Vulnerability

Further to my post last week, maybe a renewed sense of vulnerability can encourage me to make some changes/put in precautions. Things happen. Little things. Big things. But we can't stay with our head in the sand thinking that "things won't happen until we are old." Because "things" don't always wait!

I know that those who are childless are not the only ones who feel vulnerable at times. Those who have children who aren't close - either geographically, or emotionally - must feel the same vulnerabilities. Those living alone must have a heightened sense of their own vulnerability. It is yet another example where the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" doesn't work. It also reminds us we're not immune from bad luck. Ignorance truly is bliss. But I'm not sure I'd like to go back to the ignorance, despite everything. 

Sending out love to anyone who is feeling vulnerable at the moment. You are not alone.

 

Beauty

It's hard to think of things to write when the world we've known since we were children is changing on its axis. But I heard something lovely this week that really struck a chord with me, and I wanted to share that instead. 

It was a discussion about the Japanese art of kintsugi, fixing broken pottery with gold, making it more beautiful. The discussion linked the idea with that of "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I know many of us don't like that. Whilst it sometimes a little bit true, it is also true that sometimes "what doesn't kill us" pretty much destroys us anyway. It certainly changes us, and it can make us feel much more vulnerable, and often weaker too. I've written about this before (click here), looking at the both/and of this statement. I know Bamberlamb hated this idea too. People would say to her, "you're so strong," when she had no choice but to go through surgery, chemotherapy, and inevitably, facing death. So often, that statement is a way of stepping back. It denies the pain and the fear and the sadness, and removes support, when instead it should show the speaker stepping forward and offering aid and love and an ear.

So I cringed at the "fix the broken pottery and make it stronger" analogy. Until the next speaker pointed out that it also makes it more beautiful than before. That, I can deal with. Even in anger and bitterness and fear, that so often comes from feeling broken, our emotions are beautiful, because they are genuine, and come from a place of heartbreak, of humanity, and so often, from love. 

Accepting those cracks, those fractures, and where possible, healing them is such a sign of dignity, which is beautiful. It all leads to growth, which is also beautiful. Especially when that growth means we are more self-aware, and more loving towards ourselves and our flaws (the broken bits). Yes, there is beauty in perfection, but so much more in imperfection, I think. Perfect (in humans) is artificial. Broken, imperfect, but filled up and healed with love and compassion and sensitivity - for ourselves and inevitably for others - is honest and very real. And yes, it is stunningly beautiful. 

I see it in my comments all the time, and in the other blogs I read, and messages I receive, and people I have come to know here in this community. You're all beautiful. Remember that.

 

When stress and self-compassion become strength

I was dredging through some of my old drafts, and found something I’d written, but never posted. Now, it seems a little anachronistic. It was effectively about those playing the Pain Olympics game, and the lack of compassion sometimes shown between the different branches of the former ALI community. I’d found myself caught in the middle of something, and so I’m not going to revisit that.

But in my post, I found this memory that I’m not sure I’ve shared before. I was talking to my Fertility Guy about IVF, and he emphasised that it would be very stressful. I countered that I wasn’t too bothered, as I’d just been through a second ectopic pregnancy that took six-seven months to fully resolve, and that had stressed me to the limit. “After that, I can cope with IVF,“ I said blithely! He chuckled, then said very kindly, “well, okay, but just remember that your losses took a lot out of you, and so you might be starting at an already high level of stress.”

It's a good reminder that all the little filaments of our lives affect our resources and our ability and willingness to take on more stress. That’s important to remember in our No Kidding lives, as we live with different stresses from others around us. It helps us to know ourselves, forgive ourselves, and be kind to ourselves. Discovering self-compassion and self-knowledge helped make me much more resilient. It turns stress into strength.

 

Does it make us stronger?

What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. A lot of people trot this out to either compliment people who are going through something tough, or give them encouragement or comfort that they can get through it. However, I know a lot of people really struggle with this sentiment, for several reasons.

How can it be seen as a compliment, when we have had no choice but to get through our infertility, loss, grief, or another life event (loss of a partner/relationship, serious illness, etc)? Not having a choice is not something to be praised! We hate this. Who wants to be stronger if we have to go through these traumatic and/or distressing events? It seems to us terribly unfair, but here the speaker is lauding the fact.

It feels as if the speaker doesn’t want to deal with the realities of the situation. That by making such a sweeping statement, they are in fact denying the emotions felt by the person experiencing them. It feels awfully dismissive of their experiences and emotions. When it is said to an infertility/loss patient, we feel as if the speaker doesn’t care, that they don’t want to understand what we are actually going through, and that they can’t really handle the idea that bad things happen for no reason. It feels as if they don’t want to acknowledge the loss that we might be feeling, and don’t even want to begin to try, or to help. It can be very hurtful.

It's not something I’ve ever said to anyone. (I hope!) However, it IS something that is fine to say to ourselves. Eventually. I know I’ve felt that I have come out of infertility and loss stronger than when I began. I think that is inevitable. I feel better able to cope with difficult situations, better able to deal with my own emotions, and those of others. I do feel stronger. But it took time. And it wouldn’t have been helpful when I was in the thick of my grief, my loss, or when I was still clinging on to hope. Because all it tells me is that the person saying this doesn’t really understand, or want to try. It means they don’t consider the fact that whatever it is might not kill you, but it might leave you maimed, scarred, damaged.

A key thing that came out of my own infertility/loss/childlessness experience is that at times I do feel more vulnerable, weaker, less confident than I did before. The damage and scars are still there, though they might not hurt as much these days. And so I am much more aware of my own vulnerabilities, of my mortality, of all the things that can go wrong. That makes me feel weaker, not stronger. After all, the old saying “ignorance is bliss” can be very true. (We probably all remember being ignorant about the risks and realities of infertility, don’t we?) Knowledge doesn’t always bring strength. It can bring fear, hesitance, and a lack of self-confidence. This is all very natural. I see it in myself.

However, at the same time, knowing all this can make me feel stronger, because I am more prepared for things to go wrong. It makes me stronger because, ultimately, I know I can be okay regardless of what I will go through. Even when I know that the experience itself might leave me feeling very vulnerable, distressed, hopeless, afraid – you name it. I’m not blind to the feelings that difficult experiences bring. I’m less afraid of them these days, because they are more familiar to me. I understand I can get through them. I know that I can still find joy, that I can feel delight in life and friends and family and nature, that happiness can return. Yes, there’s a strength in that. 

Indeed, the many gifts of infertility" that I have identified in my No Kidding series here have made me a different, hopefully better, person. Stronger? Perhaps. Maybe that strength was always there. Maybe it is already there in all of us, and only traumatic events bring it out when it is absolutely necessary. But is trauma a reasonable cost of seeing this strength?

Strength, compassion, awareness and acceptance of our emotions might be the byproducts of our experiences. This all comes at a price. One that we would like to be recognised. So it would still be a brave or foolhardy person who would say to me that “what didn’t kill me made me stronger.”