No Kidding 2020 Project: Day 11 - Dare

When we’re going through infertility, we are conditioned to have our eyes on the prize. We focus on that above all things, and don’t divert from the path. We’re told to “believe.” We’re told to “never give up.” We’re told that science will solve our problem. We’re told that our lives will be better when we get that prize, that oh-so-elusive baby. We stay on the treadmill, trying cycle after cycle, trying treatment after treatment, or waiting month after month for that phone call. So it often comes as a shock when we are either kicked off the treadmill, or fall off it, exhausted, or realise the treadmill has completely lost power.

Even when it is obvious that our efforts have not and will never bear fruit, so many find it hard to begin to look to the future. The idea that the future can be good, that we could be excited about it, is anathema to the messages we’ve been absorbing (and promulgating) for the last months/years/decades. Grieving is normal, and we should let ourselves feel that.

But one day, when we’re ready, when we’re strong enough, and if we’re brave, we challenge ourselves by wondering whether our lives can actually be happy? It feels so scary, to let go of the dream, and open up to the idea of an alternative future. We search out examples of people who’ve been through the same experience, and we begin to open up to the idea. This is the beginning of acceptance. Being brave. Shrugging off what hasn’t worked for us. Daring to be positive about our lives. Beginning to hope for something new. And the rewards are wonderful.

Painful pandemic reminders

I was “chatting” with some other No Kidding bloggers the other day. We were all, to various extents, struggling with the lockdown. In general, I’ve been finding it okay, but that is probably because I’m in NZ, where our risk has been limited by very quick movement into a lockdown. We are still in a period of uncertainty, but I’m not seeing cases of COVID19 rise exponentially around us, as some of you have been, and that has made life in lockdown much easier. On the down side, I haven’t had a coffee for three weeks! (I don’t make coffee at home because a) I make terrible coffee, b) my husband hates the smell of coffee, so it’s best NOT to make it at home, and c) I’ve always been able to use it as an excuse to pop out and get a nice flat white - until now!)

What is hard, though, and what some of the other No Kidding bloggers were also struggling with, is to turn my mind away from the pandemic that has the world in its grip, and write something here for those of us who didn’t have the choice not to have children. But even in a pandemic, reminders are still everywhere. Discussions on-line about parents struggling with home-schooling, or with bored children, or with the noise of a full house are everywhere. Fun videos families have made together are swamping social media. The Prime Minister designated the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny as essential workers in her press conference, and talked about the Teddy Bear project to put bears and soft toys in your house windows to provide amusements for children when they go on walks. Yes, even when we escape the house to go for a walk, we are constantly reminded that we don’t have children. If this is still painful for you, my heart goes out to you. It’s never easy to be reminded of what we have lost.

And even though it’s not painful for me any longer – or rarely, at least – and even though I have taken some delight in a house up the hill from me, that has posed and dressed their teddy bear in different ways over the last two weeks (so far I’ve seen their bear playing cricket, going skiing, dressed in the national soccer/football uniform, being a chef, and working on a laptop!), it still reminds me that my house is quiet, that I have no children to delight in dressing a bear or decorating trees with Easter eggs cutouts, or do some baking with me (as my niece did with my sister a day or two ago). Or, as I did yesterday, make homemade marshmallow (a NZ specialty)eggs with me. I brush these things off these days. But they still cause little pinpricks in my psyche.

And you know, that’s okay. It’s okay because everyone is feeling a little vulnerable right now. So if you’re feeling a bit more vulnerable or sensitive than you are usually, then that’s okay too. It’s one of the lessons I learned best during infertility and when recovering from it. That it’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to feel sad. Remember, we’re all with you, doing the same thing. We’ll get through this together.

Arohanui. (With love.)

No Kidding 2020 Project: Day 10 - Balance

One thing that I think we often lose when going through infertility is balance. It is easy to become obsessed – with our cycles, our daily temperatures, our medication and what we need to take next, and the will-it-won’t-it constant question. We’ve seen it a lot – people thinking that ending up like us – without children – is their “biggest nightmare.” We may well have thought that way ourselves. “What is the point of life” some/many of us ask, “without children?”

The lack of perspective, the lack of understanding that life goes on and can and will be good, can be overwhelming to many of us when cycle after cycle fails, or after loss, or loss after loss, or that phone just doesn’t ring. So many people who arrive at my blog, or yours, or on Instagram or elsewhere, are in that phase. Their life is over. No-one can tell them that it isn’t. We know that this sadness and despair doesn’t last. We do recover, at different speeds, and perhaps even to different extents. We know that joy in life returns.

At the beginning, when we might be feeling despair and utter loss, no-one can give us perspective. After loss, even if we might think “at least we can get pregnant,” but we don’t want anyone to say that to us! (I know I felt that intensely.) Platitudes from friends and family – all the other “at least” statements (at least the pregnancy wasn’t far along, at least you didn’t get to know the child, at least you haven’t faced loss, at least you can sleep in, etc etc) are unwelcome and insensitive. We are out of kilter, our lives are completely off-balance, and we are teetering in the middle of a plank over a stream, not sure what lies on the other side, reluctant to move forward, unable to move back, our arms flailing wildly. We can't find balance. But no-one else can give us balance either, even though they can help calm us, or let us know we can do it, and it will be okay. But no-one else can impose perspective on us. Even those of us who have been through it struggle to be heard. The newly bereaved might hear it, but say “not in my case, I’m different.” That’s okay. We’re giving them a message they might hear when they’re ready.

Gradually, perspective and balance does come to us. We start to see and feel the world around us. We understand that others react differently. We figure out that maybe those insensitive family and friends were trying to help, even though they only succeeded in hurting us. We compare our situations, and become sensitive to the pain of others. We stop playing the Pain Olympics in the negative, and start seeing comparison in a positive way. We understand things could be worse. We find gratitude. We begin to apply perspective. Because having been through tough times, and knowing now that the universe doesn’t give us everything we want, we know it could be worse.

And I think that is what is helping me through the current times. Balance, and perspective. It could be so much worse (in NZ at least). I’m healthy (so far), warm and dry in a house with plenty to keep my amused and active. Perspective and balance reduce anxiety, and make me feel calm (or calmer). I hope they work for you too.

Kia kaha. Stay strong.

No Kidding 2020 Project: Day 9 - Appreciate

One of the hardest things to do when we are first grieving is to feel gratitude. Yet I think that learning gratitude makes healing so much easier. That's why today's word is Appreciate.

Feeling gratitude inevitably starts small. It’s a case of noticing the little things, and learning to feel gratitude for them in our daily lives. Maybe it’s for our family who have been helpful (or at least, not judgemental), or a particular friend reaching out, or a partner bringing us a cup of tea. Maybe it’s for the sun in the sky, or a painting we love, or the photo of a flower. Maybe it’s a friend sending a funny meme making us laugh, or a delicious meal, or that feeling after a good workout. There is a lot to be grateful for, and feeling grateful for that isn’t a denial of our grief, as it may feel in the early days. It’s just the beginning of an acknowledgement that there is more to the world than grief.

As we heal, we begin to feel grateful for not having children. That sounds and feels treasonous to our psyche, that for so long wanted those very children. How could we possibly feel grateful. But our lives are without children. That’s the outcome. That’s why you’re here reading this, and why I’m writing this. And there are things in our lives which deserve to be appreciated. As I’ve probably said many times, I think it would be a betrayal of ourselves if we did not learn to feel grateful for the unique nature of our lives. 

So we gradually learn to begin to appreciate what we have, and to feel thankful for it. Things like being able to sleep in, or being able to take holidays during school time, or for freedom and spontaneity in our lives, if we wanted it, and for peace and quiet when we want it. We won’t all feel the same, of course. But there will be something in each of our lives that we can appreciate, something that we would not have had if we had had children.

Gratitude helps our healing, and research shows it is consistently associated with greater happiness. It will help us feel more positive emotions, feel delight and joy in good experiences, and helps us deal better with adversity. Learning to appreciate aspects of our lives, and eventually learning to embrace and yes, I’m going to use the word – accept it helps us have a much happier future.

I’d scheduled to write about gratitude and appreciation this week, but I find that it is particularly appropriate now. Yes, there is real adversity for many people at the moment. Contracts and jobs and financial security are diminishing and disappearing. Activities that seemed safe are now potentially fraught with danger. It is a scary and uncertain time. We’ve all been through scary and uncertain times, going through infertility or realising that we might have to face a future without the children we had hoped to have. This is of course different, but we have learnt lessons that will help us. I feel gratitude for that. And I will also be using this lesson to appreciate what I can right now.

I’m grateful that:

• my husband is healthy.
• my husband is still able to help his father even in a lockdown.
• we are in a country that has moved quickly to try to keep this contained as much as possible, that is transparently providing clear and concise information, and that is being compassionate towards employees and the self-employed who have lost jobs and business
• it was a fine day today, so I could take some exercise.
• almost everyone I passed on my walk waved and smiled, and sometimes laughed as we walked away from each other to ensure a two-metre distance was maintained.
• I haven’t felt the urge to bake yet, and the numbers on the scale dropped a little this morning
• the tui in the trees all through my suburb are happy and chirping (or maybe it’s just seasonal randiness?)
• so many people are joining the campaign to put teddies in the window – ostensibly to amuse children when they go on a walk, but they delighted me this morning too!
• the cold I had (almost the opposite of COVID19 symptoms) seems to be clearing
• so many creative people online are keeping me laughing
• I am still able to be in contact with you all during this unprecedented lockdown.

Arohanui. With love.