Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

What “Just” Doing IVF Really Entails

By Lisa Manterfield

41arhf5f36lI’m going to say this up front so I can get it out of the way: I really didn’t want to read any more books about infertility.

Like all of us here, I’ve worked hard to heal the wounds of my own infertility so that I can step out into a world full of mothers and children and not feel as if I’m about to suffocate. Reading other people’s stories played a big part in my recovery. I’ve done the work and the result it that life is pretty good these days, even without children of my own.

I am also aware that the hurt has not really gone away. It lurks under the surface, moving deeper year-by-year, granted, but always there. I’ve avoided reading more infertility stories because I don’t want to go back to those treatment rooms, those times of frustration, and that deep, dark sadness of being unable to create life. Even writing this last sentence reminds me of where I once was. So you see where my reluctance comes from.

But recently, Pamela at Silent Sorority asked me to participate in a blog tour for Julia Leigh’s memoir, Avalanche, A Love Story. Of course, I agreed. While our “sorority” may have been silent when Pamela wrote her book almost a decade ago, this is no longer the case. (You can see the growing list of bloggers who agreed to participate in this post.) We are vocal, we are sharing our stories, and we are supporting one another.

Despite our willingness to speak and write, there remains much ignorance and misunderstanding surrounding infertility. It’s what prompts pitying looks from people who ask if we have kids, and it prompts all the platitudes and hurtful comments we hear, falsely labeled as “helpful.” My personal favorites are “Just do IVF”, “Why didn’t you just adopt?”, and “You can’t have really wanted kids if you gave up so easily.”

Which is why we need to support authors like Leigh, who are willing to risk (and receive) judgement and pity because they crossed their own lines in the pursuit of motherhood. It’s important that women facing the possibility of fertility treatments find honest accounts of what it really entails (even if they choose to believe it will be different for them!) And it’s important that others who have no experience with infertility get to read a compelling story and perhaps gain insight, understand, and most of all, compassion. It’s why I sucked it up and bought and read Avalanche: A Love Story.

The book is short (I read it in two sittings) but powerful and beautifully written. It did indeed take me back to many of my own experiences, and at times I found myself wanting to yank her aside and impart my hard-earned wisdom on her. So many times I begged her not to make the choices she was about to make, but understanding how quickly logic and decision-making skills warp in the infertility world. By the end, I found myself connected to another infertility sister and understanding myself a little more.

I’ll be posting my full review on Amazon. If you decide to read the book, I encourage you to also leave a review. Word-of mouth is still the number one way most of us find books, and second only to buying books, reviews are the best way to support an author.

Pamela is hosting a blog tour for Julia’s book today. You’ll find a list of the participating bloggers here. I hope you’ll take a moment to visit some of them and perhaps find some new voices.

P.S. I know this post has replaced the usual Whiny Wednesday spot, but I think there’s enough in here to prompt a little outrage. Whiny Wednesday will be back next week.

I’m Taking Leap of Faith…and I’m Nervous

crossed-fingers-behindbackThere’s a school of thought that says: When you start to feel afraid of taking a leap or making a change, that’s when you know you’re making the right decision. I’m choosing to subscribe to this school of thought this week, because I’m starting to feel nervous about an upcoming leap of faith.

A couple of months ago I had a brilliant idea. You know the kind I mean. It came to me in an instant and I immediately wondered why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I began thinking about this idea all the time and planning out how it would work. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a really great idea. So, I told a couple of people and they thought it was a good idea. So I told a couple more. And before I knew it, I was committed.

Then, this week, things started to get real. The pieces of my plan began clicking into place, money changed hands, and I passed the point of no return, or at least the point of no return without humiliation. Suddenly, I was really nervous.

All the reasons why this was the best idea I’ve ever had suddenly got a little fuzzy at the edges. I woke up in the night with a list of all the things that could go wrong, all the reasons why this was a stupid idea, and I knew I had to make a decision. I could:

A) Call the whole thing off, cut my losses, and go back to my old safe, but ineffective, way of doing things.

B) Put it off a couple more weeks, give myself some time to firm up a few more details and mitigate some of the potential disasters.

C) Pinch my nose, close my eyes, and leap in feet first, hoping that I’d figured out quickly how to swim.

I’ll admit that all these options looked good, but finally, I made a decision. The only way I would ever truly know if this was the best idea since sliced bread was to commit and go for it.

So, here goes…

ASC-Front-medNext week, Wednesday July 27, I will launch a new serialized novel, A Strange Companion. I will publish a new chapter of the novel every single week until I get to “The End”, sometime in early 2017.

I’ve never done anything like this before and honestly, it goes against all my beliefs about how to go about publishing a book. I’m afraid it won’t be good enough. I’m afraid people won’t like it. I’m afraid I’ll get to Chapter 5 or 10 or 20 and realize I started in the wrong place or that there’s an important character or set-up that really needed to appear in Chapter 7.

Regardless, I’m doing it. I’ve had enough of fate deciding what I will or won’t be in this life. My future lies in writing fiction and I’m taking matters into my own hands.

If you happen to be a fiction lover and want to come along on this adventure with me, you can find out a bit more about the project at LisaManterfield.com. If you don’t happen to read fiction, then all I ask is for your good wishes and sharp shove out the door.

Story Power: A Campfire Story for Your Younger Self

By Lisa Manterfield

CampfireSince we humans first began gathering into social and familial groups, we’ve used stories to create a sense of community. Early hunter-gatherers shared tales to pass along information, traditions, and important lessons.

In this fascinating Life Science article, Campfire Tales Served as Early Human Social Media, researchers noticed a big difference between daytime and nighttime campfire stories told among a tribe of Kalahari Bushmen. While the daytime conversations were made up of only 6 percent stories, the rest being complaints, gossip, hunting plans, and jokes, once the tribe gathered around the nighttime campfires, 81 percent of conversations were stories.

The stories passed along information about tribal customs and ceremonies, as well as warnings of dangers, such as the story of three bushmen killed in a fire. The tribe also used stories to pass information to younger generations.

Modern Stories

Even today, we find our way around in the world and understand who we are through handed down stories. I heard stories about my aunt who emigrated to Australia by boat in the 1940s, which helped me understand why I seemed to be the only person in my family to move far from home. I recently learned that my habit of dragging my husband on long, under-prepared hikes comes not from my dad, as I’d always believed, but from my mum, who had the same habit.

As a child, I learned about the dangers of electrocution, of hot cooking oil, of crossing the street, not from formal lessons, but from stories told by others. More recently, my social media feed has bombarded me with a million things to worry about, everything from terrorist attacks to falling off a cliff while playing Pokémon Go.

From this community, I’ve learned from other people’s stories that I was not alone in my experiences, and gained ideas about how to cope with challenges. And writing my own story has helped me to understand myself too, to give perspective to experiences I didn’t fully understand as they we happening.

As you think about the stories you might tell, what important wisdom would you pass along if you had the chance to sit around the campfire with your younger self?

Story Power: Why Writers Must Ask “Why?”

Photo by Rebecca Lacko

Two weeks ago I got to visit the beautiful Pacific Northwest to teach a workshop about book promotion. I met the most generous and supportive group of writers at BARN (Bainbridge Artisan Regional Network) and we dug into how to find readers for fiction, non-fiction, and poetry.

One of the most important questions to ask as a writer is “Why?”

Why should a reader care about my work?

Why should she invest her valuable time?

And why the heck am I writing this story in the first place?

It’s not reasonable for an writer to expect to inspire someone to pick up her book if she doesn’t know what inspired her to write it in the first place. How can you assure someone they won’t regret reading it when you have no idea why they might get something valuable from it?

So, the first exercise we did in the workshop was to answer the question: Why are you doing the work you do?

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Photo by Rebecca Lacko

I watched brows furrow around the room as the members of the group considered the question. Then, one-by-one, I watched realization hit. When people shared their reasons—everything from giving a voice to baby boomers to inspiring children to explore outdoors—you could hear the passion about their topics in their voices.

Whenever I read a book I love, I always want to know what inspired the author to write it. Don’t you?

So if you’re thinking about writing your story, or any story for that matter, start by asking “why?”. Why am I compelled to share this? What do I want to say and why would a reader care? Understanding your personal “why” will make starting to write an awful lot easier.

***

For now, I’ll leave you with some pictures that have inspired me to put the Pacific Northwest on my list of places to visit again soon.

Mandatory lunch at Elliot's

Mandatory lunch at Elliott’s

 

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View of Seattle from the Bainbridge Ferry

 

The result of buying too many books at Eagle Harbor Book Co.

The result of buying too many books at Eagle Harbor Book Co.

 

A slice of paradise

A slice of paradise

Saying Yes to Possibility

By Lisa Manterfield

Lynn Valley BridgeJune 3rd and I’m traveling to Vancouver, Canada, to meet five women for what we’ve informally named “The Global Sisterhood Summit.” I’m meeting most of them for the first time, and I realize how unusual this is when the immigration agent questions me on arrival.

“What’s your business in Canada?”

“I’m meeting a group of friends.”

“How do you know them?”

“We’re bloggers.”

“You’re what?”

“Bloggers. We met online through our blogs.”

At this point her head snaps up. “Have you met them in person before?”

I know how it sounds to say I’m meeting strangers in a foreign country because they sounded nice online, but I’ve been up since 4 a.m. and I’m getting cranky. I want to get to my hotel and go for a quiet run by the water so I can prepare for a weekend in which I have no idea what to expect.

“I’ve met two of them,” I tell her. “It’s fine.”

She purses her lips and hands my passport back to me. “Welcome to Canada,” she says.

I’ll admit I’d had misgivings about the trip myself. The cost of airfare, the fact that I’d be taking yet another trip without Mr. Fab, and something else: All we have in common is our childlessness and I wonder if that will be enough.

I’ve talked a lot on this site about not wanting to be defined by infertility and childlessness. It will always be a part of who I am, like all my life experiences, but I have many facets and I’m aware of the danger of getting stuck in a place of loss, of never moving beyond the thing that didn’t happen. I know how even well-tended grief can lurk in dark places, waiting for an opportunity to pounce again. Do I really want to fly to Canada only to undo all the work I’ve done?

But in the end, one of my other facets wins out. The curious cat inside me wants to be part of the action! So I packed a bag, cashed in my frequent flyer miles, and headed north.

Once I am checked in at the hotel, I abandon my quiet run in favor of lunch with Sarah. Sarah writes the aptly named blog Infertility Honesty and “speaks her truth” with the kind of blunt dry humor that jolts and then immediately endears. (See her post about the weekend and her brilliant “infertility t-shirts.”) Over one of the best Caesar salads I’ve ever had (Fried capers! Who knew?) we share our stories and laugh at some of the insanity we’ve endured. And then we talk about our mutual love of food. We order tropical tuna tacos and vow to sit together at every meal so we can sample one another’s selections. Almost every conversation we have that weekend will find its way, eventually, to food.

Before long, we are joined by Pamela and Kathleen, the two members of the group I already know well. Pamela is a lightning rod in our community, the person reporters and researchers track down for information. She is also a conduit to the various subgroups that have emerged—the bloggers, the healers, the advocates, and the leaders. You can read Pamela’s take on the weekend here.

Kathleen, who you already know well from this site, brings a broader perspective to our conversation. Infertility is only one version of the many paths that bring us together, and Kathleen reminds us of the common ground all of us who are childless-not-by-choice share. I know she’s working on a post about her experience over the weekend, so look out for that soon.

That evening I meet Cathy. She and her husband write Slow Swimmers and Fried Eggs, a blog about living childfree after infertility. In her wonderful post about the weekend, she talks about surviving loss together and the power of community. I spend my time with her talking about going on adventures, learning to sail, and how pole dancing helped her to reconnect and fall back in love with her body after infertility treatments. She is about to begin training as a transformation coach and, as someone I consider to be the queen of reinvention, she’ll be great at it.

On Saturday morning Andrea guides us on a stunning hike in Lynn Valley. (The photo is of the terrifying suspension bridge we crossed. Talk about facing your fears!) Andrea is not a blogger, but a self-described “lurker”. What that really means is that she is an ardent supporter of our work and contributes consistently in the comments of our posts. Andrea is an observer, incredibly perceptive and intuitive, a peaceful nucleus to which I find myself gravitating.

By Sunday, our group is tightly bonded. Wine has flowed, stories have been shared, and a deep understanding and admiration of one another has developed. We are joined by “S” a local woman who has heard about the summit and has come to meet us. The seven of us talk together about our experiences, and this is when my history creeps out from under its rock and makes its attack. As I share a story about coming to the end of my fertility treatments, the once-familiar anger and passion spills out and I think, “There it goes. There’s that old wound bursting open, just as I feared it would.”

But in this hotel conference room, I am safe. I am among friends who understand me, who hear me, and who acknowledge that, although “infertile” is not a badge I wear brazenly, it is one I will always carry with me. It will always be one of the many clubs of which I am a member. I am grateful to be among women who understand how, after so many years, I am still not “over it.” And the anger passes, a little more grief purged, and the scar over my old wound remains intact, maybe even stronger than it was before.

To be complete, this story needs a take-away, and for me it is this:

Being heard and understood matters. Telling your story matters. Finding one person who can listen and say “Me too” matters.

And facing the fear of talking openly about things that hurt perhaps matters most of all.

So, no matter how you came to be reading this post today, you are not alone. This website, this community is your safe place to be heard and acknowledged and understood. I encourage you to reach out to one another, to share your stories, and to make real connections. Say yes to the possibility.

There are several regional groups in the Community pages. Consider finding some people in your area and planning an in-person get-together. Because this weekend showed me that there is no substitute for personal interaction, for breaking bread and talking, sharing stories and discovering connections with someone who understands you completely.

I worried that the weekend might cause me to move backwards in my healing, but meeting these women and experiencing the power of connection has set me free from the fear that I might never fully heal. I will. I have. And I will continue to keep moving forward.

Using Prompts to Start Telling Your Story

TypewriterIn the corner of my bedroom is a large bag of journals. At first glance you’d mistake me for one of those people who fills book after book with profound thoughts, but that’s not who I am. Each journal has a handful of entries for each time I decided to dedicate myself to journaling. I’d write for a few days, then skip, then quit. Even as I worked my way through infertility and knew that journaling would help me, I never managed to keep it up for long enough to dig down into the good stuff. Turns out I’m not much of a navel gazer.

Under the desk in my office is another pile of journals. Every page of these books is filled with my writing. So what’s the difference?

The stories in the second stack of journals were almost all generated from writing prompts. These prompts might have been lines pulled from books, prompts given to me in a class, or verbal or visual prompts that set me off in a particular direction.

The thing about prompts is that they force you into the writing. There’s no room to ponder what to write. They take away the pressure of trying to find something profound or important to write about. You just pick a prompt and jump right in.

If you’re thinking about writing your story but don’t know where to start, consider trying some prompts to launch you into writing.

I like first-line prompts because they force you into a starting point. Take a look at the prompts below and find one that speaks to you. Begin writing with that line and see where it takes you.

If you tend to ponder or find yourself trying to come up with the perfect story, don’t overthink. Set a timer for five or ten minutes, pick a prompt that resonates with you, and dive in.

Here are a few first-line prompts to get you started:

This was a matter of life and death

It takes more than inspiration to become great

Don’t put on a brave face

There is something wrong in this house

I take a deep breath when I read this

Weekdays revolved on a sameness wheel

We have something bigger in common

Let me know in the comments how you did and if anything interesting came up for you.

 

My Perfect Imperfect Life

By Lisa Manterfield

Courtesy Hasbro Games

Courtesy Hasbro Games

In my weekly writer’s group, we start off with an exercise from a choice of prompts. When I saw “I’m tired of pretending my life isn’t perfect”, I almost took the prompt.

It’s not hard to write about the part of my life that is so obviously imperfect: the fact that I wasn’t able to have children. I could (and do) write about that broken bit. But if I took my life apart, I’d find lots of areas that aren’t perfect. Isn’t every life like that? Everyone has challenges, and life would probably be dull without them. But part of the thrill of living is overcoming life’s challenges. Without the obstacles there’s no glory of victory.

My life is flawed in many ways, as all lives are, but it’s also a good and happy life, and on the whole it’s pretty close to perfect. And it’s hard work to keep clinging to the idea that it isn’t. It’s tiring to keep feeling bad about the parts of my life that didn’t work out as planned.

I didn’t get to have children, and it’s true that, for a long period of time, it made my life feel empty and deeply flawed. But that changed over time. I worked to overcome that flaw, to seek and take advantage of the silver linings, to work through my sadness—by writing, in my case—by gathering this community and sharing our stories. My marriage made it through infertility. That’s a victory in itself. And while there are still many challenges in my life, few of them are related to my childlessness anymore.

So, yes, I am a flawed human, with challenges to face, but I no longer wish to pretend my life isn’t perfect, just as it is, warts and all.

If you’re in the mood to do some writing of your own, pull out your journal and take the prompt: I’m tired of pretending my life isn’t perfect.

(And by the way, I didn’t take the prompt because there was another that sparked an idea. I’m glad I took that one instead, because that exercise turned into short story that was published here.)

The Power of Story

I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.Welcome to Story Power. In this new column, I’m excited to explore with you the powerful effects that stories have on our lives.

Telling stories is an integral part of what it means to be human. Since the dawn of man, we’ve told stories to pass along survival information, to educate and inform, to discover ourselves, and to entertain. Every day we tell hundreds of stories as we navigate our way through the day.

In the six years since I started Life Without Baby, I’ve told my own story of infertility and shared the stories of others. I’ve learned from other people and come to better understand my own experience. I’ve used that collective knowledge to tell a bigger story about what it’s like to survive unexpected childlessness and to create a new narrative for a life without children.

At the same time, I’ve been telling other stories, made-up stories of fictional people and situations. What I’ve learned is that, even in writing about something I’ve never experienced personally (such as surviving a deadly virus as a teenager—my novel-in-progress) so much of my own story finds its way onto the page as I explore themes that are relevant to my own life.

What I hope to do here in Story Power is help you understand your own experience through the power of story. We’ll explore how story helps us make sense of our lives and how we can use story to inform, educate, and inspire ourselves and others. I’ll share tips and exercises to help you tell your own story, and share other people’s stories (both true and fictional) as inspiration. Along the way, I’ll let you in on some of my own story telling progress and what I’m learning as I move into this new stage of my life.

This Story Power blog feels like the next logical step for me on my journey, as I move beyond my identity as an infertility blogger and back toward my original destination as a novelist. Even if you don’t consider yourself a writer, you can come along with me and capture your own story through journaling, audio recording, structured writing, or any other art form. I’ll be playing around with some of these, too.

This project is something of an experiment, so I’d love to hear what you think, what (if anything) excites you about this, and what you’d like to learn or hear about. Please leave me a comment below, and if you’d like to be notified of new posts, there’s a subscribe option in the sidebar.

I look forward to sharing this new chapter with you.