Connections

It constantly delights me to see internet friends meet up. It happens less rarely for me, simply because I’m on the other side of the world from most who read my blog, or who used the Ectopic Pregnancy Trust messageboards with me all those years ago. It’s just a fact that most English-speaking people are in the northern hemisphere. That said, I’ve had several internet friends come to visit and stay (New Zealand is a great tourist destination, and Wellington is conveniently situated for a visit, hint hint!), and I’ve imposed on a few (they didn’t get a choice!) in England in the past too. Or we’ve met up for a wonderful day in sunny Slovenia! I’ve still to venture back to the US and Canada in the last 15 years. I have a bunch of internet friends there I can’t wait to see. I think The Husband is going to have to come over a week or two (or even three) later, to give me the time and space to meet up with these friends. Sounds like a plan, don't you think?

Without exception, it was a joy to connect in real life. Online, I've found that our personalities still come through, and we don’t even have to talk about what originally brought us together to feel that connection. (We often don’t, if there are husbands around who are less open to discussing ectopics or infertility or childlessness, though sometimes they surprise us!) We've often said everything we need to say about those topics, and we can just enjoy getting to know each other again in real life.

Connection – however we find it – is so valuable to our sense of value, our feelings of belonging, and worth, to finding wisdom, and to feeling okay about ourselves. Connection – whether it be in person, or online – is part of what makes us human. It sustains us through difficult times, even when real life relationships might falter. Or it fills gaps, meaning that we don’t expect everything from our “in person/real life” friends and families, taking the pressure off, and allowing us to feel grace. Hopefully, around this week, I am rejoicing in a few connections again. (I'll explain more in due course, if all works out). I hope you have found people for this. If not, this is one of the reasons I am still here. And it is certainly why I cherish the relationships I have with my readers, and with other bloggers.

No Kidding blogging

Fourteen years ago (give or take a few days), I wrote my first post on No Kidding in NZ. I was well past the raw shock of losses and an end to my efforts to have children. Seven years, to be exact! It seems so long ago now. My childless life has just turned 21. It’s grown up and left home! But I’m still here. I continue to post on this blog, even though my day-to-day life is rarely disturbed now by emotions resulting from my infertility and the fact that I have no children. I don’t blog anymore to get my emotions out or to reach out so that I don’t feel alone. Correction. I don’t blog solely for these reasons. Or even partly. But I do, very occasionally, need to know there are people on the other end of this post who understand.

I write now because not having kids is now part of my identity. Most of the time, it is neither good nor bad – it just IS. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to run out of things to say, and I know I repeat myself a LOT (though at times that is deliberate). But then I read a post or a comment, and have the urge to respond to it. Or I read a one-liner in the midst of another post that speaks to me, that reminds me of how I felt, or a comment that shrieks of a pain that needs to be recognised. Or perhaps, in a blogpost or a book, an article, or a politician’s speech, that oozes an arrogance or falsely promotes an assumption that I want to dispel. And suddenly there are still things I want to say. Or things I want to say again. They might seem random, and sometimes they are. Sometimes I’ve been thinking about an issue for a long time. Other times, I hear something on the radio, and immediately write about it. There's no resolution. The issues, thoughts, and questions don't end.

And so I write.