Now is not the time for accomplishments

 Wow, I didn't realise it had been well over a month since I had posted. How easy it is to slip out of a habit!

Mel's latest Roundup pointed me in the direction of Middle Girl's blog here, in which someone (who can be found here at 8thDay)  made a comment that really spoke to my situation now. It also reminded me of all those who are grieving their loss of fertility, of the loss of their dreams of a family, and that time of coming to understand accept that we would never have children.

"This is not the time for accomplishments."

I've been feeling that way now. There is so much I need to do, but at the moment, surviving with some sanity intact is about all I can manage. Remembering to breathe. Treading water. And that's okay. 

It's okay too when someone is realising that their life will be one without children. Getting through a day without collapsing in tears (or at least, not too many times), with managing a smile or even a laugh, with appreciating the sun's warmth or a cool breeze (depending which hemisphere you're in right now), with appreciating and maintaining your primary relationships, and with getting some sleep, or managing to eat right or even exercise; any or all of these are actually major accomplishments. It's easy to feel we are drowning, when what we are actually doing is surviving. "Accomplishments" are all relative.

Grief for what we are losing and the future we thought we'd have is paramount at such a time, and that's okay too. Anticipating the future can come later. Of course, inevitably, it creeps into our thoughts. But we need to deal with that in manageable lots, especially at first. Major decisions can come later.  

This is not the time for accomplishments. I've often written about the feeling that we need a "Next Big Thing" if we are not going to have children. But in reality is that the next big thing is just getting through the next hour, day, week, month or year. If there is an easy "next big thing" then that is great. But my experience in watching women (and men) grappling with the idea of a No Kidding life has shown that most of us do not have a "next big thing." Why does there need to be one? To fill a hole? It will fill a space, but it won't fill the hole - just life fills the hole. Very gradually, and to different extents and in different ways for us all. That is life.

But today. Today is just today. We're surviving, not drowning. Whenever you feel that you're being swamped, or that everything is just too much, be kind to yourself. It is not the time for accomplishments. Accepting that makes life a little bit easier. 

 

 

Loss and the community

The lowest time of my life was when I was going through pregnancy losses and infertility. The loss of my parents was less traumatic, both because it was signalled in advance, and because my life really was separate from theirs on a day-to-day basis. But the pregnancy losses, infertility, and discovery that I would never have children changed my life - or rather my vision of it at the time - in a fundamental way. There was a lot I had to come to terms with. Failure to get the outcome I had tried to achieve. Isolation and "otherness" from society. Recognition of my own mortality. Acceptance of my body's limitations. Judgement, pity, and condescension from others. The list is longer than this. I also remember a time when I really didn't want to go on. Though I'm glad I did.

I've been thinking a lot about that in recent weeks. How I don't want to feel those depths of despair again, but how I know I will. How I got through them and came out the other side. How I had my husband with me during that entire time. How physical touch said volumes when words couldn't. How isolated I felt from most of my friends who were actively parenting at the time. How finding my tribe online really helped. How my family wanted to understand but didn't. How people were afraid to talk about it with me.

It's weird how that going through a health issue is both similar and yet very different. Similarities include  finding that "worst case scenarios" can and do suddenly get worse and worse, and each time we adapt. Loving each other becomes so much more important. Taking enjoyment in the little things helps us cope. A focus on what's important - food, sleep, connection - also helps. Oh, and the platitudes too are the same. "It will happen" turns into "get well soon" or they'll "pull through, I know."  I'm remembering too that emotional turmoil is exhausting. 

But there are differences too. And whilst I'll talk about this more in the future. There's one difference that has been startling. Friends and family are concerned, offer help, send or bring food. I've told them to pace themselves - at the moment we don't need too much. There is community support, both in health terms and in support networks. So far, no-one has really distanced themselves from us - digitally or physically. Certainly not unexpectedly. But having a particular illness that is known and understood in the community, even if it is rare and aggressive, brings connections and support that pregnancy loss and infertility did not. There isn't the shame or judgement or just silence that I experienced around infertility and pregnancy loss. 

Isn't that sad? Even though I welcome that unfamiliar level of support today, I feel sad that people going through infertility right now still feel that isolation. And just want them to know that we have been there, and understand, and send love.

 

 

 

Disrupted plans

I started blogging here when I was at least seven years past learning I would never ever have children. I'd done a lot of grieving, expressed some of my feelings online with friends in a restricted space. I've never done the full emotional download onto my blog that some others have done. And now I know my blog is connected to my own, real name - as connected as I feel to Mali, who has been my online persona since 2006.

I remember some years ago seeing someone say (online, not one of my beloved bloggers) that their plan for their childless old age was to stay healthy. At the time I remember thinking (and writing here) that that wasn't a plan, it was just putting their head in the sand. My parents lived fit and healthy lives, but the ends of their lives were difficult. Genes and cancer had other ideas. Looking at them, I knew I needed to plan. I know now how right I was.

I just thought I'd have a few more years before they were necessary. My husband and I are going through some pretty serious health stuff right now. It's caused me to realise that even my relatively cautious plans have now been blown out of the water. I'm going to take a step back from No Kidding in NZ. I'll still blog, but just not every week. Because there's a lot going on in my head at the moment, and I don't want to write it all down for public consumption. And it's hard thinking of topics to write about when my every thought is about another issue. 

But living in the moment helps. Finding joy in a lovely day, good food, a joke. I wrote about it in my 2020 Healing series, and Gifts of Infertility under Mindfulness. It helps each day pass. I don't apologise for the repetition.

 

When friends have to be our family

A friend reminded me a while ago that family isn't everything. She's someone who has stepped up for childless uncles and aunts, and knows my story very well. One of the few IRL friends and family who reads here. We've both had to help parents and in-laws in their old age. And she's starting to downsize for a move towards her own family - not far in distance, but a big change - to fund the retirement lifestyle they want to have. (Again, another reminder for me to clean up here. Yes, the universe is trying to tell me something.)

I made a simple comment about having to ensure we are somewhere safe earlier than most people might have to think about it. People with children that is. And she reminded me that when family aren't around - either because of geographical (or emotional) distance or their non-existence -  that friends are there to help. And even friends kids. She pointed out that we've been friends for almost 30 years, and her kids have always known we are part of the fabric of her life, even if we don't know those children well now (they're grown and in their 30s themselves). She's sure they'd be around for us even if she or her husband couldn't be. And I've been reminded too that others feel the same way. 

Family doesn't have to be focused on only parent-child relationships. It can have a much wider definition. Blood, or not blood. Related, and not related. We need to remember that.

Vulnerability

Further to my post last week, maybe a renewed sense of vulnerability can encourage me to make some changes/put in precautions. Things happen. Little things. Big things. But we can't stay with our head in the sand thinking that "things won't happen until we are old." Because "things" don't always wait!

I know that those who are childless are not the only ones who feel vulnerable at times. Those who have children who aren't close - either geographically, or emotionally - must feel the same vulnerabilities. Those living alone must have a heightened sense of their own vulnerability. It is yet another example where the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" doesn't work. It also reminds us we're not immune from bad luck. Ignorance truly is bliss. But I'm not sure I'd like to go back to the ignorance, despite everything. 

Sending out love to anyone who is feeling vulnerable at the moment. You are not alone.