Finding common ground

We’ve had visitors the last week, our first from overseas for over two years. It has been really lovely – family members with whom we laugh a lot, and are very relaxed. We’ve known each other since our first years at university, and have a lot of history. They, more than anyone else in the family, know my story (though not as much as you all know! Lol).

We talked and talked and talked. Their kids are grown now, but at one stage we were named their guardians (should anything happen), and they know we love them. I reflected (to myself) that it was nice to be included in discussions about the kids. At one stage I was talking with one of them, and my views were taken into account as legitimately as if I had had kids. (In fact, the words were “if you had kids this age, what would you want/think/do?”) The fact that I noticed this might show that it is rare. Or perhaps I am just a bit more aware of it these days. Anyway, it was a very natural conversation, and very much appreciated.

One of the two of them was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, and their prognosis is uncertain. We wondered at times if we would see them (I’m now using gender neutral pronouns for their privacy) again, and they wondered the same, and they wondered if they’d ever get back to New Zealand. The night before they left, the two of us got talking. They said that cancer had helped them appreciate the little things that might otherwise have passed them by, or that might not have happened at all. I mentioned that, although it is not the same, I’ve found many “gifts” from infertility, pregnancy loss, and not having children, and that I appreciate the different perspective and compassion and attitudes I now have or want to cultivate. They agreed, though didn't like the description as "gifts" instead calling them “blessings.” (We have very different spiritual lives.) The effect was the same, though.

We both appreciated that there can be silver linings to even some of the worst diagnoses and situations. All we can do is live the lives we have, as long as we are have them. To do anything else is a waste. And our lives are short.

 

Grief, attitude, and hope

Today I noticed a headline on a national news website, even though it was listed under Parenting and then – warning -  featured lots of happy photos of the author with her family. The article is called “Rediscovering joy after baby loss” and was published in recognition of Baby Loss Awareness Week this week. It comprised an excerpt from a new book, “Your Soul is Wintering” by Annie Anderson, telling her own story after losing babies in utero.

The excerpt itself doesn’t go into any details of her losses, though maybe her book does, or her other children (two of whom look young enough to have been born afterwards). Instead, it talks about her grief afterwards, turning to others who had experienced similar losses (as we have all done here), and observing that whilst some people had recovered and were full of joy and gave her hope, others gave the appearance that they would never recover, and implied that there was nothing they could do about it. The excerpt notes the debilitating experience of being told that life being “bearable” was the best she could hope for after such a loss, and when she realised that she wanted to be happy, and her fear that she never would be.

Grief, as we know, can be different for everyone, but I also see so many similarities too, regardless of the type of loss. The author gained great hope from this quote:

‘I am convinced that life is 10 per cent what happens to me and 90 per cent how I react to it. The same is true for you.’ Charles R. Swindoll

Although I might quibble with the exact numbers, I like the idea of the overall quote. Ultimately, how we react influences our future happiness. I touched on this last week here. Attitude, perspective, acceptance, and approach can also influence how we can recover, and long-term, how we might bounce back from setbacks, the occasional ouch moments, or hurtful comments. For me, as I often say, learning to deny those negative questions, learning to show self-compassion, knowing that I am more than my loss or childlessness/No Kidding status allowed me to feel free to embrace my new future, and allows me to continue to do that every day.

Anderson also talks about another key feeling that motivates me too. She wrote,

“I was deeply moved by a strong urge to live a life that honoured our babies, not defined by our suffering but by our love.”

I’ve used very similar words. We can, I think, all relate to this sentiment. Because whether or not we suffered a pregnancy loss, we all suffered the loss of the children we had wanted, the children we already loved so much. Honouring our love for them by living a good life can give us meaning. It honours the difficulty of what we might have been through. It makes us think of love. And it allows us to hope again, and feel true joy. I, and so many others, can attest that it is worth it.

 

 

 

Ageing without Children: A Summary

The World Childless Week theme for today is Ageing without Children. More specifically, it is about planning for old age. I'm looking forward to watching/listening to the webinar here too.

I've written quite a bit about planning for old age. I'm working on another post for my Separate Life blog too, because I find people with children forget to plan too. They just have fewer repercussions for not planning.

Due to elderly in-law issues today, I'm not writing anything new here right now, except for this summary of the basic tenets of my thinking about this issue. I've added links to my previous writing on the topic.

Ageing without Children Photo Text:

1. Find joy in my old age
2. Make decisions before it is too late
   
3. Wishful thinking is not a plan
4. Build a community
   
5. Maintain kindness and a positive attitude
   

Links to most of my previous posts on Ageing without Children:

Ageing without Children

Ageing without Children: The Plan

Ageing without Children (#3)

Who will Advocate for the Childless?

Ageing without Children: Kindness and Attitude

Inheritances

Recipes as a Legacy 

Building a community 

Being alone - or not - in our old age

End of life wishes

No Kidding 2020 Project: Day 14 - Enquire

One of the habits I adopted almost immediately after finding that my journey to have children was over was that of correcting myself. When I saw the folic acid in the cupboard, I remember thinking "I should keep that just in case I get pregnant," followed by the immediate rebuttal, "but that's not going to happen, is it?"  Corrections like that were, initially, painful, but they also helped me learn not to live in the "what-ifs" and to surrender to the reality.

 I have, in general, broadened this to questioning myself, because those insidious little voices that tell us we were didn't deserve to have children, that it was our fault, that we are lesser were not only destructive, didn't go away so easily. And they came from somewhere inside me, as well as from others.


I learned to ask myself, "is that true?" I learned to question my assumptions - "did I really not deserve to have children? If so, how does anyone deserve to have them? What about the good people I know who don't have children, and the terrible people who have them easily?" I challenged those negative thoughts, and asked myself constantly about my assumptions. I came to learn what I thought was true, and what wasn't. I can tell you that this made my life so much better, in all aspects of my life. I felt I knew myself properly, for perhaps the first time in my life. I felt more content, more confident, more at peace.

It made it easier to question myself about my assumptions other people's behaviour too. To wonder what motivated them to say things that sounded insensitive or unkind or sometimes cruel. I realised I was able to understand people a little more as a result, and - better still - to forgive them when it was easier to see things from their perspective.

That then made it easier to question other people's assumptions too. To challenge them - gently, by asking them about these assumptions, about why they thought this way - and to put another side, my side, that they may have never considered before.

Enquiry, asking, questioning, wondering. I spend a lot of my time doing it. It helps. It has helped in the last months too, even though I have frequently been critical (in my head or to my husband) of the behaviour of others, when I step back and ask, "what makes them behave like that?" I can see that sometimes they are motivated by fear, by poverty, by loneliness. I can understand and forgive that. I don't have to agree. And I don't have to be silent. But it makes me kinder, and a bit calmer, and I like that.

No Kidding Monday Miscellaneous

Oh dear, sometimes simple ideas are so hard to execute. I’m  working on the little book of my memes as suggested a couple of weeks ago, though it turns out that production, postage, and then potential tax complications (to be avoided as I’m only going to cover costs) mean it’s not going to be as easy as I’d hoped, but I am persevering and, if all goes well, hope to have something for you next week!

I found inspiration in one of my own notes, though, particularly the quote that said, “She who is brave is free.” I realise that in my personal life, I’ve lost sight of that in the last year or so. After all, we have all been brave when we have had to say good-bye to hopes and dreams, and move on to something else. It’s important for me to remember that I am, and can be brave, and that the rewards are worth it.

Finally, I was out today and heard Christmas music (argh! – it’s not even December yet), and so wanted to reassure many of you that one day you’ll look forward to this time of year again, knowing you can celebrate it the way you want to, or not at all, and the sky won’t fall in. There are lots of blogs offering support and advice about the coming holidays, including (here and here) which is specifically for No Kidding men and women, but I also recommend Mel’s annual piece with advice for coping at this time of year that many of us have offered over the years.

Don't forget!

Ageing without Children - Kindness and Attitude

(A continuing series)

Over recent weeks, I’ve had occasion to see life in hospital and in a hospital-level care rest home for the aged, and have been impressed by the care and kindness I have seen displayed at all times, both towards the elderly, and towards their families.

I’ve also seen considerable kindness shown to elderly in-laws (who don’t have children) by their nieces and nephews, especially as this elderly couple haven’t really planned for their old age, but despite that they are getting the assistance they need.

It once again reminds me to plan for my old age, and to make decisions before I think they are necessary because when they are absolutely necessary, the decisions become overwhelming. Alternatively, I need to be confident in appointing someone who can make decisions on my behalf, because however much I might plan, at some stage, I may no longer be capable of making decisions.

Yes, I worry occasionally about what it will be like when I am old and vulnerable, and I think that is only natural, so I’m not going to beat myself up about it.

The difference is that I have no expectations that I can rely on children or nieces and nephews, and I hope that that will make a difference, both in terms of forethought, and in terms of my emotional state. I hope I don’t complain about my fate if I end up in a rest home, but rather will be appreciative that I am somewhere safe, surrounded by potential friends and kind people.

In fact, the one thing I am certain of is that I want to have a positive attitude towards the options for the end of my life, because the alternative – negativity and regret, the fighting against what is practical or even possible – is not a happy way to live.

Still learning

I was reminded of this quote on social media this morning.

I love learning new languages, ideas, and about new places and new people. I also love learning about myself. I wish I could learn how to permanently lose weight, how to get inexhaustible energy, and how to not care what other people think, amongst others. I'm working on all of these, and have been for a long time, with more success in some areas than others.

Not having children as a result of infertility and loss has been a learning process too.  I've learnt about my body, and myself, and I've written multiple posts about that (here, here, here, and here - to name just a few), and I still have a long way to go, but I'm now actually enjoying the ride.

Survival is not mandatory

I never really thought I’d be quoting an engineer (other than my husband), statistician and management consultant here on my No Kidding blog, but when I saw Dr W E Deming’s quote, I thought it really fits here nicely.

People resist change, whether they’re in business or whether their life plan has been foiled by circumstances or health or finances. It's not unusual to hear the newly No Kidding say something along the lines that they will NEVER accept their No Kidding situation, and to resist any suggestion that they will be okay, that they will eventually be happy even without the children they wanted so much.

But although we might think we can't or won’t adapt and accept and embrace life without children, for most of us, this isn’t really optional. Survival, after all, if not mandatory, is at least an instinct.

The sooner we allow ourselves to make the choice to survive, to adapt, to change, we'll find that it is a lot more pleasant than fighting against that which is impossible, even though it takes us out of our comfort zone.  Choosing to survive and flourish is empowering, and who wouldn't want that?

You cannot change what you refuse to confront

This speaks to me, as I bemoan my messy office (whilst editing photographs or writing blog posts), my desire to lose weight (but my love of food and wine), my lack of income (but my procrastination about launching a new business), etc.

But it is relevant in the infertility context too, as we know that when we are trying to conceive, it is easy to single-mindedly pursue our goals, refusing to confront the prospect that we may never conceive or carry to term successfully, whilst desperately wanting the pain and frustration of infertility to end. Confronting that pain is the first step to changing the pain, and walking through that neglected door in the Infertility Waiting Room that I’ve written about before.

Once we are through the door, and living a No Kidding life, it can be easy to feel we’re going through the motions of life, without realising that we first need to confront ourselves, and our thoughts and beliefs that can so easily keep us feeling miserable, or thrust us back into grief. Confronting those negative thoughts about our lives, and the way others might perceive us, can help us reprogramme our brains, change the way we think, and live more contented and compassionate (to ourselves and others) lives.

It’s a constant lesson for me, one that well over a decade later I am still learning. At first, it was important to confront the thoughts about my worth, whether I deserved my fate or not, but now, I find myself confronting my feelings about how others react to me, deciding whether I can educate, be compassionate to what might motivate others to act or be insensitive, or to forgive and let it go. The compassion and forgiveness come more easily, as does the willingness to speak up and educate, to be matter-of-fact but kind, and most importantly, I try not to criticise or blame, but of course, this is all still a work in progress, because, well, that’s life.

Confirmation bias and childlessness

I’ve been thinking about confirmation bias a bit over the last year. Increased access to technology and the internet means that, even more than previously, we are all able to surround ourselves with like-minded views, to read the information we agree with, not that which challenges us. It’s one of the reasons I still get a newspaper delivered. I like the fact that when I read the paper with breakfast, I read articles that I wouldn’t have clicked on if I was on the newspaper’s website, if I even got to the website (Besides, I like the puzzles.) I grew up in the age where we only had one, then two television channels in New Zealand. If we wanted to relax in front of a screen, we had to watch what was on. I learned a lot of new things I wouldn’t have otherwise, if I’d been able to change channels. Even my student exchange was a case of finding joy and discovery and a career path in something I’m not sure I would have chosen. My choices were simple – a US exchange, or an International exchange (which included the US as the last resort). I chose the International option, as I imagined myself on ski slopes in Switzerland, and ended up in Bangkok, Thailand. Students these days get to choose their desired destination, and many predictably go for the countries they know most about. I think this can be a big mistake.

I have to say though that I’m not making an argument against having too much choice, but rather making an argument for being open to other possibilities. We think we know what we need to know, and what we want to know, but we should always remain open, and explore new avenues. Obviously, as a person without children, I want others to be open to what my life is, and to accept it as a legitimate reality, and even as a realistic option.

Many of us have written about how hard it is for those going through infertility to be able to read our blogs. We probably remember this from our own journeys. Those who are trying to conceive find that conception (and carrying to term) becomes the main focus of their lives. They need support, and so read those who are at the same stage, those who are also full of hope, denying any alternative options, determined to reach their goal. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Support is important, feeling you’re not alone is helpful, and feeling hope is a good thing. All this is healthy.

But refusing to go beyond that – especially if you’re in this for a long period of time – is less healthy and less helpful, because it also plays to your fears. We all know that our fears pull us down, tell us we’re worthless, and lie to us, but when we’re in the midst of fear, we don’t always see that. Staying within the actively-trying-to-conceive community convinces you that the holy grail of having a child is the answer to happiness, to everything you ever wanted in your life, and can close your mind to any alternatives. Or it can convince you that the alternatives – No Kidding for example – are your worst nightmares. Unfortunately, wider society just emphasises and further confirms those views, amplifies the fears and uncertainty, and paints the No Kidding life as a failure, as the worst case scenario, as a grey life full of sadness. Whereas we here all know that that is simply not the case.

Obviously, though, confirmation bias works both ways. I know that many of us, when we are newly entering the No Kidding community knowing it is for the rest of our lives, read only No Kidding blogs, for the same reasons – for self-protection, knowing we won’t see scan or newborn photos or pregnancy announcements, or hear all the statements that that cut us to the core and diminish us and our experiences. So, it is natural that many of us, especially in these early days, might read only No Kidding blogs for the support, to feel that we’re not alone, and to feel hope that we will be okay. If we only read No Kidding blogs, there is a safety in community that we can’t find elsewhere.

But it can mean that we become focused on our grief, unable to recognise the difficulties and hardships in other journeys, including those who got the holy grail. Long-term, there is a danger that a focus only on the No Kidding experience might stop us developing a wider perspective that could help us heal.

So could our own confirmation bias lead us to perpetuate our feelings of victimisation, and lead to the demonisation of those who are parents?

There is a real risk of this. And I do see it at times, though as I say, usually in the early days of accepting there will never be children. But I’m coming to the conclusion that we – the No Kidding – are perhaps less susceptible to the effects of confirmation bias than those in this community who are pregnant and parenting. We live in this world too, and unless we hide away and only ever communicate with others who don’t have children (which is impossible), we have no choice but to interact with others who have had different outcomes, with different views, and with different challenges.

We know (how could we not?) that the world has different opinions and lifestyles to our own, and once wanted to be part of those communities ourselves. We have friends and family who live differently from us. We are bombarded daily with the message that the way we live is different from, perhaps lesser than, the norm. Whereas so often, confirmation bias reinforces the superiority of a view or a lifestyle to the exclusion of other minorities, in our case, we might use it just to remind ourselves and each other that we are equal, and legitimate, members of wider society and this community.

In our case, is it actually a bias at all? I’m not so sure, and as I have written this post, I’ve found my ideas change. I started this post to make the comment that we must be sure we don't succumb to confirmation bias, become bitter, further isolate ourselves, anger others by not attempting to understand their situations, and make our own position in society harder than it already is. But as I have been writing, I’ve realised that – long-term, at least – there is little chance of that. 

When we do get together as a No Kidding community, we’re looking for and providing support that we don’t get elsewhere in society. Support in context is not a bias. But still, it's worth thinking about from time to time, and just checking that we're being fair and unbiased to both those with and without children. After all, that's really the only way to ever be fair to ourselves.

Putting your mind to it

You can achieve anything series – Part 1

A week or so ago, I promised not to write a post that promises that you can achieve anything you put your mind to it. In the comments, Cristy wondered why this belief exists?

I’ve drafted several versions of a post attempting to answer this. At first, I wrote a long response about the history of this belief, going back to immigrant miners, through to my grandparents’ and parents’ generations, and in my lifetime, the arrival of “Girls can do Anything” catchphrase, leading up to this very prevalent idea that we can in fact achieve anything as long as we work hard enough/want it enough/put our minds to it. But I’ve not researched this history enough to hit print, and they’re only my off-the-top-of-my-head theories, so – having mentioned them – I’ll drop that.

Then I jumped straight to its application in the infertility world, and began writing about that, though I’ve decided that should be my next two posts (and I confess to being nervous about posting these). But first, this message doesn't just appear in the infertility world. So here today, I’m back to some wider thoughts about the “you can achieve anything you put your mind to/work hard enough/want it enough” message that is so prevalent in society today. So, as Cristy asked, “Why does this belief exist?”

I think there are several reasons. On any given day, around any given issue, we might be influenced by just one of these, by a combination, or by all of them. You may disagree with these, or maybe you can come up with more. Please, tell me in the comments.

Self-aggrandisement: People who have achieved their dreams or who have broken through the glass ceiling are allowed to talk about this because, supposedly, they know what they’re talking about. But saying, “anyone can achieve anything they put their mind to,” is another way of saying, “look at me, I’m wonderful!” It’s humble bragging, saying that whilst anyone can do it, they were in fact one of the few who was special enough – worthy enough - to actually be able to achieve it. They look at their efforts, and remember how hard it was to achieve what they wanted, how long it took, and how much they wanted this. They want to feel all that hard work was justified, and that it was wholly responsible for the outcome, so they believe that their success was due primarily to their efforts. And of course, because they’ve achieved it, they have been anointed with credibility. They did it, so they must know what they’re talking about, right?

Altrusim: I can see that people who say this, at their best, want to be inspirational, to help others achieve what they’ve achieved. And many of us want them to be inspirational too. So they encourage, and try to spread the word. Do what I did (try hard, believe in it, or simply want it enough) and you too will get success.

Society: Our society’s moral values teach the values of hard work. My father-in-law, having lived through the Great Depression (yes, it severely affected NZ too – America sneezes, and the rest of the world catches cold) and its aftermath, believes that work is the purpose of life, that it gives your life its value, and that working hard is the highest level of virture. So “working hard” and “trying hard” are seen as virtuous attributes in themselves. It seems to me that in society these days, “wanting it enough” seems to be a more recent addition and distortion to this original concept.

Commercial motivations: So we are inundated with the message that success is within our reach if only we do X, Y and Z. We see it in the marketing of products and services – it’s always been there. We see it in the massive growth of the self-help industry. There’s now a lot invested – literally – in the continuation of this message, or its variations. They want, no, need us to believe this. We can achieve what we’ve always wanted if only we buy their products, and use their services, follow their advice, read their books, do what they did. It is all within our grasp. Nothing is out of our reach. It’s our fault if we don’t take the opportunities offered. On a macro-scale, our entire economic systems are based on promoting this message, even if the systems themselves are based on quite the opposite premise. (Though that’s another post/book/endless debate to be had, one that doesn’t belong here.)

Hope: We all want to believe that we could achieve these things though. When we say that “anyone can achieve anything if they want it enough” we are holding out hope that we too can achieve these things. How depressing to think that because of the way we look, or where we were born, or what genitals we have will be more of a predictor of our success and our value to society than our own thoughts and actions. So we eagerly buy into the idea that we can achieve anything we want, if we want it/work hard enough/believe it enough. It’s aspirational, right? And we think that that has to be a good thing.

And so it is in the infertility field, which will be my next post.

Forgetting about goal-setting

I read somewhere recently that goal-setting is demotivational – when you don’t achieve your goals, you feel like a failure. I immediately thought about the goal-setting we indulge in (and torture ourselves with) throughout infertility. We set arbitrary goals – "I want to be pregnant by the time I’m <insert age here>" - or we look at milestones, and say, “I want to be pregnant/have a baby by next birthday/New Year.” Is it any wonder that when we don’t reach these goals, we feel like failures?

It's almost inevitable, I think, that we take this feeling of failure into our new, no kidding lives, and then set new goals that may or may not be achievable, setting us up for more failure. Or perhaps, we feel cast adrift, lost and alone, when we don’t even know which goals to set. I know though, that since I have decided to try to appreciate the good in my life, even in the difficult times finding joy and love and knowledge and understanding, life has been easier. As a result, I am better able to cope with, and perhaps, better equipped to achieve in other areas of my life – just without too many of those demotivational, arbitrary goals.

#MicroblogMondays: Running out of time

This last year I’ve been looking for jobs. I’ve applied for the few jobs that are appealing and relevant to me and my experience and abilities, attended a few interviews, and in between have been thinking about what I would really like to do. (Yes, I’m still trying to decide what I’d like to be when I grow up!)

My husband has also been without work for most of that time (though not just now), so I’ve been fretting about retirement savings, worrying about what sort of a lifestyle we’ll be able to live when we’re old. And of course, that becomes a little more pointed when there are no children to take up any slack, in the way that my sister or I can – if necessary – for my mother.

I feel as if I’m running out of time, and that is a bit of a flashback to trying to conceive, when I knew I was running out of time there too. The insecurities are different, but - like infertility - I struggle to escape them, even when I know I'm highly skilled and employable.

Yet today, I feel hopeful, simply because I feel good, I’ve worked out this morning, had a coffee that has perked me up, and I’m sitting at the computer, focusing on the good in my life, and ready to rock!

#MicroblogMondays: Don't waste our lives

Some of our ALI friends - those who either went on to parent, and those who are still hoping – can’t understand how we have embraced our No Kidding lives. We may well have felt that way when we were still hoping, too. Actually, if we’re honest, we probably felt that way too when we walked through that No Kids door in Infertility’s Waiting Room, and it shut forever behind us.

But we knew there was no choice but to look into the future. After all, if we spend our lives wishing we were parents, we forget to focus on what we do have in our lives, on all the good and wonderful things and people we share our lives with every day. To do otherwise would be to lose far more to infertility than we have already lost. To do anything other than accepting our lives, and embracing them, would be such a waste and a betrayal. A waste of our potential, a waste of our love and humanity, and a betrayal of our grief, of ourselves, and of those very special people who want to spend their lives with us.

#MicroblogMondays Quote: Choosing not to worry

My husband can do this; I think many men can. I remember telling him how much I wanted to be able to do this. The idea of saying “I choose not to worry” was, especially when I was in the midst of loss and infertility, completely unfathomable.

I learned though that it was possible to do this when I stopped imagining myself as a mother, when I knew thinking and worrying would achieve nothing but bring me pain. I’m better at it now, but still not a master. But I can tell my brain, sometimes, to put something away till later. I call that progress.