Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

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.

Do You Ever Get Over Being Childless-Not-By-Choice?

By Lisa Manterfield

bigstockphoto_Sand_Through_Hands_2823I’ve run this post several times over the years, but it remains one of the hottest topics and the question I’m most often often asked. If you’ve been a reader for while, think of this as a chance to look back and see how far you’ve come.

The question is: is it possible to ever get over being unable to have children?

I can’t see far enough ahead to know for sure if infertility and being childless is something I will ever “get over,” but based on another life-changing experience, here’s what I think:

When I was 15, my dad passed away suddenly and everything changed for me. I remember feeling immediately alienated from the other kids in school because I was no longer like them. I felt as if everyone was staring at me to see how I behaved, to see what someone with a dead dad looked like. People didn’t know what to say me, so many just said nothing. Several adults said variations of “This will make you grow up quickly” so I took them at their word and forged a new grown-up path.

For many years, my dad’s death defined me and I saw everything in my life through that filter. I felt angry and rebelled against people who had living parents, especially if they didn’t appreciate them. Unexpected things would trigger my grief and those old emotions would come at me from nowhere.

Over time, this eased. I went about my life and slowly, the fact that I didn’t have a dad no longer factored in. The trigger situations became less frequent and I thought about his death less and less.

It’s now been 30 years since he passed away. His death no longer directly colors my life. It is something I experienced a long time ago and found my way through. I think about him sometimes, but mostly with fondness and only occasionally do I think about the traumatic time around his death.

I have never forgotten my dad, nor will I ever forget him. His memory and my loss are woven into the fabric of my being, but don’t identify me as someone who has lost. I can say that I am “over” the loss of my dad, but I will never forget that he’s no longer here.

So, now if I go back over this story and replace the loss of my father with the loss of the children I never had, I imagine the story will unfold in much the same way. I’m already on the road to healing. Situations that cause my grief to flare up are very rare these days and the traumatic period of my life is blending into my library of memories. I am well on the way to being “over” infertility and the loss I experienced because of it, but it will always be a part of who I am and I don’t expect I will ever forget.

Preparing for Mother’s Day

By Lisa Manterfield

holding handsLet’s just say it: Mother’s Day is the nuclear bomb of holidays when you don’t have children. It’s a day of brunches, church services, and flowers, when shops, offices, restaurants, and even our social media feeds are filled with celebrations of moms and all things motherhood. To top it all, this holiday has somehow escaped the political correctness cleanup that other holidays have undergone, so while many people are hesitant these days to wish someone a Merry Christmas, lest they offend, no one seems to have any qualms about wishing everyone a Happy Mother’s Day.

It took me a long time to be able to face Mother’s Day, but the last couple of years I’ve done something fun for myself on that weekend. A couple of years ago I planned a trapeze class and this year I’m running a half marathon at Disneyland. Each year, I’m able to note that the day bothers me less and less, and I use it to mark my own progress. I know that many of you aren’t there yet, and from past experience I know that it pays to face the day prepared.

If you plan to venture out over Mother’s Day weekend, be ready for almost everyone to wish you a happy Mother’s Day. This includes friends, neighbors, sales assistants, parking attendants, and even complete strangers. Prepare your arsenal of stock replies and be ready to respond, so you don’t find yourself caught unawares and having to explain why you’re standing in the middle of the street in tears, yelling “It’s not a happy day at all!” to an unsuspecting stranger.  My standard response is to say “Thank you. You too” and move on as quickly as possible.

Once you’re aware of the inevitable challenges the day can bring, it’s good to make a plan to keep yourself protected. If you know you’re not going to be able to make it through the day with your emotions intact, stay at home or make plans to go somewhere away from the biggest challenge spots. If you’re expected to attend a big family gathering, consider if you could take a pass, just this year. Even if the next Mother’s Day is months from now, take a few minutes to jot down the challenges you might face and come up with a plan. How will you spend the day? How will you honor your own mother? And how will you deal with the challenges you can’t avoid?

The Loneliness of Infertility: How to Start Asking for Support

By Lisa Manterfield

startasking-for-supportI never knew how lonely dealing with infertility would be. Even though I was recently married to a man I loved, worked with a group of people I considered friends, and had an active social life, I felt as as if I was dealing with infertility completely alone.

I found it hard to talk about what I was going through, even with my closest friends. I was angry and confused. I struggled to find the right questions to ask my doctors, let alone try to explain what was happening to me to someone who’d never experienced it. I felt so vulnerable and not at all in control of any aspect of my life, especially my emotions. I was afraid if I ever did open up to a friend, I might unleash a maelstrom of anger and grief. So, I put on a brave face and did my best to act as if everything was okay. The more I needed the comfort and support of an understanding friend, the more I pulled into myself and away from any risk of intimacy.

Eventually, of course, my grief found a small crack and pushed its way out. And once it had found a weak spot in my armor, it tore it open in the form of a humiliating public meltdown. Fortunately, a friend witnessed this and, as I no longer had anything to hide, it opened up a conversation between us. At last, I was able to talk frankly about the details of my experience and the fears, frustrations, and sadness that came along with it. Once I’d broken open, I wished I’d done it sooner.

2016-bloggers-unite-badgeThis week is National Infertility Awareness Week (#NIAW) and this year’s theme is #StartAsking. So I want to encourage you to start asking for help, to find someone to confide in, and to stop trying to battle through this alone.

I know that most of us would rather walk over hot coals than ask for help. Better to have scorched and blistered feet than to permit vulnerability and open ourselves up to pity, or ignorance, or worst of all…unsolicited advice! But having just one understanding person you can trust can make an enormous difference.

Before you go seeking an empathetic ear, it’s important to understand yourself and what kind of help you really want. Do you need someone who’ll sit and listen while you talk and talk and talk? Do you need someone with whom you can share intimate details of procedures and tests? Do you need to confide one single detail that you’ve never told anyone else? Do you need someone who’ll hug you while you cry your eyes out, or someone who’ll join you for a quiet walk to talk about absolutely any other topic but infertility?

The Life Without Baby book has an entire chapter dedicated to finding support, and one exercise that people find helpful is to write a letter to an imaginary ideal friend, telling her exactly what you’d like from her. Tell her the kind of scenario you envision where you feel comfortable opening up, and then detail the response you’d like from her. Include as many specifics as you can. If you absolutely don’t want to hear a miracle baby story or advice like “Have you considered donor eggs/adoption/squirrel toenail tea?” write that down. If you need her to simply listen and say “I’m so sorry you’re going through this”, tell her. Once you know what you need in terms of support, then you can start to find the person to ask for it.

If you’re like me, you probably have people in your life who each bring a different strength to your relationship. In my case, Friend A gives sisterly advice; B asks difficult, but thought-provoking questions and doesn’t flinch at honest responses; C will listen quietly and give a thoughtful response, and D will burst into tears, hug me, and lament how terrible things must be for me (which can sometimes be exactly what I need.) Who among your friends, family, and even acquaintances could offer the kind of support you need? Keep in mind that our dearest friends and family members are oftentimes too invested in our happiness to be able to offer the support we need. You might find that a trusted colleague, a more distant relative, or even a less intimate contact, such as hairdresser or religious counsellor, might be the perfect person to talk to. And if you truly can’t find anyone, please consider seeking professional help.

As hard as it is to open yourself up to talking about this, it’s even harder to struggle along alone, so please, please, please, start asking for help.

#NIAW #StartAsking

Writing My Way Through Infertility

typewriterToday is the final stop on my blog tour and I’m very pleased to take you to France to visit Bamp.fr.

Bamp.fr is a collective of infertility bloggers who have been making some giant strides forward for the infertility community in France. They launched an infertility awareness week and recently lobbied for paid time off for infertility-related appointments, such as tests and procedures.

My post today is about writing through infertility and how sharing my story helped me to heal. My piece appears in both English and French and was translated with the generous help of Life Without Baby reader, Lara. You can read my post—Writing My Way Through Infertility—here.

Bamp.fr would really like to expand their reach to women who have come to the end of their infertility paths and are looking for the kind of support and community we offer here. If you happen to speak French and would like to write on the topic of living childless-not-by-choice, please get in touch as they would love to have more voices speaking out.

*A note: Many of the articles on Bamp.fr are aimed at women still trying to conceive and some of you may find this triggering. Most articles are in French, however one or two have been translated to English.

Knowing When It’s Time to Let Go of the Dream of Motherhood

Lesley PyneToday I’m continuing my blog tour with a visit to Lesley Pyne in the UK. Lesley has been a wonderful supporter of Life Without Baby and has created a really valuable source of support on her own site.

I wrote a post for her about knowing when it’s time to let go of the dream of motherhood, perhaps one of the most difficult decisions any of us have ever had to make.

Lesley has a free ebook on her site about taking the first steps after this decision, so please drop in on her, read what I have to say on the topic, and grab yourself a copy of Lesley’s ebook.

 

 

Femmes Sans Enfant: Women Without Children

cat6-1060x460I’m very pleased to introduce you to my host for today’s blog tour stop.

Catherine-Emmanuelle Delisle went through one of my workshops a couple of years ago and, after it was over, decided to start her own French-language support community.  Within two years her site, Femmes Sans Enfant, won a well-deserved Canadian Blog Award in the category of Activism and Social Justice.

Today she shares a video of a story I performed a number of years ago about my experience with infertility. It’s interesting to me to see the person I was then—still fighting to keep my emotions under control, but beginning to find the courage to speak—to the person I am today.

Even if your French is a little rusty, please hop over to Femmes Sans Enfant and lend your support to Catherine-Emmanuelle and her work.

Whiny Thursday: Are You Still Talking About That?

Whiny_WednesdayMy apologies for depriving you of Whiny Wednesday yesterday. I hope to make it up to you today.

It’s now been six years since I let go of my plans and dreams of motherhood and started talking about “life without baby.” Six years later, I’m still talking about it, and I have no plans to stop talking about it any time soon.

So, this week’s Whiny Wednesday (on Thursday) is something I’m sure many of have heard in some form or another as you navigate this rocky road to healing:

Are you still talking about that?

Whine away, my friends.

And if you’d like a chance to win a copy of Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen, just add #whine to the end of your comment and I’ll enter your name into a drawing at the end of the week.

Embracing Possibility on the Road Less Traveled

pathWhen I first began stumbling around the internet looking for other people like me, I came across loribeth and her wonderful blog, The Road Less Traveled, in which she wrote candidly about coming to terms with infertility and a life without children after the stillbirth of her daughter.

From loribeth I learned the power of writing honestly about the hard emotional aspects of this life, rather than writing around the edges, as I so often found myself doing. I realized that when I wrote on my blog, I wasn’t writing into an abyss—even though it felt that way sometimes—but for real people, dealing with so many of the same issues I was dealing with.

You’ve probably already met loribeth in the comments on this site. She’s been incredibly supportive of me and other readers. And recently, after almost six years, we’ve both stepped out from behind our blogs and had the opportunity to get to know one another in our “real lives.”

I’m honored to be loribeth’s first ever guest blogger today, writing on the topic of Embracing Possibility, something she’s been very familiar with lately as she embraces an exciting new chapter in her own life.

Please hop over to The Road Less Traveled and say hi to loribeth.

Loribeth, thank you for all your support.

 

Whiny Wednesday: The Last Whine of 2015

Whiny_WednesdayCan you believe this is the last Wednesday of 2015? This year has just flown by. This means it’s also the last Whiny Wednesday of the year.

I’m going to open the floor for all whines today, but wanted to add one extra consideration. If you were visiting this site at this time last year, what’s changed for you? Are there things you would have whined about then that don’t affect you in the same way now? Can you see improvements in your outlook on life? Are there things you’re less tolerant of now than you were last year?

Enjoy your whining and I’ll look forward to seeing you here next year.

Happy New Year!