Tone Deaf or Conversational Slips

Anyone who has gone through infertility and/or childlessness will have experienced comments or actions that are completely tone deaf to their situation. After telling a relative about my second ectopic, she told me to come to her country for a wedding, and I could hold her baby, because that is "good luck!" And last week I saw a monumentally bad example, during a CNN International interview with the founder of World Childless Week, when all the background graphics were of babies or pregnant bellies. It went on and on and on. I think they must have used AI to generate or compile images, because surely no human could be quite so ignorant or tone deaf. Except we all know that a human can and will be tone deaf like that. I see Loribeth at The Road Less Travelled has written about this too. Go and check her post here, and see the link to the interview. Warning though - the images are very confrontational, even for an old hand like me!

I am experiencing this differently at the moment, around my husband's death. In a conversation with friends, we were expressing sadness that she had also lost a friend to cancer recently. It was a notorious cancer and her friend had lived with the diagnosis for two years, longer than we usually think for that particular cancer. "She was determined she was going to last longer than the odds gave her," said my friend. "She was lucky," I said, both agreeing and disagreeing with the premise that "being determined" led to her longevity. "No, she was very determined!" my friend countered, looking at me pointedly. Was she being tone deaf, or did she actually imply that my husband wasn't sufficiently determined? She has been very supportive to me, so I'm hoping it was just the first. I just replied that she could not say that to me, not then, maybe never. And we changed the subject.

Other discussions have been difficult.  As friends deal with elderly and dying parents and relatives, conversations of death and the aftermath arise. They are real issues, and it is natural to talk about them. What to do with the remains of your elderly loved one? I have been involved in those issues with my parents, and my parents-in-law. And now my husband - but that is very different. Whilst my very supportive friends probably didn't even realise I was struggling not to cry, it was of course not central to their reality. Needless to say, I did not volunteer my own quandaries around that issue during that part of our otherwise lovely chat. 

Little, throwaway comments can give us stabs of pain. Another friend casually commented that she was at the "stage of her life" where she needed a partner. Similar ages, but I had just lost mine. Now, it was not the same, as she had been through a difficult divorce and has been single for 15 years or so. Whereas I am just coming to terms with this. But it felt like she was implying, at our age, that we needed partners. And so of course I winced at that.

And just yesterday I received an email from a friend of my husband's, who opened cheerily with, "I hope you had a great weekend." It has not yet been three months since my husband died. No weekends are great. Nothing is great, not yet.  

Book or TV/movie recommendations that have painful reminders seem to pop up regularly. This happened several times during my pregnancy losses. 24 years later, TV recommendations have had painful bedside death scenes. These are not deliberate, and although very distressing to me at the time, the recommendations were made with the best of intentions. Though I appreciate more those friends who have warned me off certain films or TV shows, because they are just too sad. 

I know some people going through infertility and childlessness have lost or changed relationships when people have made tone deaf comments. Perhaps I never had the worst comments made to me, but I kept those relationships, even if they changed. I guess, over twenty years on from permanent childlessness, I am again being reminded that:

• people don't fully understand what you are going through, even if they have been through something similar themselves

• even if they make every effort to understand, my experience does not enter their every thought, and so mistakes are bound to happen 
• my experience should NOT enter their every thought, although it does mine, and I understand that, and I accept the mistakes, because I also recognise my hypersensitivity right now
• they don't mean to hurt me 
• the relationships and friendships are valued, especially the ones I have mentioned here, where they have all been extremely supportive and loving over the last year or so, and that is far more important than an occasional slip up 
• no-one is perfect - I have made mistakes like this on occasion myself, once in particular that still makes me cringe and feel mortified about 20 years later

Not every comment that causes me pain is tone deaf. Sometimes there are slip ups, sometimes I simply can't join a conversation because I can't talk about something so difficult just yet. And sometimes someone says something that needs to be corrected because it is wrong, thoughtless, or even unkind. CNN International should have known better. So should my friend who thinks "determination" might be a cure for cancer. I may be understanding. But I also want to inform and educate - when I can, when I'm ready.

 

What Childlessness Taught Me

This is the first World Childless Week I have not really joined. Ironic, when I was named this year as People's Champion. But it has almost passed me by. Oops. Though I think I have a good excuse this year. Go and check it out (link below) and see all the activities and submissions and webinars that are still to come.

I did however write a submission, and you can find it here, and other wonderful writing here (and I've included the links below to follow easily) on the theme 10 Things You Should Know About Me. (Mine is the first on the page). 

These are ten of the myriad things that childlessness (and pregnancy loss and infertility) have taught me:  

1.      That being childless was not a reflection of my worth, and that I have nothing to prove

2.      That I would learn many things from adversity; some good, some bad, all useful

3.      That finding joy in little everyday things can be a lifesaver

4.      That what people say to you or about you says so much more about them than it does about you

5.      That it is okay to be vulnerable, and to surrender to loss to allow new hope to grow

6.      That I need to take care of myself

7.      That there is no Next Big Thing, just life, and that’s enough, and can be wonderful

8.      That honest self-reflection is life-changing; writing online was my way of doing that out loud

9.      That all these things add up to resilience, but being resilient doesn’t mean we don’t hurt, and being strong doesn’t mean we don’t feel weak

10.  That I will be okay, even when unexpected horrible things happen. That knowledge (or at this stage, hope at least) is giving me strength following the recent death of my husband.

 

Useful links:

https://worldchildlessweek.net/ 

https://worldchildlessweek.net/10-things-you-should-know-about-me 

https://worldchildlessweek.net/weds26-2/what-childlessness-taught-me

 

World Childless Week People's Champion

 I am honoured to tell you that I have been selected as this year's World Childless Week People's Champion.

You can find the announcement here on the World Childless Week website. A more detailed bio and comment is here. Oh, and a big close up photo of me in front of one of my camellias.

I have long supported World Childless Week, writing submissions and urging others to do so as well, to ensure a variety of voices are heard. It's a truly international venture, based in the UK but celebrated and recognised throughout the world, and including contributions from women and men across the globe.  

But I have been writing here (and prior to this, on the Ectopic Pregnancy website) for years before that. Come November, I'll have been here at No Kidding for 16 years. My commitment to providing a safe but honest space for women and men who are facing a life without children has been unwavering, and I am proud of that.

I want to thank those who nominated me for this honour. I have my suspicions that I might know who they are (😉), but whoever it was, I am grateful for the recognition. If there's one thing I've learned on this community, it is that they are giving and loving, and that support goes both ways. Sending love to you all.

 

  

 

Helping others helps

I've had a rough few days. It comes and goes, but is tough when I don't get out and see people. But today, I had arranged to see a friend before she travels for a few months. I will miss her when she's gone. One less person to put on my "keeping-me-sane" roster. It's not that full either. 

But during our brief chat, we mentioned two things that are useful when we travel. The first is a debit card with good exchange rates and easy use (the Wise card), and the second was an esim. She asked for help. Because we'd met close nearby, it was easy to drop back to her house and work through setting both things up. She's iPhone and I am android, but the apps are generally the same, so after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing and back and forth, we managed to set up both apps on her phone, upload some currency into one, and purchase and install the esim.

I left feeling so much better than on the drive there. Though driving home via the bays, seeing the harbour at high tide in full sun, helped too. 

Grief and its toll

I've always said writing helps. And it really does. But in the absolute depths of grief, writing has been, and still is, too hard. I could pour my heart out here. But I've never really done that in this space, not in the midst of the experiences, not as I am trying to roll with the feelings, and just get through each day. Yet my brain keeps trying to make sense of it. So today I've been trying to write things down - yes, actual handwriting! What a novelty. But at times, it just feels that that is what my brain needs. 

It's now been almost seven weeks. The passage of time feels unbearably cruel. Yet I feel as if he is still with me.  Because he is with me and he always will be; we have over 40 years of memories together. They will never go. And so it's not a case of having to reprogram my brain, which I talked about after the final diagnosis that I would never have children. I'd been so used to thinking "when I have children" that I needed a complete brain reset. And that was hard, every realisation a sharp shock. Especially when the prevailing attitude from everyone around me was always that I had to keep hope. "Think positive" - ugh! But this is different. I've had over a year knowing that he was going to die, though we didn't think it would be quite so soon. But that doesn't make it any easier.

I'd forgotten how exhausting grief can be. I'd forgotten too how exhausting it is trying to "stay strong." Just as any of us who have been to child-centred activities would get home feeling depleted, anything I do now that is a reminder of D (which is pretty much everything) takes a toll. Staying strong - ie not weeping and wailing - with friends (even when the tears do come) or with tradesmen or lawyers or at the damn supermarket takes a toll. Even writing through the grief takes a toll. Which is why I'll stop here today. Thanks for reading. And if you are suffering loss in any way, recognise that it takes a toll, and be kind to yourself.