filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
This morning I will be in the studios of KKZZ in Ventura, CA, talking live to Kim Pagano about life after infertility. The show airs from 8-9 a.m., so tune in if you’re in the area, or you can stream the show from the website, too. I’ll post a link here later, as well.
In the meantime, it is still Whiny Wednesday, so feel free to grumble and gripe to your heart’s content.
By Kathleen Guthrie
This morning, still brooding over yesterday’s failings and anticipating today’s regrets, I felt the need for something stronger than my book of affirmations to get me going. So, as I lingered in bed, I reached under my nightstand and pulled out The Portable Dorothy Parker.
It’s been several years since I’ve shared the company of the legendary wit who gave us “Brevity is the soul of lingerie” and “Men seldom make passes/At girls who wear glasses”…and I’ve missed her. As I skimmed some of her poems, I started to smile. Soon I was giggling. I laughed out loud when I landed on the quip that reminded me, “You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.”
So often I wake up steeled to take life so very seriously. I have roles and responsibilities that need to be fulfilled. I have bills to pay, decisions to make, dogs to feed, and schedules to plan. Sometimes the way I cheat and deprive myself in the daily quest to respond to all the “shoulds” gets so overwhelmingly depressing that I end up doing next to nothing and feeling like a worthless slug.
Ms. Parker had a few thoughts about this in her poem “Observation:”
If I don’t drive around the park,
I’m pretty sure to make my mark.
If I’m in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again.
If I sustain from fun and such,
I’ll probably amount to much;
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.
That was just the inspiration I needed. I threw off the bed covers and marched purposely toward a refreshingly hot shower, vowing to ditch some of the day’s shoulds and go in search of more giggles. I hope to end the day with a better awareness of the absurdities of life, with a new perspective that will help me reorder the priorities on my to do list. It’s likely I won’t get everything done that needs to be done, but just for today, I choose to not give a damn.
Like Ms. Parker, Kathleen Guthrie is a childfree freelance writer.
When was the last time you laughed? I mean really laughed. I’m talking deep, belly rumbling, side aching, snorting, laughter. Odds are, it’s been a while.
Last weekend I laughed longer and harder than I’ve laughed in a long, long time, and it felt SO GOOD!
The first bout came as my husband was telling our friends a funny and embarrassing story about his 21st birthday. I’ll spare the details, but think boys, bar, beer, waitress – use your imagination and you’ll be close. I’d heard the story before, but forgot the punch line, and for some reason it hit me right on the funny bone this time. I laughed so hard I had to excuse myself from the room to avoid snorting my adult beverage down my nose.
The second time happened when I rode a rollercoaster – something I haven’t done in absolutely YEARS! I certainly didn’t do anything so wild and outrageous during my TTC years (just in case, you know) and the opportunity hasn’t presented itself since. So, last weekend I rode The Roller Coaster at the New York-New York Hotel in Las Vegas.
Let me tell you, I laughed! I whooped down the first drop, howled through the corkscrew, screamed in delight around the spiral and laughed so hard my legs shook. And do you know what? I felt great!
Something loosened up when I laughed like that. Some lump of built up tension released in me, and the weight that’s been dragging me down for so long lifted. Maybe it’s only a temporary reprieve, but I’ll take it. Laughter really is an excellent medicine.
So, if you could use a laugh, here’s a good article about the health benefits of laughter, including some tips for adding laughter to your life. (I’m adding “ride a rollercoaster to the list.)
I know that when life doesn’t go as planned it’s hard to find any humor at all, and when you’re healing from loss and dealing with grief, nothing’s funny. I know. But finding something to smile about, even just a giggle, can do you a world of good, and when the time is right, a great big belly laugh can help put your whole life back into perspective.
So, my challenge to you this week: Find something to laugh about. If nothing’s funny, just force yourself to smile until it turns into a giggle, and then let the laughter follow. I promise you, you’ll feel so much better.
Pamela at Silent Sorority posted a wonderful story yesterday about the response she received from her recent Open Salon article about being a non-mom, Dispatch from Hell: It’s not all bad.
I found it encouraging that so many readers embraced her decision regarding adoption, and I was especially wowed by her own mother’s open-mindedness, when she wrote: “I’ve never understood why people automatically think that because a couple doesn’t have a child of their own, they will, of course, adopt. It’s like expecting a man or woman who never married to become a priest or a nun.” Well said, Mom!
I also laughed out loud (as did my husband, who has grown children) at a comment from the father of a “stay-at-home 23 year-old” who wrote: “No doubt it is a great pleasure watching your child grow, […] but if the second ten years came first, there would be no second children.”
As if to prove this point, I opened up my newspaper this morning and found myself both laughing and despairing at this article about three 19 year-old “boys,” who have just managed to wreck their lives through sheer stupidity. I’m sure their parents are very proud.
Yes, being a non-mom can be painful, sad, frustrating, or all of the above, but even so, the grass isn’t always greener on the parenting side of the fence.
Recently I spoke to my very good friend (let’s call her Sally) who is childfree because of a serious illness that left her unexpectedly infertile. Sally has a wonderful partner and a fulfilling career and is coming to terms with the fact that children are now out of the question for her.
I enjoyed being able to have a conversation about being childfree with someone who is a dear friend and also a kindred spirit. She understood what I’d been through and understood the importance of finding someone trustworthy to talk to.
We talked about her illness and she said something that really struck a chord with me. “No one ever asks me how I’m doing.”
Sometimes I think that people assume because a disease has been “cured” that there are no lasting repercussions or emotional scars. Or maybe that because someone doesn’t talk about personal aspects of their life (or, in the case of my friend, isn’t the type to complain) that they must be “doing okay” or that they’re “over it.” But often that isn’t the case.
I hope I’ve been the kind of friend that has checked in often with Sally and given her the opportunity to talk if she’s needed to. I certainly know that next time I speak to her, I’ll make a point a point of asking, not just how she’s doing generally, but how she’s doing specifically, with the after-effects of her illness.
And I’m also going to check in with you here. How are you doing, not just today, but in the bigger picture of your life as it stands? Let me know what’s going on with you, and maybe make a point of checking in with a friend who’s been through a traumatic experience in the past, and who might not be doing as well as he/she appears.
I just got back from a couple of days in Las Vegas, which you’d think would give me ample material for Whiny Wednesday topics, but in fact, Vegas didn’t grate on my nerves and send me fleeing for the airport, as it has in the past.
The purpose for the trip was to meet up with my most long-time friend, a woman I’ve known so long, I can’t remember ever not knowing her. I think we met in pre-school, but our parents knew each other from many moons before that. We manage to get together somewhere in the world about once every five years, and this time she happened to be passing through Vegas on a trip around the south-west’s National Parks, so we agreed to meet there. We ate, we walked, we talked, we laughed, and all in all, we had a fantastic time together with our significant others.
If I have any reason for whining this Wednesday it’s that I’ve taken so much time off for traveling fun lately that I am way behind in every other aspect of my life, including work, exercise, and household maintenance. But I suspect I’m not going to get a whole lot of sympathy, am I?
Still, it is Whiny Wednesday, so please don’t let my good mood get in the way of your complaining. Today is the day to get it off your chest, so whine away!
By Kathleen Guthrie
It’s two o’clock on a Saturday morning. I am sitting at my computer at this ungodly hour because one of our dogs has a new habit of barking at the moon around midnight, and the other dog, who recently injured a leg, started noisily gnawing at the bandage around two. I was able to go back to sleep after the first dog-interruption, but after the second, my brain kicked into gear. After an hour of lying in bed thinking about bills that need to be paid and work I should have finished yesterday and my to do list for the weekend and why I love the movie The Help so much (Viola Davis—she’s amazing), I decided to get up and get something done…like beat my time for finishing a Sudoku puzzle.
In college, I was a habitual all-nighter. Every paper I wrote was completed while I watched the sun rise, then I’d throw on a baseball cap and dash across campus to get it into the TA’s mailbox before the morning deadline, and I still looked and felt as fresh as a daisy. But I’ve lost the skill over the years. I now drag myself to bed around ten, get up at five to fit in gym time, get to my desk by nine at the latest, work long days, and repeat. I nap on the weekends. Sometimes I nap during my lunch breaks.
I don’t know how parents do the sleep-deprivation routine on an ongoing basis, the first six months spent meeting the constant needs of a newborn, then the next eighteen years getting up for nightmares, water requests, barf sessions, and missed curfews. Maybe if I’d become a mom in my twenties I could have pulled it off. But now, I love my sleep time. I need my beauty rest. I want to get a full eight hours with a full dose of REM! I think of it now as a luxury that I get to enjoy because I am childfree, and I am grateful for it. Especially when I am denied the benefits on long nights like tonight.
Kathleen Guthrie is a Northern California–based freelance writer. Her fastest Sudoku-solving time is 3:16.
If you ever happen to find yourself in Sheffield in the north of England, you might want to steer clear of Vito’s Italian restaurant. Don’t get me wrong, the food is delicious, the service is excellent, and Vito himself, if he happens to come out of the kitchen to talk to you, is charming and funny. But the place is a minefield for the childfree.
During my recent trip home, I went there with my mother and her gentleman friend to celebrate his birthday. Over the course of the meal the waiter (picture 50-ish, stocky Sicilian, with a thick half-Sheffield, half-Italian accent) discovered (from asking me) that I lived in California, was a writer, and was married to an American.
“So,” came the next question, “you have bambinos?”
“Um, no,” I said, quickly going back to my pasta.
“No?” he says. “Why not?”
There was an awkward pause while I weighed my options as to how to answer. I could grab this “teachable moment” and educate this man as to why is wasn’t okay to ask such a prying question; I could tell him the truth and risk embarrassing him, my mum, and her friend; or I could tell a big fat lie.
I chose a hybrid answer. “Too old,” I told him.
Now you think the penny would have dropped for him and he’d have walked away from the conversation, but no. Instead it went on, something like this:
“Too old? How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
Sicilian shrug. “Thirty six?”
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’m 41.”
“41?! That’s not old. My sister-in-law, she have bambinos and she 50! You have plenty of time.”
At which point I think I nodded and smiled and mumbled something like, “We’ll see,” and wondered if I could have steered the conversation differently.
This occasion wasn’t the right place to set this man right. And he wasn’t the right target for a lesson. Here was a man who came from a time and culture where all women have bambinos, and so naturally why wouldn’t I?
Yes, his question was awkward and embarrassing, but the reality is that anything he asked me in a normal line of conversation could have been awkward. I could have just lost my job, just been abandoned by my husband for a younger woman, just lost my house and been forced to move back in with my mother. He just happened to ask the one question that was my personal trigger and I don’t think that reading him the riot act for his misstep would have been the appropriate thing to do, do you?
I’ve been writing a weekly blog for Psychology Today called The Plan B Life. While it’s aimed at a general audience of people starting again with a new career, new relationship, or a new health situation, whenever I write it, I can’t help but relate it to my own Plan B Life, i.e. my unplanned Life Without Baby.
This week I wrote about the power of networking and the importance of asking for help from your community of friends and associates. I think that asking for help is something many of us are afraid to do, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to find how willing most people are to help, if only we ask.
It took a long time for me to learn this and I certainly didn’t ask for help when I really needed it, in the thick of my fertility adventure. In fact, I didn’t fully understand the value of community until I started this website, but boy, do I appreciate it now.
I know that many of you out there are struggling with coming to terms with your own Plan B Life, and I really encourage you to ask for help from this wonderful community we have here. We have almost 500 members over on the private site, so you can throw out questions and issues on the Forums there. You can also drop me a line any time through the Suggest Topics form. I’m certainly not an expert beyond my own experience, but I do have the power to put your needs out to an audience for their expert help. People are problem solvers by nature and sometimes all you have to do is ask.
Last night I dreamed I went to a fertility doctor for “once last try.” I’m not really sure what kind of procedure I opted for, but I knew it wasn’t going to work. The doctor was convinced otherwise. Based on listening to my abdomen in the middle of the medical building lobby, he told me–and a woman I knew, who happened to be walking by–that I was pregnant. I knew I was not, and a nurse did tests shortly after to confirm it. Another friend, who has recently become a first-time mother, asked if I was going to try again next month. I told her I was not, because “just one more try” never stops.
And then I woke up feeling horrible.
It wasn’t the content of the dream that bothered me, because I know it was just my sub-conscious cleaning out the junk, but the emotions that I felt during the dream and after I woke up, were all too familiar: hope, with that underlying dull feeling of, not exactly of despair, but despondency. That inner knowledge that things just aren’t going to work out in my favor.
Most of the time I don’t dwell on my experience of dealing with infertility, but all that experience and the related emotions are permanently lodged in my subconscious, and every now and then it seems they’re going to bubble to the surface. Lucky me.
~ "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."
