Turning trauma into art

"Writing about trauma is more than simply documenting experience—it's about illuminating life on earth. It's about transforming tragedy into art, and hoping that somehow that piece of art may help someone else who's gone through something unbearable and who doesn't yet see that there truly is a light at the end of the dark tunnel."

— Tracy Strauss, Poets and Writers Magazine, Sept/Oct 13

I found this quote some years ago and have been meaning to show it here. Not that I would describe this blog as “art!” But the idea of writing about our traumas, about our losses, and about our recovery definitely applies to this blog, and to the blogs of so many of my readers too. I love that it recognises that writing about our own traumas helps others feel less alone, that they can read our stories and see themselves in it, that they don’t feel quite so isolated.

I love too that it recognises that writing about traumas can provide hope that maybe things will improve. After all, when we find our lives are going to be spent without children, it is not a static situation where life as we had planned it stops. Where there is initially a vacuum because our lives are not filled with the children or grandchildren we had hoped for, life and light and joy will fill it. In particular, hope fills that vacuum, although it is directed somewhere new. There is, as the quote above mentions, light at the end of the tunnel, and we all find solidarity and friendship and joy through the third, feared and neglected door of Infertility’s Waiting Room.

I know all of us who blog in our No Kidding world talk about this – the pleasure of discovering that life goes on, and is good and rich and full. I apologise to those who find it repetitious. But I do think it’s worth repeating for anyone new who might find this blog. And it's worth reminding those of us who have been here for a while too, and may have the occasional lapse. It gets better. I'm not kidding.

Monday miscellany: No Kidding version

There are lots of articles/blogs/columns about the Pope's comment that people who have pets instead of children are selfish. I'm not going to go into detail here as others have responded to this far more eloquently than I could. There was a particularly good response here, and I have read others too. Lots of comments about the hypocrisy of a church that requires its priests and nuns to remain celibate and childless, whilst berating those without children. I am just frustrated that such a view continues to be repeated - it is at least the second time he has made the "selfish" comment about people without children.

I was at a gathering on New Year's Day. Meeting a new couple, and along with the hosts, we chatted about all sorts of interesting things. It wasn't until another couple joined us - who knew the first couple through school kids - that the question of children came up. The guy asked it, not to my surprise. I often find that men ask this question. Perhaps they think they're trying to bring the women into the conversation (though my feminist sensibilities bristle at this idea), or perhaps his well of conversational topics was running dry (though he didn't seem to be someone who would ever be lost for words). Anyway, I digress. What was interesting, I thought, was the response of his wife, who turned to me and said that she felt she was moving into a different stage of life, as her children are about to leave home. The implication was that she could relate to me more, and she was being kind to include me in that, even though the two states (empty nest and childless) are very different (as I have written before). I appreciated her sensitivity.

Finally, another snippet of a conversation with my BIL. He was talking about his adult daughter (from his first wife), who apparently has decided to "stop contraception and see what happens." I said that I wished her luck, but that at her age (late 30s), "seeing what happens" is not always the wisest idea and that he should ensure she knows that if she has been actively trying for six months without conception, it might be worth getting checked out. "I'm sure that won't be necessary," he said. "Look at (my sister) and I. We did that, and everything worked out." "Yes," I said. "And so did (DH) and I. It's not always that simple." I was so frustrated. He could say that to me, of all people! But more importantly, I didn't want his daughter to delay seeking help out of a false sense of security. So I gave him some info - statistics related to age, related to infertility in the wider population, etc. His daughter was visiting a day or two later. I wonder if he broached the topic. But I did what I could. I'm pleased about that. For her sake, I tried.

 

Looking back on the blog: 2021

Phew, we survived 2021 too. In so many ways, it has been a struggle. A struggle for all of us, all over the world, a struggle to survive, to maintain our patience and compassion for fellow humans, and for ourselves. And I've found it a bit of a struggle to blog here. Maybe I've said all there is to say about No Kidding topics? As the years have passed, the grief of not having children plays a smaller and smaller part in my life, even though ageing without children looms and requires more thought space too. So maybe the focus here is changing too. There are still things to say though. Still conversations that surprise me, either in a bad or a good way! So I intend sticking around in 2022. By now, it is just what I do!

So, back to the blog. I wrote 52 posts in 2021, seven fewer than in 2020. That's quite a drop, but shows there is still food for thought! It wasn't a stellar year for No Kidding in NZ though - no projects as I've done in previous years, or major new insights. But as I review my blogs from the year, I see some themes:

I talked about gratitude, the little moments, finding beauty in unexpected moments, all of which help us cope and enjoy our lives:

Beauty in the Weeds
Gratitude

And I wrote a number of posts where I was able to find shared experiences in other groups or individuals outside our No Kidding community. Whilst it is easy to focus on our isolation from the parented sectors of society, my experiences have also made me feel even more connected in other ways, which is a gift.

Shared experiences in beauty and grief    
Shared experiences (again)  
We're not so different

I continued to talk about the way we think and our attitudes towards not having children, our recovery and healing from that, and our approaches to life, in:

Hope
Accurate Thinking
Inaccurate Thinking
Rising from the Ashes
The Road to Ithaka
Grief, Attitude, and Hope

I touched on a few issues around Ageing without Children, and also similarities between infertility/childlessness and the pandemic, was very lazy when I was travelling in May and reposted a few of my thoughts. And I finished the year looking back at posts I'd written before, and looking way back to the days of my losses and infertility, beginning to walk this No Kidding path. In reviewing previous posts, it always strikes me how important it is to reread posts after all the comments, because they add so much to the conversation, to our collective wisdom, and to our sense of community. I am so glad you are all part of No Kidding in NZ.

Which brings me to the fact that the first week of January is blog delurking week. So, do leave a quick hello in the comments (I’m fine with anonymous comments if you’re shy) or send a quick email to me at nokiddinginnz at gmail dot com. I love to know who is reading here. 

I wish you all a safe and happy 2022!

  This is an annual nod to Mel, who used to run the Crème de la Crème, where we would list our favourite post of the year. It always provided inspiring reading. So even though it doesn’t happen officially now, I hope that you too will list your favourite posts from your own blogs, on your blogs, for us to enjoy again (or for the first time).

Out of Office reply

My husband and I are spending time with my sister, her husband, their daughter, and Jeff the dog. Not a bad spot, is it? 

For more pics, check out A Separate Life. 

Twenty years

After writing last week's post, when I realised that this December was the 20th anniversary of my first pregnancy and loss, I had a period of remembrance. I let myself remember the hope after the first positive pregnancy test, the shock I felt from that, then the shock of learning I'd lost the pregnancy. In fact, there was a lot of shock, because I was shocked at how shocked I was, shocked at how strongly I felt the emotions. So last week, I let myself remember a lot, thinking I would post it today, and wrote a draft post. But then the rest of the week happened, the weekend passed and life moved on, and by today, it only seems worth noting two things.

The first is that it has been 20 years. That's worth noting, I think. Yet I can remember it as if it were yesterday. Secondly, although the losses can still hit me and make me sad, that sadness doesn't stay very long. In that way, it feels like a lifetime ago.