A state of grace

I read a post from a member of the ALI community who now has children. She was reflecting on her reactions to a pregnancy announcement. As is probably inevitable after infertility, a pregnancy announcement is never really just a pregnancy announcement. We all know too much now to simply let it go. So she thought about the ages of the couple and whether that had made it easier for them or not, and then hoped that they hadn't had fertility issues. It was only after going through all the different permutations of how they might have got pregnant that she realised she did not feel jealous about the pregnancy

"Well, of course," some of you might be saying. But I know that not all parents after infertility are able to feel this way. Those who used surrogates, or donor eggs and/or sperm, or those who adopted all have their own issues around pregnancy announcements. But even those who seem to get pregnant more frequently can find such news tough. I remember a woman on the charity website where I volunteered ten years ago who, despite some pregnancy losses and a PCOS diagnosis, still managed to have a child a year, and at last count (to my knowledge) had eight children. She had declared that even with all those children, she still felt jealous when she saw a pregnant woman, as she always assumed they had an easier time of it than she did. Perspective was not her strong point !

It is harder, I think, for the No Kidding to find that they don't feel any jealousy or little twinges when we hear pregnancy (or birth) announcements. After all, we're not grieving just the lack of pregnancy announcements or births, but that entire life with a child that we had once hoped for. So I think jealousy is perfectly normal, or if not jealousy, simply a twinge of pain hearing of other's success can hurt a lot, reminding us of what we have lost, of what we weren't able to achieve.

But, as the years pass, and as we pass through menopause and enter different phases of our lives, this happens less and less often. I believe we can reach the same calm, relaxed, accepting state that Isabelle has found. Gradually I have grown able to simply shrug if the newly pregnant person/couple is not close to me. Or I can be genuinely happy for others, regardless of their fertility journey to get there. And perhaps most important, I can do that largely without pain now. The whole process seems separate from me now. So I embrace that. Sure, sometimes there might be a twinge. But I think that grows to become the exception rather than the norm. I know it will pass. And I like being able to join in on celebrations, or simply being able to move on after hearing the news without it affecting me. I am grateful for that. I am grateful for this very welcome state of grace.

Issues from all sides

In recent times, I've read two posts from No Kidding bloggers taking opposite positions on an issue that comes up from time to time. Are our pets our children? I'm not going to enter this debate, but it is an example that, as there are more No Kidding women writing and speaking out, there will be a wider range of opinions about what life is like for those of us who are living No Kidding lives without children. And perhaps we should be a wee bit careful when we try to speak for our group. We're not all the same.

I know that it is very easy for us to take offence at words or behaviour that feel unkind or pointed. After all, it is kind of funny that I'm writing this post when only a week ago I wrote about some comments that I felt were meant to hurt me. It is, of course, particularly easy to be hurt and offended when we are still hurting ourselves, when we are vulnerable, when every nerve in our body (and brain) is sensitised, when we have that distorted view that half the world is pregnant or has a baby, and that the rest of the world is against us. Whilst I won't criticise anyone for feeling this way at such a difficult time, it is good too to gently put an alternative point of view, or offer reasons why someone might have said something or acted in a particular way, without denying the person the legitimate reaction to something that hurts.

Gradually, though, as we heal most of us become better able to distinguish between genuine, if  misguided, attempts to be kind, and those comments or behaviour designed to put us in our place, criticise our situations or decisions, and make us feel lesser. Or to recognise comments or actions that were thoughtless but innocent, and shrug or laugh at the ignorance behind them.

In the two posts I'm thinking about, offence was taken for opposite reactions. One person commented that nobody would ever say "your pets are your children" if they had been through what we have been through. Yet another blogger, who was also childless not by choice, did indeed feel that their dog was their child, and was upset that family members weren't treating the dog accordingly. Interestingly, both posts felt that these comments and behaviour were an example of discrimination against their No Kidding status, and were an example of being ignored and dismissed.

However, I personally know people who do not share our No Kidding status but who refer to their pets as children, and would be only too happy to refer to my pets as mine. Who always included our cats (when they were alive) on our Christmas cards, and their pets as well as their children. Their reactions weren't a case of being condescending towards a childless couple, but rather of acknowledging the importance of pets in their and our family. Likewise, I know No Kidding people who would not treat a dog as a child, or make concessions for a dog's behaviour in the way they might for a child, and mean no offence. It's not necessarily an issue where the lines are drawn based on your childless or parent status.

So thinking about these posts reminded me to question motivations (my own and others) before taking offence. Now that I'm comfortable in my No Kidding life, it is easier to do this. I'll feel pain when it is warranted, but understanding someone's motivations means I can take offence with a grain of salt, and not feel the pain so acutely, if at all. I find too I can dismiss some assumptions, forgive some, and laugh at others. Or I can choose to genuinely try and educate. Importantly, I can laugh at myself too, if I am at risk of taking myself too seriously. I think it's a valuable skill, that helps me live my life. And I probably need to employ it more often!

Shedding resentment

Last week, I wrote that those of us who don’t have children will sometimes feel resentment towards those who do have children, when we might have been on the receiving end of condescension or insensitive comments, or have had to tolerate those parents or expectant parents who are condescending or insensitive or smug and self-congratulatory, or when we feel judged as failures or weak.

It reminds me that some time ago, I heard that carrying resentments is not only mentally unhealthy, keeping you in that hurt space and not allowing you to move on, but also quite literally holds you down. It turns out that resentment is an actual physical burden – in a test, high jumpers couldn’t jump as high when asked to think about resentments.

When I think back to those early years of pain and hurt and at times anger and resentment, I can well imagine that I wasn’t capable of leaping as high, and that physically as well as emotionally I was carrying a heavy burden.

As time goes by, it is easier to let these things go, to refuse to let them keep me down, to understand they’re more about other people’s issues than they are about us, or to speak up and defend ourselves, or to point out that their comments are hypocritical or insensitive or unfair. I’m much better at this now than I was in the early days and years of coming to terms with living a No Kidding life, and looking back, that progress really has felt as if I’ve been shedding a load.

I know that I feel much more relaxed and freer as a result of letting my hurt and resentments go. Lighter, even.

Bad parenting

Lisa on Life Without Baby got me thinking, as she ranted about “bad parents” and their out-of-control offspring. 

I understand her feelings.  From time to time I will also rant wildly about what I perceive to be bad parenting.  I’m trying to be balanced adding the “what-I-perceive-to-be” qualifier, though I don’t actually think I need it – and I’m confident that in most cases most people would agree with me.

I think part of this is that fear that, as women without children, we’re not allowed to have a view on how others should parent.  I’ve posted about this in the past.  But I think we are allowed to have a view.  I rant at the radio/TV/internet/newspaper about other things I have views on, whether or not I have direct experience on which to base my views, so I don’t see why I can’t rant about parenthood.

Also, I have a dear friend who gives me permission.  She has two children, and now a grandchild with another on the way (and argh she’s younger than me!), so in some ways when she validates my views, I feel I have permission to express them.  And, let’s face it, no-one can judge me on my ability or inability to parent by the behaviour of my non-existent offspring.  So perhaps it is easier for me to judge.  I used to feel guilty about that.  Now I don’t.  In fact, I feel quite free to comment (though only to like-minded people - I'm still polite), or at least to think, or to rant in the safety of my own home!

I’m going to give you all the chance to feel free to rant, to judge, to comment on bad parenting.  As you know, I’ve just spent a week in Thailand.  One night I turned up at the pool at my sister’s hotel for happy hour.  (Sex on the Beach there was great!)  My sister and her two friends were talking about the shock of the afternoon!  A small boy had stood at the side of the pool, and peed into it.  His mother watched him, and shrugged.  All the guests were rendered speechless, and so nothing was said.  They were aghast at this terrible parenting (a toilet was conveniently placed just a few metres away, as were many plants in pots that could have done in the last resort!).  They (all of them parents) felt free to judge.  So did I.  After all, you don’t need to have had children to know that that behaviour is wrong.  And those who have had children certainly don’t think it is right.

Myth: People who live childfree have carefree lives

Resolve, a US organisation, is promoting National Infertility Awareness Week by suggesting we blog about myths surrounding infertility.  Whilst I don't belong to Resolve, I did find its website very useful when I was going through infertility and coming to terms with living life without children, and so I want to raise awareness and help them if I can.  I've already blogged about the People without kids are Selfish Myth here.  So I chose another topic for this week:

Myth:  People who live childfree have carefree lives.

I wish this were true.  Sure, we're not getting up five times during the night to sick children, or any of the other cares that parents have.  But those without children are often the ones who end up volunteering, or the ones who work longer hours when the parents are off on school holidays (twice this week already).  And of course, those without children are often the ones who end up caring for aged parents and relatives. 

My husband and I are childfree and we should be the members of the family who are travelling the world, living in exotic places without worrying about what schools the children will go to.  But we’re not – after a three year sojourn overseas in the early 90s, we are now the members of the family who are left to care for my elderly in-laws.  All the other offspring are living overseas, following their careers, with no intentions of returning.  They visit infrequently.  After all, it’s so expensive to travel with children, the in-laws remind us - the dense childless couple who obviously don’t understand.  And as they remind us of this, their children pocket their huge foreign currency salaries, build their mansions, drive their Porsches, and send their children to the world’s most expensive universities, but rarely visit their parents.  They show their concern for their parents by emailing or skyping or phoning occasionally.  We show our concern by being here.  If we leave, who do they (the in-laws) have?  How will they cope?  We think about this, a lot.

Do I resent it?  Yes.  (The point of this blog is brutal honesty – even if I don’t come off very well!).  They’re not my parents.  They don’t recognise what we’re doing (ie that we’re living here, making career and financial choices to our detriment to stay here, for them), and so we don’t get a lot of gratitude.  I’m not really looking for that, because I don’t want them to feel guilty for holding us back at a time in their lives when they are frail and vulnerable.  We’ve never told them why we’re still here.  And we won’t.  It’s not fair to them. But it's not fair to us either/

And I admit, sometimes it would be nice to feel appreciated.  So yes, increasingly I resent that we are giving up so much at a time of life when we could be doing so much.  We’re doing the right thing.  Even when there might be no-one around to do it for us.  Perhaps that’s why we’re doing it?  Because we think about our old age, we recognise the vulnerabilities and the challenges, and we have compassion.  Perhaps it’s easier not to think about these things when you can breezily joke about your children looking after you in your own old age, because you can’t imagine a future being alone.  We can.  And so, we help, and we sacrifice.  So much for being carefree.

Infertility 101

National Infertility Awareness Week - a US link