Life fills the void

The last week or two, I've been reading old posts and comments (10-15 years ago) from the infertility community. It's been interesting to see how my perspective - as someone who did end up on the road less travelled living a No Kidding life - is often completely different to both those who were desperately hoping to conceive and have children, those who were hoping to adopt, and those who became parents. 

I know that I'm reading these posts now as someone who has been living this life now for 22 years, who has had time to develop perspective, and who looks at the world from a very different viewpoint. But after so long, it has surprised me to see, so blatantly, some of the judgement towards those who might live a life without children, the self-congratulations for those who did not have to face the issues we might have had to face, and the pressure that was then put on those who were still trying, desperately believing that they would "join the club" or "climb out of the trenches" (in the terminology of the blogging community at the time) as mothers. And yet, I doubt that any of those people at the time realised what they were doing.

Here's a radical thought. Perhaps I was lucky not to be part of that community when I was going through pregnancy loss and infertility and treatments. How hard it is to be infertile and feel the pressure from society, governments, and family. How much harder it must be to feel it also from your fellow infertiles, who have that need to see others get the desired outcome so that they know it is possible for them, too, to get it. To feel the pressure to never give up, and to feel the judgement of doing so. To be someone's "worst nightmare." It encourages me too, that I haven't really been a part of that community (or only in passing) or felt that pressure, as our No Kidding blogging community has grown.

How important it is to now be part of a community that can take those people - the ones who suspect or know that they won't end their infertility stories as parents - and tell them they will be okay, that the wounds heal (even if scars remain), and that their lives can and will still be good, happy, and filled with joy. I want to tell them that the judgement dissipates. It's no longer top of mind for any of those who've been through infertility - regardless of their outcome. It fades away, to an extent. But more particularly, i want to tell them that we become so much better at dealing with that judgement. We learn so much more about our own selves, develop our own perspectives, and grow in confidence. We learn that the judgement tells us more about the people judging and their issues at the time than it ever says about us. And that makes it so much easier to dismiss.

I'm so proud of all my fellow bloggers - each of them have shown the way through the difficult times. We are not giving blind messages of hope above reason. We are showing them, with our own experiences and lives, that one day, this will only be a part of them, each year a little smaller, a little less painful. That it won't always be all-consuming. That life fills the void. 

And right now, my life is filled with, well, readjusting back into real life* after an amazing three months away. Enjoying the little things - summer, the tui in our garden, tennis, tomatoes and basil, music, and good books. Savouring life after being absent and then sick. I hope your lives are equally full with these precious little things that make life worth living.

 

 

* See A Separate Life's recent post, Right Now

Unexpected sense in a discussion about the childless

I'm sitting here thinking about what I might write this week, and there's suddenly a No Kidding topic on the radio. In real time. How fortuitous! Apparently, there are social media videos trending at the moment saying kid-free couples are luckier financially than those who are parents. (At this point, I stopped typing, and started listening!)

They had an economist on who made two main points:

1)  there is no evidence of this disparity, yet there are poor and rich people whether or not you have children. Double income no kids (DINKs) people are often both in low income jobs, and financial inequality in NZ is all about how much income is coming into the house, not whether they have children or not.

2) welfare support programmes have, in recent decades, been focused on those who do have children (eg, we have a Working for Families tax credit, or there are programmes to reduce child poverty, etc), and therefore there is a compelling case that those without children also need extra support, as they have not had the benefits/financial buffers of these other programmes.

The radio programme has a host, the guest economist, and two guest panellists. It surprised me how very careful everyone was. I was bracing myself for the stereotypes, especially when the host said, "But aren't we always told that having children is expensive?" But the conversation didn't go that way. It was pointed out that maybe those without children spend their money on different things, or might live in more expensive urban areas, so don't have any more savings or wealth than those with children. That they might even "fill the hole" left without children by buying fancy cars or eating out ("or travelling," I silently added to myself).

One person commented how terribly insensitive these videos were to those trying to have children, or those who were unable to have children, and another person mentioned that the smugness of some of these videos might be a backlash to the fact they feel judged by parents. That by bragging about their lives they were making up for the condescension from parents that having children makes someone  "more spiritually whole." 

This was the most balanced, carefully unemotional discussion of a parent vs childless issue that I have ever head. Clearly it was raised as a topic because it usually gets people involved in lively discussion, because everyone likes to defend their position. But the host and panellists and economist all exceeded my expectations. They did not descend into an us vs them debate, but all stood back, chose their words carefully, and considered the evidence. Just as I would want them to do. It was wonderful.

You can listen to it here. It starts at 16.08 minutes into the discussion.

I have one proviso about this discussion. But I'm going to save it for discussion some other time. In the meantime, maybe there is hope if there can be sensible, considerate discussions on our mainstream media?

Children and the Childless

I’ve had a number of post topic in my drafts file (which is ridiculously large, so I’m trying to whittle it down) for years. I do this regularly – note a post that has made me think, or one that urges me to put my perspective on it. Occasionally, I pick up on it – sometimes within days or weeks of the original post, sometimes years later!

Five years ago, Mel wrote a post talking about feeling that because she was infertile, she felt the need to prove that she was good at interacting with children. Wow, I can relate to that feeling!

But I’ve never felt that I was good at interacting with kids. I didn’t grow up with a lot of younger siblings or cousins. Most of them were around my age or my sister’s age, just three years younger. I had little to do with the ones that were much younger, and never really knew how to relate to them.  This never bothered me when I was contemplating becoming a parent. After all, parents “grow up” with their children, and their children’s friends. I was confident that would happen with me.

As an adult, I’ve had good relationships with nieces and nephews and friends’ kids when I’ve had the opportunity to get to know them, and often when we’ve been chatting or playing alone. But I have been self-conscious when I do it in the presence of other adults. I’m shy (though some friends would laugh at the idea) and self-conscious by nature – that might explain my feelings of awkwardness. I think that is because I’ve often felt people judging me.

Long before we tried to conceive, there have been the occasional “clucky” comments, simply because I was being a decent person and talking to or playing with little children. That infuriated me at the time. It infuriated me because I resented the gender stereotyping behind the comments. It also infuriated me because the people making these comments didn’t know if we had been trying or not trying, but clearly didn’t even bother to think about it. I remember my sister-in-law telling me once that she had raged at my husband’s brothers who had been making such comments (to me, and to my husband), telling them they didn’t know if we had fertility issues or not, and how would they feel if we had. (She was prescient – we hadn’t been trying at the time.)

Likewise, there are the “judgey” comments. A rather outspoken family member once harshly critiqued something I had said to our niece, taking something out of context when I was simply trying to find something that we might have in common. So, I’ve felt wounded by such judgement, and if anything, it encourages me to withdraw when certain people are around. That is sad for me, and sad for the kids too.

On a more casual basis, I will interact with children if I see them in a queue, or on a plane or public transport, for example, and they show interest. Kids can be curious and funny, and it can be enjoyable to chat or play with them. So when it feels natural, I do it. But equally, if I’m in a café enjoying a quiet coffee and a book, and a child is running riot, I’ll ignore them too. Just because I’m a woman, I don’t buy into the idea that it’s my job to entertain children. I reject it, in fact. I also reject the idea that childless women (or infertile women) need to take a role with children that women who are parents don’t do. In one extended family, I have close relationships with a couple of the children – much more so than the women who are parents. It’s as if they either don’t care – they have their own children to focus on – or they don’t see it as their role. They have nothing to prove. Grrr.

So do I feel that I need to prove that I’m good with kids? I have certainly felt that at times. When I was going through infertility, I genuinely enjoyed interacting with them, anticipating the time when I might have had my own. I liked proving to myself as much as to anyone else that I was good with kids. When I was grieving, it was painful, and so I generally didn’t put myself in the position to have much to do with little children. After all, I was questioning myself so much, I knew I couldn’t bear the judgement from others if I was to come up wanting.

Now, though, I don’t really care what people think! (I hope Mel feels that way now too.) I’ve seen plenty of parents who are both good with kids, or completely ignore kids that are not their own. Why should I be judged when they are not? Why should I feel that I need to prove anything, simply because I've suffered infertiity, or because I don't have children? I don’t. Realising this today is liberating. I have nothing to prove.

The grass is not always greener

Warning: This brings up disturbing issues

I’m listening to coverage of a trial of a woman who killed her three children in a city I know well. She and her family had immigrated to New Zealand only weeks beforehand. She had apparently suffered post-natal depression, and had gone through sixteen IVF procedures to have her daughter, and then four years later twin daughters. She was under severe stress, and apparently texted friends and family regularly about wanting to kill her kids. People dismissed it and thought she was joking. Because they knew she loved her children.

I feel for this woman. Sixteen IVF procedures, with only two successes, would have put enormous physical and emotional and financial stress on her and her husband. She would then have felt enormous pressure to feel grateful, and not complain. Sixteen IVFs! I can’t get over that number, that a clinic would allow her to go through sixteen IVF procedures. That she might not have been given support. Her life is now ruined. Her children are dead. Her husband is back in his homeland. I can only despair for her.

It shows me once again that none of us know what anyone else’s life is like. It may look like the perfect outcome to an infertility survivor – three beautiful daughters after years of infertility. But there is always so much going on. Just as someone going through infertility might look at my life, and decide I have nothing. When I have so much.

It also reconfirms for me that none of this is about worth, about deserving to have children or not. Becoming a mother is a joy to some, a nightmare to others. None of us know what life might have been like for us if we had had children, how we might have responded to stress, whether our children would have been easy or hard, whether we would have coped, or not. Likewise, not being able to be a parent is indeed a loss, but it can also open the world to other opportunities and joys.  The grass is not always greener on the other side. All any of us can do is focus on what we have, seek help when we need it, and give help to others. And above all, I think, we can try not to judge others, so they won’t judge us.

 

No Kidding lessons from a book about fear and danger

I read, or more accurately, listened to an amazing book a week or so ago. It was one I think everyone should read – it should be the basis of teaching all boys and men how to behave and how not to behave, and of teaching women and girls that it is okay to not always be “nice.” It was The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Becker. It’s an older book, but still very relevant. I found it fascinating in terms of how often we play down our natural instincts, and allow social conditioning to take over. Essentially, it is about violence and aggression, how to recognise the signs of danger, and keep ourselves safe. That in itself is extremely important, and I wish that all my nieces and nephews could read and understand this book. If I could give them one gift, especially my nieces, it would be to learn to listen to their instincts, and shed the social conditioning that tells them they are wrong.

But I found it fascinating on another level too. There were takeaways that applied for those going through infertility, and those of us living our No Kidding lives afterwards.

There are lots of good quotes. It was impossible to stop and record them as I was climbing the hills around my house listening to the audiobook, so I’ve probably forgotten the best. But here are some of the points that resonated with me.

I was pleased when he talked about social conditioning, and how controlled we can be by it, whether we are thinking about what is expected of us, behaving the way we are “supposed to” behave, wanting what we are told to want, afraid to fail, refraining from standing up for ourselves because we want to be “polite” or “nice” or undemanding, ignoring warning signals because "boys will be boys," etc. It all sounded so familiar as a woman, but especially to those of us who have had to throw this off in order to be able to accept our No Kidding lives. 

I immediately thought of the way it is assumed that we will all become parents, dismissing any niggling fears we might have that it might not be a possibility because "everyone does it" or "I'm just being stupid." I thought of someone dismissing warnings I'd given about when to seek fertility help, but a year on there is no baby. I thought too of the fact that at times women (and men) find it so hard to see the possibility of a good life without children, the way we (and others) view quitting as failure, the way we fear or are told that we are "not real women" (or men) because we are not parents, or even just the way we automatically feel we have to answer people when they ask intrusive questions, or justify our choices, or don't stand up for ourselves when we are isolated. Social conditioning doesn't always work in our favour. I've always felt that. But this book allowed me to believe it.

I was also fascinated by his comment that we can become addicted to the highs (eg relief, or hope) we experience after the lows of a bad experience, and so stay in unhealthy situations. Whilst he mentioned this fact as one explanation for why women stay in violent relationships (and came dangerously close to victim blaming), it was yet another reason that no-one ever considers. It also made me think of those of us who have been through IVF. The low of not conceiving, of a cycle that did not result in pregnancy, or of a pregnancy loss, can be followed by the high we feel filled with hope when we start a new cycle, or have a positive pregnancy test. It is that emotional high of hope, imagining the feeling of victory and success and acclaim and acceptance that will ensue, that keeps us going. We are consequently prepared to try even when the odds are completely against us. I know this suggestion is extremely offensive to some. But I’ve personally experienced it, even over just a few years. The fact that being free of the lows, being free of the rollercoaster, can be an even greater and much longer lasting high (in due course) is too often impossible to imagine.

A key point he made in this book was the warning sign of the persistent refusal of the word “no.”Most women, if not all, would recognise this. As he says,

“No' is a word that must never be negotiated, because the person who chooses not to hear it is trying to control you." 

That's such an important message for everyone. And it made me think about the No Kidding objections we get when we say, “no, we don’t have children” or “no, it is never going to happen.” Then we get the "have you thought about" and "just one more try" and "my cousin ate pineapple" or "this worked for me" or "I know it will work" rebuttals. These refusals to accept our “no” is insulting at the least. It can become almost dangerous, in that we know we cannot trust this person with our feelings.

“Worry will almost always buckle under interrogation.” 

I LOVE this. I’ve talked about something similar myself, when I’ve recommended dismissing the negative thoughts through honest questioning, or when I’ve wondered why someone might behave a certain way towards me. When I ask myself what is the logic behind these thoughts, or the worry I have about how someone views me, I almost always get the answer I need. That I am worrying needlessly, and that this is not about me. It allows me to dismiss judgement, gives me back my self-respect, and restores my confidence that I am equal and worthy. If the answer shows that concern is appropriate, then at least I can act on that answer. Oddly, although I’ve applied it extensively in adjusting to my No Kidding life, and a little in my normal life, it was still something of a revelation that I should use this technique when I’m worrying about “things that might happen” in general! I know it works, from first-hand experience in training my brain to adjust to being childless. So now I’m going to try to stop worrying about the roof flying off in the wind, or an earthquake!

He talked about the liberation of fear in this way. It's not the liberation from all fear, because that puts us in danger. But it is all about understanding our feelings, and our fear, and knowing what is valid and what is not. This is so important. I always remember hearing, as a diplomat, visiting NZers tell me that Bangkok was safer than their home town in NZ. What they had failed to recognise was that a) their fears at home weren't always valid, or were inflated because of specific but anecdotal knowledge of incidents, and b) they felt free of fear in Bangkok because they didn't know what dangers there were, how to read the people or the crowds, etc. Being alert to our fear, and feeling fear that holds up under questioning and is valid means you can do something about it. But when you know it isn’t real, or hasn’t happened yet, you can let it go. In this way, impala (for example) are alert and ready to run when they sense danger that a lion or leopard is nearby, but otherwise they are not worried, grazing happily, their heart rates down, bodies relaxed, etc. I’ve often thought that would be an enviable life skill, and how hard I would find that!

But when I think about it, I think this liberation of fear can also apply to us when we go through infertility – the fear and dread so many of us experienced contemplating a life without children wasn’t really justified because a) it hadn’t happened yet, b) our fears were influenced by social conditioning, and b) we hadn’t yet experienced it. Thankfully, I’ve found that when we realise that accepting our childless lives means that we can then make our lives into something that is not worthy of fear. (Or not specifically about fear due to not having children.) This liberation allows us to let go of our fear, and usher in the joy: joy in our lives that are free of social conditioning, of fear, and filled with self-respect. Joy is so much more worthy than fear.