filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
It’s Whiny Wednesday, your chance to gripe about the issues you’re dealing with this week. This week’s suggested topic is one we’ve all had to deal with:
An over-abundance of work pregnancies
I can relate to this one. When I was trying to conceive, I managed a small department of about eight people. One year we had three simultaneous pregnancies…and none of them was mine.
Whine away!
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Jessica and her husband John are childfree “by chance and then choice(?),” the parenthetical question mark indicating her struggle to make peace with that word: choice. After six of years of trying to get pregnant, they tried IVF, “but it failed,” she says. “We were told with my diminished ovarian reserve there was really no chance of IVF working without an egg donor.” It was at that point they decided not to pursue any more fertility treatments or adoption.
What a heartbreaking “choice”—one so many of us can relate to.
Today, Jessica is traveling through the acceptance phase of her journey, working on embracing her family of two, and hoping “to feel joyful again.” That’s our hope for her too.
Here’s more of her story.
LWB: Briefly describe your dream of motherhood:
Jessica: I always pictured a little boy, who looks just like John, looking up at me with his sweet face. I had names picked out for our two girls, but we never could decide on a name for our boy. I prayed, often, for the wisdom to teach our girls to truly know their value, because so many girls grow into women not realizing how much they are worth. I couldn’t wait to see John as a dad, interacting with our kids, with his sweet, gentle spirit.
LWB: What was the turning point for you?
Jessica: After our failed IVF, I was grieving. I did not understand all of the emotions I was having. I spent a lot of time talking and thinking about what was next and finally realized I was simply tired. I was tired of our life being on hold, of the emotional roller coaster each month, of feeling isolated and alone. I decided to go to an infertility support group to see if it could help me process everything. In that meeting, while each person talked about where they were on their journey to have a child, I realized I was done. Our life had been on hold for two-thirds of our marriage, waiting to get pregnant. I was barely making it out of bed half of the time. When it came to be my turn, I said how I was feeling, and the leader said she knew a couple who had chosen not to pursue any more fertility treatments nor to adopt. She said they were living “childfree” and living it well. That put all of the pieces in place for me. I had not heard anyone ever talk about choosing that path. It took several weeks for me to process this thought. I met with the lady of the couple to talk about her journey. I googled to see if I could find other women who had also chosen this path. (I am so grateful for all the woman who share their stories online!) John and I talked about it and finally decided that we also wanted to start accepting our life without kids. It was such a mixture of sadness and relief to finally make that decision!
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Jessica: Finding a purpose in this world as a woman without kids. Also not being able to see my mom and dad with our kids.
LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you?
Jessica: You are not alone, even if it feels like it. It is hard to find someone who truly understands the emotions that you are having, but it is worth trying to find that someone who has gone through a similar struggle. And only you can say how far and how long you go trying to have a baby, even though most people will have an opinion on it.
LWB: How has LWB helped you on your journey?
Jessica: I bought Lisa’s book Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen when it came out. The timing was perfect, as I had really just come to the decision to accept our life without kids. Probably the main thing I got out of it right away was how much of what I was feeling was normal and okay. I felt a lot of pressure to go to both my sisters-in-law’s baby showers and to go to the hospital when my niece and nephew were born. This was right after our failed IVF. It was tough, so tough. Lisa talks about preparing for social events in her book, which helped me realize that it is okay to have good days and bad days. It is okay to opt out of a family event or a social event if I think it could be a trigger. And the biggest one was about Mother’s Day. It was so freeing to take control and have a plan to honor my mom while navigating around the day. Reading the book also confirmed to me that I was on the right path.
The LWB blog is great too. I am very thankful that something is posted pretty much every day, because it reminds me I am not alone!
In her email to me, Jessica wrote, “Answering these questions was helpful in reflecting on our journey, where we’ve been, and where we might be going.” I would love for you to experience the healing that can come from sharing your story with all of us at LWB. If you feel ready, go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.
If you’re not quite ready for this step, I encourage you to check out the Community Forums and other Our Stories, where you will find understanding and support from LWB readers who have traveled paths similar to yours.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
Back-to-school season is upon us and social media has been abuzz with snapshots of proud parents and their offspring. So it seems like a good time for this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:
Feeling left out when friends and relatives celebrate the milestones of being parents and grandparents.
As always, your other whines are always welcome.
By Lisa Manterfield
I’m doing really well at being at peace with not having children. But for a long time there were days when the darkness came over me. Do you know what I mean?
Ordinarily, the darkness was a tiny ball that I carried it around with me wherever I went. It was safely tucked away and I didn’t even notice it. Then something would happen to flip the lid and suddenly the darkness crept into every open space within me.
I’m got tired of carrying the darkness around and finally I was ready to let it go. I didn’t want to feel bitter or sad about not having children, because honestly, I was okay. But I couldn’t remember who I was any more. When I looked in the mirror I didn’t see me. I saw a woman who looked tired and overweight, and very, very serious about life. She didn’t laugh easily or live with abandon, like the real me used to. She was cautious and unwilling to let herself go. She felt like a square peg in a world full of round holes and it was lonely to live that way.
Our experiences make us who we are, but what happens to who we were? In a universe where energy remains constant, I knew that the old me — the laughing, carefree joyous me — must still have been around. I’d catch glimpses of her sometimes, and like a huntress, I’d follow her into the woods. And yet, so often, she managed to evade me.
But I was patient. I kept an eye on her and kept moving towards her. I kept hunting her, until I caught up with her again. And finally, she I were able to stand together again and let the darkness go.
Are you missing the old you? Where might you go to find her again?
One of the earliest posts I wrote here was about the trend at the time in baby doll tops that, on me, looked like maternity wear. Recently I’ve noticed empire waists back in the stores, which have much the same effect.
A reader offered this Whiny Wednesday topic about shopping for new clothes. Her whine is:
“The need to go shopping for new clothes and trying to find something I feel good in vs. something I think screams ‘infertile and has a poor sense of style.’”
She may not have a great sense of style, but at least she has a great sense of humor.
It’s Whiny Wednesday. What can you laugh about this week?
By Lisa Manterfield
I absolutely love this article by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman about how not to say the wrong thing to someone in crisis. I wish it was mandatory reading for everyone, and I especially wish it came with a note explaining that it applies when talking to infertiles and the childless-not-by-choice.
The gist of their Ring Theory is that the person in crisis is at the center of the ring and those next closest to the person occupy subsequent rings. In the case of someone coming to terms with not having children, she would be at the center, her spouse or partner on the next ring, perhaps closest family and friends on the next, and more distant family, coworkers, and acquaintances beyond that.
The rule is that that if people have something mean or insensitive or opinionated to say, they say it to someone on a bigger ring. When speaking to someone on a smaller ring, they can only listen or—if they must say something—offer help, support, or comfort. No advice, no miracle stories, no blame or shame. No offering of their kids, no suggestions to adopt. “I’m sorry” is all that needs to be said. If they want to dump, dump outwards, not inwards.
I wish people would understand that someone who has just acknowledged she won’t ever have children is in crisis, and what she needs more than judgment and unhelpful help is for people to say to the right thing.
By Lisa Manterfield
In the very early stages of our relationship. Mr. Fab and I discovered all sorts of odd things we had in common, one of which is that we both played the trombone as teenagers. Anyway, we’ve been talking about learning to play again, and we finally found a used instrument in good condition.
The main difference between a trombone and other brass instruments is that you make the notes by moving a slide up and down, rather hitting a key. It makes it a lot more difficult to hit just the right note. It’s also what makes the trombone so much fun to play, because you can slide easily from note to note, up and down and back again.
The reason I’m telling you all this is that today I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole coming-to-terms process. I’ve been thinking about it in terms of school grades, with the freshman class having just made the decision to live childfree or to stop fertility treatments, and having no idea how to start getting used to the idea. They eventually graduate to acceptance and begin to find a way to get happy, and ultimately go on to live a full and happy life without children.
But it’s really not that simple. You never really do hit all the notes precisely and in order. It’s much more like playing a trombone, where you slide from one state to the next and sometimes back again. One day, you’re content and determined to make the most of your situation, then something happens to trigger all those old emotions and you find yourself sliding back down. Then you get to talk someone who understands you and you feel like you can really figure this out…until your friend announces a pregnancy and back down you go again.
So, I’m wondering, where are you on the sliding scale of coming-to-terms? Where are you right now and have you been better or been worse? Do you feel that, even though you have setbacks, you’re slowly moving towards a place of peace, or can you see no way to ever come-to-terms with your lot in life? Or have you already been up and down the scale and have finally found a place of contentment? I’d like to know.
It’s Whiny Wednesday. Hurray!
This week’s topic needs no introduction, so I’m just going to post it:
Whine away!
By Lisa Manterfield
Mr. Fab and I don’t talk much anymore about our infertility journey. He’d as soon forget the whole ordeal and I prefer to look forward rather than dwelling on what might have been. But recently it came up in conversation.
“If I had to doit all again, I would,” he told me.
My first thought was “No way!” I wouldn’t wish that experience on my worst enemy and I don’t think I could bear to see Mr. Fab go through it again. But when I thought about it some more, I see there are positives that came out of it.
We are tougher than we were before, both individually and as a couple. We now know we can weather a major storm, and we’ll be okay when the next one comes along (and they always come along). I’m more compassionate toward others who might be in pain, now that I know what it’s like to be smiling in public and dying on the inside. I learned a lot about myself and how I handle crisis, and we’ve learned about one another. We’ve uncovered the people we really are.
So if I had to do it all again, I would. Would you?
By Lisa Manterfield
A couple of years ago, I attended the World Domination Summit in Portland, OR, where I spent the weekend surrounded by creative types and some incredible people looking to make a difference in the world. It was truly an inspiring experience.
While I took something of value away from every speaker who presented, every story I heard, and every person I met and talked with, there were, as always, standouts.
One speaker, Shannon Galpin, told her story of traveling to Afghanistan to provide education programs for women and girls in conflict zones. She talked about going into a women’s prison in Kandahar to interview some of the women and girls being held there. She was concerned that these women, already in danger because of their actions, would not be willing to speak to her and tell their stories. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
So many women wanted to talk to her, she ended up spending hours over the course of several days sitting with them and recording their stories. At the end of her time, one woman unclipped her elaborate hair clip and offered it as a thank you gift. “No one has ever cared enough to hear our stories,” she said. This experience prompted Shannon’s wonderful TED Talk on pity, apathy, and the power of voice, which I encourage you to watch when you have 10 minutes to spare.
The sentiment also struck a deep chord in me as I thought more about this idea of sharing stories and having a voice. It made me think about some of the conversations I’ve had about why I don’t have children, how the topic is met with pity or apathy, or handled with platitudes about whether we tried x or y treatment or if we considered adoption. Even people who know and care about me have expressed their own discomfort about the frankness of what they’ve read in my book or one of my blog posts. It has sometimes felt as if no one really wants to hear the story of what happened and how much the loss of not getting something I really wanted—having a child of my own—has rippled into every aspect of my life.
But that isn’t going to stop me talking because, for every person who’s squirmed, I’ve come across ten who’ve said, “I appreciate your honesty” or “That’s exactly how I feel” or “Thank you for giving me a voice.”
Since launching “Our Stories” on this site, we’ve featured dozens of your voices. Firstly, I want to send an enormous hug to everyone who had the courage to share her story. I also want to give a massive shout-out to Kathleen who created the column and works one-on-one with every storyteller.
Gwen shared her story and told Kathleen, “Putting my story out there and reading responses from women who have dealt with the same exact problems and feel the same way as I do… I am comforted and I do not feel so alone.”
And Maria said, “I felt like people connected with my story and it gave them hope. I feel like we are all here for a reason and that is my purpose right now—to take what I have learned and share it with others.”
This is the power of voice. This is why we keep telling our stories, even when it gets uncomfortable for us and even when it sparks pity or apathy in others.
We’d love to share your story. You can find a questionnaire to get you started and details on how to submit on the Our Stories page. I hope this will help you to find your voice, inspire others, and know that you’re not alone.
~ "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."
