Grief and gratitude

 

I often comment that I am inspired by other blogger’s writings. Sometimes I’ll say, “I’m off to think about that more now,” and I make a note of it in a file. I might think about it and respond within a week or two. But it’s not unusual to take a bit longer. Or even five years longer!

Mel’s post about grief here popped up for me today. It’s a great post, and I’m linking it here because I know not everyone reads her blog, especially if you are triggered by mention of children.

There were two ideas from her post that I loved, and want to discuss. The first was the idea that “you are not your grief.” It is part of us, but it is not us. I really like that. It’s the same with having no children. Sure, that created grief for many of us. But we are so much more than our ability or not to have children. We are so much more than people who grieved that loss. And we are all so much more than childless or childfree or any combination of that. I like that reminder. We’re whole people. Everything we go through is just part of us. It might take time for us to get to that understanding, as initially it feels like it is everything. But we come to realise – some of us sooner than others – that we are so so much more than one thing (however huge) that we’ve been through. It doesn’t define us. We are more.

Secondly, Mel made this comment,

 “… it helped me to realize grief for what it is; something that is doing its hardest to help during a time period that only hurts.”

That sentence blew my mind. Grief, as discussed in her post, is a way to get through something we are experiencing. It was an amazing idea that grief might actually help us. But when I think about it, it actually does. It helped protect myself, in terms of exposure to others or other situations that might be upsetting, but also in terms of allowing me to actually experience the feelings of grief, and to deal with them. It let me feel the grief itself, and mourn what I had lost. That was honouring my loss, my husband’s loss, and my losses themselves. It was an important ritual to go through, because I could then begin to recover without feeling guilty about not being sad enough. I’d been sad enough, but it became time not to be.

In dealing with those feelings of grief, I was able to work through each of them in terms of understanding what were rational and what were irrational or based on assumptions or stereotypes. That helped create resilience. I was able to learn what I actually thought about my situation. The grief I felt taught me more about myself, and that was really valuable. It definitely helped you.

Of course, I wouldn’t or maybe couldn’t have appreciated this at the time. But so many years later, I can see the truth of it. And even be grateful for it. Thanks, Mel.

 

The grass is always greener ... or is it?

It is World Childless Week.
Today we are talking about the comment parents make, “you’re so lucky to not have kids” and the question, “Do you consider yourself lucky?” 

If I’d been told 20 years ago that I was lucky to not have kids I would have been angry. Such a comment ignores what I have lost, minimises it, dismisses it. I’ve long known that most people don’t see our losses, ever since a friend said, “but you never had anything, so you haven’t lost anything,” as I was recovering from my second ectopic pregnancy. That feeling of being misunderstood is not new to me. But twenty years on, I know now that the comment “you are lucky” tells me more about the mindset of the questioner than it does about my own life.

Yes, I would still be annoyed today that someone could be so thoughtless. But I also see that for many, the grass is always greener on the other side. Being a parent is difficult. Being childless is difficult. And if all we can do is envy the other side, then we are stuck in a mindset of envy, of dissatisfaction, and unable to see the realities of life. No one lifestyle is perfect, without trouble or hardship, without heartache. A parent who looks at our lives and thinks we are free and easy with no responsibilities is being shallow and thoughtless. And if those of us without children envy parents, then we are ignoring the realities of their lives, the stress, the difficulties, and the worry that come along with the joy and love for which we have yearned. Ignoring the complexities of life is superficial thinking. Sadly, we are all guilty of it from time to time.

Yes, there are many times I feel lucky not to have children, just as there are many times when I do not feel lucky. There is a long list of things I will never do because I don’t have children, but equally there is a long list of things I can do as well, because I don’t have children. I have written on my blog about the 25 gifts that I feel infertility and childlessness have given me. Some of those would come with parenthood. Some might not. Some were lessons painfully learned. Some were freedoms and friendship and travel. I have learned not to feel guilty about that. It took some time.

However, I think I feel lucky for other, much more important reasons too. I have learned to adapt and be resilient, even if my life has turned out differently than I had intended. I am lucky that I can embrace my life without children. I do so joyously, without the guilt that comes so easily at first. I am lucky that I can see and feel the benefits of this life without children, and feel happy and content living this life. I am lucky that I have accepted what is, and I am not stuck, not forever grieving, nor am I yearning for something that can never be. I am lucky that I am not living in regret. This is not to say that regret and sadness and loneliness and other losses never raise their heads. They do. But they are not constant companions, as they might have been in the early days of navigating this No Kidding life. I can appreciate what I have now.

How tragic it would be to have this life I have been given, and not to live it to its fullest. What a waste of the years of grief and loss to refuse to appreciate the wonderful parts of my life, to refuse to breathe deeply and yes, to feel lucky. If we practice self-compassion and care, we can nurture the grass on this side of the fence until it is lush and green and welcoming. Life is not always greener on the other side.

 

Quotes and Memes: Learning from others

I don’t always agree with memes and quotes I see around social media. In fact, I often disagree with them. Or despair at the way they have been misappropriated. And I often shake my head when someone uses them to imply that they are correct on a particular issue, but I feel that the meme actually points out the reasons why the exact opposite is true. But don’t get me started on that! Occasionally though, I will screenshot one that I think applies to our No Kidding lives. Here are a couple:

One I saw recently (unattributed) asked us to,

“Think about how much you’ve grown since the event you thought would end you.”

I loved that. Most of us have grown an enormous amount since we realised – slowly or abruptly – that we were never going to have children. Some people get stuck, forever grieving, unable to accept or move forwards. But most don’t. I for one have learned resilience, gratitude, self-compassion and compassion for others, courage, acceptance, and much more. Even in the midst of my grief, I learned to find joy in small things, to appreciate what I have, and to accept that which could not be changed. I see this every day in other bloggers too. We grow, even when we’re in pain, even if we didn’t want to grow this way. And after a while, that growth brings joy and confidence and freedom. We can appreciate the growth, even if we do not appreciate the circumstances that led to that growth.

Another meme quoting a poet, Camille Dungy, gave us good advice – whether you are a writer or not.

“Beware of being so certain of what you want to say that you stop yourself from learning what you need to discover.”

I have found this time and time again as I have written this blog, and read other blogs. Often I will start a blog on a specific topic, and by the time I have ended I discover I’ve said something quite different to what I had expected. Indeed, sometimes my conclusions are the exact opposite of what I set out to say! Writing gives me time to think, and helps me figure out what I really want to say, what I mean, and what I actually think and believe. I am thankful that here in the welcoming and compassionate and wise No Kidding community, I have been given the space to explore my thoughts and feelings, and to expand my understanding and knowledge of the world and myself. Too often, elsewhere, we are unable to work things through like that, for fear of what other people might think, say, or how they might judge. I am forever grateful that blogging-land has given me the chance to learn who I am, and what values are important to me.

Gratitude for the little things

I write a lot about how appreciating the little things enabled me to see that life was going to be okay, and to remember that there is joy even during the first throes of grief. The last few days I've been feeling a bit weepy, and I'm not sure why. It might be because the focus of our lives over the last few years is now over, as of Wednesday last week when the in-law's house officially left the family, and I don't know what to do with the relief. I don't know. I know it will pass. But it's a good time to remember the good things about life that are often so little. It helps with resilience, and sometimes I need that. I thought I'd share some of mine from the last day or so.

• I baked bread for lunch, and that first crusty slice, slathered with avocado and topped with ripe tomato slices, had me groaning in ecstasy. A simple lunch, but it was soooo good.
• I've been listening to the news today, with the first non-quarantine flights between Australia and New Zealand for a year arriving today, as our joint "travel bubble" opened today. So much joyful family reunification brought a tear (or two) to my eyes too.
• The sun shining through the yellowing oak tree leaves this morning made the whole tree glow. Not a bad sight to see as I ate breakfast, I think?
• A beautiful autumn walk along the foreshore last evening with my husband. I enjoyed the exercise, the sea was calm and blue, dozens of people (and dogs) were enjoying the beach, and the low light was just beautiful.
• I wrote my #Microblog Monday post for A Separate Life yesterday, hitting Schedule 24 hours early. A very satisfying feeling. I should do it more often! lol
  
• I learned a new knitting stitch last night, and I enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment as it worked perfectly.
• Reading some lovely heart-warming posts yesterday and today from fellow bloggers Klara, Jess, and Infertile Phoenix.
  

And now, for something unrelated but necessary:

Admin Notice: 

Blogger has advised that their email subscription service will be discontinued in July 2021.

After July 2021, my feeds will still continue to work, but the automated emails to my subscribers will no longer be supported. Maybe try Feedly to keep up to date with my posts here. Or subscribe to Instagram (@nokiddinginnz)where I will try and flag new posts more regularly. 

 

Finding beauty in the weeds

Yesterday, I wrote a Monday post about a walk I had recently taken. You can read about it here. The key point was that I had found joy in the little things. Namely, trees I saw all the time, and weeds. Yes, weeds!

I thought again that this was one of the main things that helped me get through the dark days of loss. But not only the dark days. Noticing beautiful things helps make good days into great. It accentuates joy that I might  already be feeling. It deepens gratitude that I am already feeling. It is a lesson that I have brought with me into my No Kidding life. Yes, I know I talk about this frequently. But I think about it a lot too. I never knew at the time what an impact it might have on my life.

When I was young, I used to take joy in little things too, in the form of childish excitement. But as I grew into a teenager and young adult, I think I felt it less. Excitement wasn't acceptable as we grew up. I remember at one time being told to calm down. I never let myself feel or show my excitement in that way again. Not really.

But when I was grieving, I realised that I could take a quiet joy in things that took my mind off my grief. It helped. And it helped to be able to name what I was doing. A friend told me early on in second ectopic to roll with the feelings. That they'd come and go, and that was okay. That was, it turned out, good advice. Because in doing that, I was better able to understand those feelings, recognise them for what they were, and let them flow through me. .

The grief of loss, the pain, the fear, the jealousy, were each acknowledged. But at the same time, it helped to feel joy, and know it was joy or pleasure in the moment, without denying all those other emotions that were swamping me. It helped to feel gratitude, and recognise it as gratitude, knowing that things weren't so bad, that in some ways I was lucky, that there were things in my life that were still good. It helped with perspective. There wasn't just loss in my life. There was more than that.

Gradually, I became better able to understand, recognise, and actually own my feelings. My feelings weren't me - they were a part of me, but I could see they weren't permanent. Sometimes they helped, sometimes they didn't. But if I could recognise them, I could deal with them too.

Owning my feelings. Even the ugly ones. That has been part of the growth of coming to terms with, and living, a No Kidding life. Maybe it would have come to me anyway. Perhaps. But I'm pleased it has. It makes my life better. Easier. Filled with joy and gratitude. And I think (I hope) kinder too. Better able to understand myself and others. Perhaps that's the best gift of all. 

There is beauty everywhere. Even in the unwanted weeds. And it is there to help us.

 

Being grateful for No Kidding friends

I had a lovely boozy dinner on Saturday with good friends of ours, who also don't have kids. Instead, we occasionally talk about our nieces and nephews and great-nephews and great-nieces, as we are talking about all sorts of other things. But it is a nice relaxed way to have a conversation. We talk about what to do with all our stuff, and who will clean it up when we go. (She is teaching her niece and great-niece which of her possessions are valuable or historic, and how to tell.) We joked about both needing to stop hoarding, but refusing to stop getting ourselves the occasional treat. Because, as she pointed out, we still need to live and enjoy our lives.

She knows I blog about our No Kidding lifestyle but is busy with a high-powered job, and probably has never read this. It's not her style. She's openly without kids, but not so openly Not By Choice. Both my friend and her partner are great examples of people with a full, busy life without kids. They have family (several generations) nearby, and lots of friends, they mentor young people at work, have hobbies, are active and outgoing, and have an interest in the world. We're lucky to have them in our lives. 

In fact, I often think of a quote of hers when others talk about "having children is the purpose of life." "Rubbish!" she scoffed when I quoted a mutual friend who said this to me as I was between pregnancy losses. 

"There is no purpose in life other than to enjoy the lives we have." 

Believe it or not, when she first said this to me probably 18-19 years ago, I was a little shocked. I hadn't heard anyone else say anything like that before. But gradually the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with her. And every time I remember her quote, I appreciate the lesson. She's right. And I'm glad I get to enjoy life with her in it!

 

Moving Forwards

I wanted to write a lot more about World Childless Week than I have been able to, due to some other events around me (FIL faded rapidly and died last week).  

The final topic of the week was Moving Forwards. I feel as if that is the topic of this entire blog – showing that it is possible to move forward, to embrace our lives, find new things we love, or find that what we have is enough. There’s no need for a big change if that’s not your style. But if it is, then embracing your No Kidding life might give you the opportunity to do so. We all know that life and obligations (yes, the childless still have obligations!) can get in the way of our ambitions. But finding what is right for us, and learning to enjoy it, is the key to happiness. That’s true for everyone. To live your life, and know that it is enough. You are enough. We are enough.

When I lost my first two pregnancies I was in the process of moving from a career that had been first in government and then a large company. Being self-employed was a dream. I set up a business, which ran for a while then was sadly neglected. Ectopic pregnancies and infertility and other opportunities got in the way. My business was to develop travel itineraries for people who want to travel, but are too busy to plan their travel. I got some clients, and did some free jobs for others, but in the midst of infertility treatments and ectopic pregnancies, found it harder to have confidence in myself, and when other opportunities came along, they took precedence. I still have the business, but it hasn’t been active for years, although I have talked about reviving it – but COVID is really the last straw!

Contract work in my former field of international consulting with developing countries and developing agencies took more of my time. I also gained a couple of directorships in this field, and – right at the time I was feeling most vulnerable around pregnancy loss and infertility – I took on a leadership role on a Board of Directors. I didn’t feel confident at all, but was encouraged by friends into the role. I’m glad I took it. And as I had healed, I changed from being a user of an Ectopic Pregnancy charity website in the UK, to being a moderator/advisor/mentor. As the years went on, I came to love and appreciate this mix of activities and interests, and for one of the first times in my life became familiar with a feeling of contentment!

It wasn’t my ideal plan B. If you can find an ideal plan B and pursue it, then you’re lucky! My life-long dream to again live and work overseas, and the opportunities to do so, could not be pursued because we felt obligated to remain in this city caring for my aged in-laws. Then job redundancy, ageism in the workplace, health issues, parental health issues and deaths and further deterioration all kept us here too. But we adapted. We travelled when we could, and how we could – a highlight was a three-month period (as part of a longer trip) in Italy when my in-laws were still capable of looking after themselves day-to-day, and we took shorter trips when a brother or a cousin and others could step in and help out if necessary. The stereotype of the childless couple that lives a free and easy life travelling the world isn’t actually that common. Because … life steps in. It doesn’t mean that we are not moving forwards. We are. Because we are designing the life we want, as much as we can do so. And to me, that is what moving forwards means.

So we take pleasure in the little things in life. I took up photography, and we appreciated the little things in life – walks around the harbour or through our native bush, short holidays, drinks and dinner with friends, blogging and writing, gardens, golf, etc etc. It has been especially helpful in the times of COVID, when travel isn’t an option anyway. We’ve learnt to adapt, and continue on with our lives, embracing what we have. I see my fellow No Kidding friends doing the same, all over the world, and I am so incredibly proud of all of us. Living our lives, with awareness and gratitude. That’s the very definition of Moving Forwards.

 

The Childless Aunt

For the next few days, I get to be an aunt (and a sister, and sister-in-law). I know I’m lucky to be an aunt, even though I bemoan the fact that I only see her once or twice a year (and I see other nieces/nephews/great-nephews much less frequently). I also know that right now, it is a privilege to be living in NZ, where we don’t have COVID-19 in the community, and so when school holidays arrive (the winter two-week break has just begun), people can travel, stay with friends and family, and socialise. So I don’t know what my suddenly (it feels like) 12-year-old niece will want to do the next few days, but there’s possibly a trip to the zoo (or will she think she’s too old for that?), to Te Papa (our national museum), some walks, definitely some shopping (there’s a birthday present to purchase together), and some eating out.

It’s always strange to meet up with nieces and nephews as they grow into pre-teens and teens. I love that age, when we can have interesting discussions about all sorts of things. So I’m looking forward to that. But it makes me feel old too, because it doesn’t feel that long ago that I was a teenager!

I know I’ll be exhausted at the end of the week after their visit. But I know I’m lucky to have another niece to get to know at that age. I was thinking recently about another niece that I had a close relationship through her pre-teens and teens, as I used to be able to visit her and her parents in Singapore on my way to/from international business trips, and they also used to come back to NZ every year. I was often the chief “clothes buyer” with my niece, preparing her for her next year at school (she was in international schools as an expat), and she had an active interest in international relations, so we would talk a lot about different issues. Now she’s almost 30 (!), is not a regular or particularly forthcoming correspondent, and whilst we are great when we see each other in person, we don’t share our lives in the same way as 10 years ago. That change was sad for me for a while, but now I’m okay with it. I know that for a while, I was a very special person in her life. And she was (and still is) in mine. I’m hoping to have a similar relationship with littlest niece, but I know I can’t force it. Still, I will enjoy seeing her grow, and be grateful for that.