Being kind to others and yourself

Being kind to others as well as yourself is something I've seen the No Kidding community struggle with for years and years. (I've listed previous posts on this issue at the bottom of this post, just before an admin note.) There's the feeling we can't reply to people the way we want to or stand up for ourselves in case we're considered to be rude. The idea that saying "no" to a question and not explaining ourselves might be rude. The idea that others can trample all over us and we would be rude to point that out, or that by putting a different point of view we are confrontational. The idea that by protecting ourselves we might not be a good friend. I've been quite disturbed by this at times. So I was really pleased to see a meme posted on social media the other day that pointed out all the things you can do and say and still be a kind person.

I've tried to find a credit for it, but can't. So I'm going to write my own No Kidding version. 

You can be a kind person and still:

• Refuse to answer invasive questions
• Set boundaries, protect your heart, and say "no"
• Refuse to be ignored or sidelined simply because you don't have children
• Point out incorrect stereotypes or assumptions
• Be honest about your life
• Forgive yourself and, in time, others
• Defend yourself and your tribe
• Realise that putting yourself and your needs last helps no-one

 

A few relevant previous posts include:

• My existence is not offensive
• All those questions 
• Saying "no

Lastly, some admin: I've been having trouble commenting on any blogger sites - including my own - for some reason. Sometimes I can't comment even though I'm logged into blogger myself. Sometimes I can't comment even with my name and URL.  It comes and goes, and is frustrating. I'm still reading though. Apologies if I've been silent on your blogs, or if - like me - you are having difficulties commenting here.

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Personal growth: it will change your world

A Letter to my Younger Self

To 30-something Mali

Without any spoilers, I am going to give you some advice for your personal growth over the next 20 or more years. I wish I had known these things beforehand. I am very glad that I know them now, and hope they will help you:

Give yourself permission to feel your feelings and roll with them. By feeling them, you learn to recognise them, understand them, and, ultimately, this knowledge helps you grieve, and it helps you heal. Feeling them is not always pleasant, and there is usually no easy shortcut to get through them, but it is worth doing the work. You’ll come to accept them, and you won’t be afraid of them. That’s a gift.

Take joy, delight, and happiness where you find it – the warmth of the sun on your back, laughter with a friend or from something funny, the luxury of a hot shower or bath, the pleasure of helping someone. Joy in life is in the little things, even when you might be afraid, or sad, or angry. Those big things come and go. But, as your mother will say a lot in the next 20 years, there is always “a good cup of tea” to be relished. And never feel guilty about feeling joy. It is healing. And you deserve to feel it.

Learn self-compassion. You are kind to others. So, don’t you deserve the same kindness from yourself? When you learn to be kind to yourself, and eventually, to like yourself, you will find it easier to stand up for yourself, and to care less about what others think. You will learn to say “no” to things and people who are negative and draining, and “yes” to new opportunities. It isn’t selfish, though. You will find it easier to be tolerant of others and show them compassion and understanding in turn, and you will grow as a person. You become more content in yourself but that also makes you more demanding too, because you know who you want to be, and who you can be.

Speaking of caring less about what others think, it gets easier! I am not kidding, though you won’t be surprised if I admit that I’m still not very good at it. But you know what really helps? knowing that others’ opinions of me or my life almost always says more about them than it does about me.

It is possible to retrain your brain! If you find yourself thinking negative thoughts or going over and over negative experiences (as I know you do, have always done), you can teach yourself not to think about these things. First, you need to recognise these thought patterns as unhelpful and negative. Then you can challenge them. Ask yourself, “are they true? Or am I catastrophising? Can I fix the issue behind them? Or am I self-flagellating for no reason?” Once you know, then you can counter them, and dismiss them.

Write your thoughts down. It helps. It can free your brain from trying to remember something, or from going over and over a particular event. It can and will also help you figure things out –how you feel and what you think, what is important, what you want to do in the future, who you want to be. In fact, it can be quite therapeutic. And it will new open worlds to you. You will learn to love it, even to need it. And you might find you are quite good at it!

Make the best decisions you can with the information you have available to you at the time. Then don’t beat yourself up about them. You can’t turn back time. Hindsight is wonderful, and you can and should grow from it, but there is no benefit in wishing you’d made different decisions.

You know what you’re good at, and what you enjoy, and of course, what you’re not good at, and what you don’t enjoy. Be honest with yourself, both for the good and the bad. You will find that gets easier as you get older. It is liberating to learn to look at yourself without judgement or self-recrimination but with curiosity and compassion. It is liberating to be able to move on with an intention to improve where possible.

Learn to know and challenge your values. Hold them close. I have learned to embrace them without feeling that I was letting anyone down, including, perhaps especially, you, my younger self. Solidifying my world views and values has made a great difference to me, my thoughts, my level of contentment, my authenticity. I let go of a lot of things. But in doing so, I was able to begin to fully embrace myself, and my life.

As humans, we survive by adapting to new situations. We can find happiness without achieving the big goals, whatever they might be. I’m sorry to say that you won’t win the lottery! But you don’t have to have the perfect family, career, body, or mind to be happy. You just need to be able to appreciate what you have in your life, whatever that might be, wherever you can find it. You can achieve acceptance and contentment. It is easier than you think. And you are much more resilient than you think too. Take pride in that! I do.

Your next twenty plus years will be full of joys and adventures and scary times and love and sadness and disappointment, of mistakes and wonderful decisions. That is inevitable. That is life. Embrace it! It will be amazing. I am not kidding.

With love
Older Mali

 

It is World Childless Week. Learn more about it and see all the other submissions on this topic here.

 

My Story: Repost and an Update

"I didn't always want children.  I know that’s not a typical confession to hear from someone who has dealt with infertility, but I married young, and resisted and resented the almost immediate pressure I felt to have children.  I was in a new exciting world where women had a choice, and I was insulted by the inference that my biology would decide my place in the world, not my own thoughts, decisions, and talents.  My husband was a little more traditional, but he also knew who he had married, and knew I could only have children when I was ready.  So I spent many years brushing off the unwanted questions about when we were going to have children, building up the persona of the career woman who wasn’t interested in having children.  

It wasn't just about the career though.  I thought it was important to have children when I was ready, and not before.  I wanted to be a mother that was fully present for her children, not resentful of her stolen youth.  I also wanted to feel the maternal urge, and so I waited.  At times I wasn’t sure if it was going to arrive, but it ambled up to me in my mid-30s.  By the time I first conceived, I was in its full grip.  Whether it was simply biology (hormones and that ticking clock), my own natural wishes at the right time, or peer pressure, I don’t know and will never know.  But I know I genuinely wanted to be a mother. 

Of course, as is obvious now, it is not that easy.  A long story short is that two ectopic pregnancies and two failed IVFs later, I knew I would never have children.  I got the news on my 41^st birthday.  I've had better birthdays.

Coming to terms with the news was not easy.  In retrospect, the persona I’d built up in the early years of my marriage – that I didn’t want children – protected me as I dealt with the realisation that I would never be a mother.  But still, it was hard.  At first, the truth of my situation hit more and more deeply.  Each time I thought “when I have a baby” or “my children will ...” the pain hit anew.  I wouldn't be having a baby.  My children would never ...  And this got worse before it got better, like punching a bruise that is already tender.

But it did get better.  Gradually I realised that punching the bruise was pointless, and so my brain trained itself not to think about the babies I didn't have, would never have.  My brain stopped me thinking of myself as a mother.  This took time.  But the good minutes, then hours, then days, then weeks, came more frequently.  At times I fought against it, feeling guilty that – on the good days - I was not grieving enough.  I wondered, if I didn't continue to grieve and mourn the life I thought I would have, then maybe that meant I didn't really ever want it, or if it meant I was upset simply because I didn't get what I thought I wanted.  So I wondered if my pain was fake, wondering if I didn't really have permission to feel pain, if it meant I in fact deserved what had happened.  Of course, now I look back and know my grief and pain was legitimate.  But still, the process of recovery itself made me feel guilty. 

But healing is a gradual process, and so gradually I realised that this endless sadness would not serve me well.  Back in the early days, immediately after my ectopic losses, I had felt the power of joy, even with something as simple as a joke on a sit-com, or the warmth of the sun on my back, a favourite song, or sitting looking out at the sea and a blue sky.  Grasping joy as it came, even when it was fleeting, was what healed me.

I realised too that feeling happy was not a betrayal, either of my lost babies, or of mine and my husband’s dreams.  Feeling happy with my life did not mean I didn't want children enough, or that I didn't grieve enough.  In fact, I felt strongly that I needed to be happy, to live well, in order to honour my losses, my pain.  I still do.  And so I guess I made the choice to be happy. 

I didn't come to this insight overnight.  It took time.  I read books written by those who had gone before me, and – on an internet forum I frequented and that had saved my soul in my darkest days of loss – I in turn shared my experiences with those who came after me.  Helping them, responding to their raw grief, even whilst I was still healing myself, showed me how far I had come, and gave me insight into my own healing.  Learning to find happiness, and value, out of what I had been through seemed to make sense of my loss.  And so, over several years, I was able to let go of the guilt. 

And letting go of that guilt opened up the world to me.  I was able to take joy in the aspects of my life that wouldn't be possible if I had children. I was able to read, and believe, research that promised that those of us without children would be able to have a happy life, and a happier old age.  I realised that I may not have got what I wanted, but that’s not always a bad thing.  I learned the secret of happiness is not to have what you want, but to want what you have.

I am happy.  I have a good life.  No, a great life!  I’m currently still basking in the memories of six weeks in Turkey and Europe – I couldn't have done that with kids. I'm so much more in touch with myself now, my emotions, my talents and yes, even my flaws. Maybe especially my flaws. I suspect age has something to do with that.  But I also think that my infertility and loss has tempered me, forged me into who I am today, someone who is wiser, kinder, more compassionate, more realistic, and yet more optimistic too; someone who is contented, happy.  Someone I like."

That was my story nine years ago almost exactly. Fbk keeps reminding me that this time in 2011, I was staying in a cave hotel in Cappadoccia/Kapadokya. It was a fabulous trip, with a lot of firsts - four new countries, ballooning, a cruise. We were gloriously childfree on that trip, and since then I've been fortunate to take a few more wonderful trips, both internationally and in New Zealand, that I wouldn't have taken with children. Life has indeed been good.

Looking back at when I was first learning to accept I would live my life without children, I had this fantasy that I would buy a bright red convertible, the opposite of the big child-ferrying buses some of my friends drove, just because I could. But work and travel and reality took over. Plus a number of factors, including a) I like to be anonymous, b) I live in a city that is not known for its large number of "top-down" days, and c) I have a family history of skin cancer and like to limit my sun exposure, meant that I was never really going to get a convertible! Actually, I'm fine with that, because the idea of the red convertible symbolised the freedom that I felt at the time, the travelling I was able to do, the choices I was able to make.

But life doesn't always allow us to make the most of that freedom. Life changes. It intervenes in plans and dreams - lost jobs and a tough job market and major house maintenance expenses, a hysterectomy and broken ankle and trigeminal neuralgia, care of elderly relatives and the death of my mother and my mother-in-law, and this week, probably my father-in-law. Even a pandemic! None of these troubles are unique to me, or - mostly - to my childless situation. They're just life. Sure, life without kids has its issues. But I'm aware of those. After so many years, I'm used to them. I don't like them all, but I'm used to them. They're part of me, and make me who I am. They've taught me so much about myself. They've taught me that I'll get through the tough parts of life, and they've taught me to appreciate life's joys. A lot of people never learn that.

If this is an honest update, I have to say that I'm probably less contented and happy than I was seven years ago. As I've mentioned, life hasn't always been easy the last nine years. And this year is 2020! So all things considered, I'm doing fine. After all, the whole world is struggling. But being childless? I'm not struggling with that. It's part of me - the good and the bad. And you know? That's okay too.