shame by people pleasing and caretaking, not wanting someone I care about to feel any pain, let alone my pain.
But, I also silence myself because I really don’t want their fucking sympathy.
I hopefully yearn for their empathy, and one day their understanding.
In the light filled spirit that has washed over me after learning the curriculum of The Daring Way™ I am filled with courage and hope. I will no longer shy away from my story, ever. I will practice my shame resilience. I will stop making apologies to society, to my friends and family, but most of all to myself.
So without any apology:
I am Justine.
I tried IVF two times with a gestational surrogate, and for us two times is enough and one more time than we really could afford both financially and emotionally.
I can’t have kids.
I tried very hard to be a mother.
I paid a lot of money to be a mother.
And, I put my body (and my surrogate’s body) through hormonal hell to have a baby.
But they were never my babies to love here on earth.
I know that adoption isn’t for me.
And so I work, sometimes every minute of every day, to accept my childfree life and to let go of my childlessness.
And I will no longer silence myself because my story is sad or scary for anyone, as I will no longer allow shame to steal my true self.
Because, this is my ever upward.
No apologies.
Justine Brooks Froelker is a Licensed Professional Counselor and a Certified Daring Way™ Facilitator-Candidate (based on the research of Brené Brown) with a private practice in St. Louis, Missouri (www.jbftherapyandcoaching.com). In February 2011, her husband and she began their journey in the world of IVF. 2 rounds of IVF with a gestational surrogate, 2 transfers, 3 babies never to be born and learning to accept a childfree life later, Ever Upward is conceived.
Last week I was checking out the stats on this blog and noticed a series of periodic spikes in visitors. When I dug a little deeper, I discovered that each spike coincided with Whiny Wednesday! I guess we all need a place to gripe now and then.
So, again, it’s Whiny Wednesday. If you have something on your mind, please share it here. I promise you, you won’t be alone!
Recently, a member of the Road Map to Healing program said 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 end 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.
Also, a new session of Road Map to Healing begins February 5th. There’s no cost to join the program, however I will be offering some additional opportunities to join support calls as well as work one-on-one with me. You can find out all about it here.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Nine womb-less women in Sweden received transplants from relatives in hopes that they will be able to give birth to their own children.
Premise for a sci-fi blockbuster movie? Nope. True story. You can read the article here.
I read the article with mixed feelings. I felt so sad for the recipients, having a sense of what they’d been through to get to this point. I thought about the ethics and wondered if, maybe, their lack of wombs isn’t part of Nature’s plan for population control (yes, I know that’s not a nice thought, but it’s honest). I wondered who would put themselves through this crazy experimental procedure, then I thought about all of the women I know who would drink, inject, or believe anything in hopes of having their miracle babies. I wondered if I had been in their shoes, if I had the means and opportunity, would I have signed up?
Would you?
Maybe this will be the answer to so many women’s desires to have children, and I hope for the best possible outcome. At the same time, I fear what kind of new baby-making industry (and related scams) might result from success.
I hope women—and their partners—read the fine print and weigh the possible win with the possible side effects and risks: blood clots, high blood pressure, diabetes, some types of cancer, transplant rejection. I also found the closing line of the article chilling: “…there are no guarantees (that the women will have babies)…what is certain is that they are making a contribution to science.”
Both my husband and I had to have surgery in the last six months. We are lucky to be healthy, but I have to tell you, recovery was a bitch. Elective surgery? No way. Possibly sacrifice my health to contribute to science? Um, no. But to maybe have a baby? Maybe.
What do you think?
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
This is absolutely my favorite time of year. The madness (and sometimes, sadness) of the holidays is behind us and it’s time to look forward to a brand new year.
I love the New Year. I love making plans, taking a little time to do some walking and dreaming, creating a picture of what I want my life to look like the following year. I always set some pretty lofty goals and sometimes I even reach them! But the thrill for me is not in checking accomplishments off my list (although I enjoy that, too) but in taking a deep breath and realigning my life to how I’d like it to be.
Among the cards I received over the holidays were a several (I was surprised how many) photo cards from friends who are also childfree. I really enjoyed seeing their adventures and travels, and although I’ll admit to a touch of envy, I was also glad to see photographic evidence that these women had worked their way through their loss and grief and were living life to the fullest again. Their photos also prompted me to move some of my old passions (travel and hiking, for example) higher up my list next year.
If you’re in the thick of grief, looking ahead to a rosy future can feel impossible, and even when the healing begins, you can sometimes find that you’ve lost touch with who you really are and who you’d like to be again.
One of the most encouraging weeks during last year’s Road Map to Healing workshop was after we’d discussed the topic of finding yourself again. So many participants said they’d pushed aside old passions during the baby quest, and it was so fun to see all the amazing things people had once loved to do that were about to be dusted off again. Some people loved singing, reading, writing, traveling, even trampolining. Their ideas made me think about bringing some of my own former hobbies back into my life again. I’d like to encourage you to do the same.
If you’re thinking there’s no way you’re getting on a pair of rollerskates again, I suggest thinking about how your old favorite hobby made you feel; what was it about rollerskating (for example) that you loved so much. Is there a way to recreate those old feelings in a new hobby? If your rollerskates gave you freedom and if you loved the feel of the wind in your hair, can you get that by riding a bike or taking a long drive with the windows open?
As we step into this brand new year, I encourage you to think about the “you” that got lost and to look for ways to find her again.
If you’re still in the early stages of coming-to-terms and struggling to even keep moving forward some days, let alone think about having fun, consider joining me on the next Road Map to Healing later in January. The program is free and offers plenty of tools to work through some of the most difficult sticking points. If you’re not already on the mailing list, you can sign up here to receive more information when the program begins.
By Nicole Hasenpflug
My childhood Sunday school class had many boys, but only two girls: one petite, doe-eyed child…and me. It was no surprise when, for the few years we were Christmas-pageant-aged, the other girl was chosen to portray Mary…every single time. Too tall and awkward to be the mother of Jesus, I was the angel—also every single time. I really wanted to have a turn at being Mary, but I did my best as the angel anyway. I had the lines down from the first year, starting with, “Fear not! For behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy…”
On my bad days—and at this time of year there are a few—I’m sometimes bitter about the fact that I never even made the cut to play a mother in a church pageant. “Mary” grew up to be a wonderful person and the mother of three adorable boys. I don’t get to do that. Always the messenger, never the mom.
On other days I think about my opening line: “Fear not.” I chose my path as a teacher when I was still young enough for the tinsel halo, and I am now in my eighteenth year of teaching, in a school with many students in poverty and other tough situations. I spend a surprising amount of time saying, “Fear not,” or some variation, and then working to find ways to back what I’ve said and provide a bit of comfort, when often there is no easy fix.
I’ll never be a Mary, and I’m certainly not an angel, but delivering good news (and, once in a while, tidings of great joy) is a role I can grow into.
Nicole Hasenpflug has many adolescent musicians in her life—just not (usually) in her house. She shares her home with her amazing husband and their two bunnies.
Over the Thanksgiving weekend I got to sit down and have a cup of tea and a chat with another woman who’s walked a similar path to me and survived.
Unlike most cozy chats with a friend, this one was captured on video and now I get to share it with you.
Some of you will know Jody Day as the founder of Gateway Women in the UK and author of the new book: Rocking the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfiling Life Without Children. I sat down to talk with Jody about her book and her personal journey that led to its development.
If you’re not familiar with Jody, you’re in for a treat. So grab yourself a cuppa and settle in with us.
Here are the links mentioned in the video:
Mr. Fab and I had a lovely quiet Thanksgiving, just the two of us.
We watched Home for the Holidays as a reminder of what’s good about not having to do the “family thing.”
But now we’ve turned the corner into December and I’m feeling my first pangs of the holiday blues. There are so many things that I wish were part of my festive season, like hand-delivering gifts to my family, shopping for small children, and having the kind of Christmas I had as a child.
But, I’m taking my own advice. I’m focusing on the good stuff, making plans to do festive activities, and creating new traditions suitable for a family of two.
But, boy, it’s not always easy is it?
It’s Whiny Wednesday. What are you struggling with today?
~ "a raw, transparent account of the gut-wrenching journey of infertility."
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