When telling our stories takes a toll

Going public about infertility or the fact our No Kidding status was not our choice – even if we love it now – is often not easy. Some people are happy to speak openly, even when they are going through it, but many of us find it takes time, and some never actually open up about our losses or difficulties.

I began thinking about this issue (again) when I read Lori’s post noting that she didn’t want to be outed when going through it. Neither did I. At the time, I didn’t tell anyone at work about my first ectopic – I had a week off before Christmas, and by the time we all came back after New Year everyone was swapping summer holiday stories, and had forgotten I had been away. I told family (because travel plans had to be changed) and a few close friends. But then, the infertility began. I say began, because by then we realised we might need help, I started charting my cycle, learning things about my body that I wished I’d learned as a teenager, and reading message boards online. After my second ectopic and cancer scare, I was a little more open, and was very open with a group of people I met on message boards. But I still didn’t want to share in real life, and it took me a while to be able to do so.

But why not?

Because telling our stories takes a toll. When we are already vulnerable and feel like a failure, it opens us up to judgement, condescension, and isolation from "otherness." That can be tough to deal with, especially with people we know. Some people can breeze through this, but so many of us can’t. I can’t always. My husband often tells me not to care  what people think. It’s easier said than done, though I’m better than I once was. And back then, when I was vulnerable, when infertility and loss had already taken such a huge toll, when I was still adjusting to my life, I couldn’t risk further spirit-crushing judgement. It was already hard enough to deal with my own internal dialogue of failure, misconceptions, and negative stereotypes.

As we grow and develop into acceptance of our No Kidding lives, it becomes easier. But we still have to brace ourselves against the reaction of the person who is hearing our story. And it is hard to maintain that level of awareness, of preparedness, steeling ourselves against the possibilities of being misunderstood. Last year, Infertile Phoenix wrote about how exhausting that is in an excellent post here.

As time and distance heals, though, I am pleased to know that telling our stories takes a smaller and smaller toll. In fact, I think that at some stage, it changes, and the greater toll is when we don’t tell our stories, when we don’t acknowledge our reality, when we stay in the shadows. Maybe some of that is because people aren’t ready to hear our stories. But that, I have decided, is their problem, not mine.