No Kidding blogging

Fourteen years ago (give or take a few days), I wrote my first post on No Kidding in NZ. I was well past the raw shock of losses and an end to my efforts to have children. Seven years, to be exact! It seems so long ago now. My childless life has just turned 21. It’s grown up and left home! But I’m still here. I continue to post on this blog, even though my day-to-day life is rarely disturbed now by emotions resulting from my infertility and the fact that I have no children. I don’t blog anymore to get my emotions out or to reach out so that I don’t feel alone. Correction. I don’t blog solely for these reasons. Or even partly. But I do, very occasionally, need to know there are people on the other end of this post who understand.

I write now because not having kids is now part of my identity. Most of the time, it is neither good nor bad – it just IS. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to run out of things to say, and I know I repeat myself a LOT (though at times that is deliberate). But then I read a post or a comment, and have the urge to respond to it. Or I read a one-liner in the midst of another post that speaks to me, that reminds me of how I felt, or a comment that shrieks of a pain that needs to be recognised. Or perhaps, in a blogpost or a book, an article, or a politician’s speech, that oozes an arrogance or falsely promotes an assumption that I want to dispel. And suddenly there are still things I want to say. Or things I want to say again. They might seem random, and sometimes they are. Sometimes I’ve been thinking about an issue for a long time. Other times, I hear something on the radio, and immediately write about it. There's no resolution. The issues, thoughts, and questions don't end.

And so I write.

 

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.

Turning trauma into art

"Writing about trauma is more than simply documenting experience—it's about illuminating life on earth. It's about transforming tragedy into art, and hoping that somehow that piece of art may help someone else who's gone through something unbearable and who doesn't yet see that there truly is a light at the end of the dark tunnel."

— Tracy Strauss, Poets and Writers Magazine, Sept/Oct 13

I found this quote some years ago and have been meaning to show it here. Not that I would describe this blog as “art!” But the idea of writing about our traumas, about our losses, and about our recovery definitely applies to this blog, and to the blogs of so many of my readers too. I love that it recognises that writing about our own traumas helps others feel less alone, that they can read our stories and see themselves in it, that they don’t feel quite so isolated.

I love too that it recognises that writing about traumas can provide hope that maybe things will improve. After all, when we find our lives are going to be spent without children, it is not a static situation where life as we had planned it stops. Where there is initially a vacuum because our lives are not filled with the children or grandchildren we had hoped for, life and light and joy will fill it. In particular, hope fills that vacuum, although it is directed somewhere new. There is, as the quote above mentions, light at the end of the tunnel, and we all find solidarity and friendship and joy through the third, feared and neglected door of Infertility’s Waiting Room.

I know all of us who blog in our No Kidding world talk about this – the pleasure of discovering that life goes on, and is good and rich and full. I apologise to those who find it repetitious. But I do think it’s worth repeating for anyone new who might find this blog. And it's worth reminding those of us who have been here for a while too, and may have the occasional lapse. It gets better. I'm not kidding.

A confession

I've read a lot (though not all) of the books written by fellow bloggers about their infertility journey, or about being childless. Each one is different, in terms of their history, diagnosis or circumstance, approach to family building, and discussion about living a No Kidding life. I've even written one myself, but it sits in my back up drive, and has been there for quite a few years. I need to make a decision about what to do with it. I do think it fills a gap in the literature, but I'm unsure about it for other reasons. Or reason.

You see, I haven't done anything about it before this because I am, inherently, shy. It's a very personal and honest account of how I felt at the time. And that's the thing. So many of us, me included, didn't open up to our friends and family about how we felt. We covered it up, as we cover up so many things. My business colleagues didn't know how I felt, or even that I was going through it at all (with one or two exceptions). My family didn't really know how I felt. One or two friends knew, but not in much detail. I didn't bottle things up though, and I wasn't without support. I had online outlets and friends there, and because we had met each other in grief, grief and support was our shared language. We understood each other, we allowed each other to vent. But in real life? That was another matter. 

And so baring my soul in a book would be difficult. It would be something my friends and acquaintances here might want to read. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, even though I've contributed to articles here and internationally, and write this blog. Because basically, most friends and relatives aren't interested enough to follow me online. And that's fine with me. But a book might be different. And I don't want it (my No Kidding state), and/or my emotions around it, to define me. Especially now, when so much of it is in the past. It might be why I don't talk about it very often on social media, though in person I'll raise it much more often now (when relevant) than when I was going through it.

Yet, I think baring my soul is necessary too. Because if we don't talk honestly, both about how hard it is, how wonderful it can be when we come out the other end, and most importantly, how we got there, then we are not helping those who come after us. And we don't help others understand. This may be why we are so easily dismissed and ignored. Because we don't talk about the hard stuff. In the same way that my friends and family don't generally talk about their hard stuff either. When we do open up, others become uncomfortable. And their discomfort means that we swallow ours, and let them continue to live in ignorance and judgement. Which they may well be doing with us too, about their secret shame or sadness or disappointments. If only we could all be more open with each other, and feel safe in doing so. 

Once again, writing has let me figure out what I'm thinking. And now I know it is time for me to dig out those files, and read what I've written, and maybe even do something with it. And stop kidding around.

Shared experiences (again)

 I belong to a Fbk page for TN (Trigeminal Neuralgia) which is an invisible nerve pain condition. I don’t regularly read the posts there, because so many are in chronic and severe pain, and it can be both scary reading about it, wondering if that will happen to me, as well as it can make me feel like a fraud, because my pain has so far been reasonably well managed. Still, the other day I saw someone talking about raising the issue of the condition and of their pain with others. Many of them struggle to get any form of understanding or tolerance of their pain from friends or family members, and so suffer (literally) in silence. Someone said the following:

“I still think it is worth persistently and politely pulling people up, and explaining why, though.”

I agreed wih them. And I guess that’s why I write this blog too. Because, like TN, not having children can be an ongoing source of pain for many members of our No Kidding community, and yet it is invisible, ignored, disenfranchised. When I casually mentioned TN once, a friend said to me (innocently), “but you don’t get that now, do you?” And I had to explain that every day I feel it, I’ve learned to live with it, and that I am lucky that medication has helped me so far. That’s not unlike those of us without children. Every day we live with it, we feel it because we know we don’t have children, our friends and family assume that we are fine now, and so we are ignored.

I guess it’s just another example that there are so many of us in society who feel marginalised, misunderstood, and in pain, for a myriad reasons. There are more people who might understand our situation than we realise. So maybe talking about it, both to spread the word to others and to get support from each other, is all we can do. Which I guess is what I try to do. Calmly (I hope) explaining our No Kidding lives when I can. Writing here and thinking. Walking alongside all of you, and feeling grateful for the fact that you are walking alongside me too.

 

No Kidding 2020 Project: Day 8 - Write

When I went through my ectopics, I would struggle to sleep. I’d feel exhausted, from all the emotions, but when I would put my head down on the pillow to try to sleep, it would all churn around and around in my head. The what-happeneds as well as the what-ifs kept me awake. My second ectopic in particular took a long time to resolve with multiple hospitalisations and procedures, and trying to keep track of those, and so many blood tests and results and appointments, made it hard for me to let my brain stop thinking about it all. I had this tremendous need to remember it all. The same thing happened during IVF, and later as I began living with the definitive knowledge that I would never have children. Although there can often be relief from this decision, the grief and the what-might-have-beens and should-I-have-done-mores can be overwhelming. My brain did not find it relaxing!

During my ectopics, I discovered that simply writing down the details of my appointments and results and what was said or what happened that day helped relieve me of the need to remember. Later, I found that just emptying my thoughts onto paper – or computer screen – helped me to breathe out, and relax. Many people are very private, so writing (or maybe even just talking into your phone to record your thoughts) is something they only want to do for themselves. Others – like me, back in the early 2000s – find message boards or Fbk groups where we can share our experiences and fears with others who know what we’re going through. The ability to do that anonymously is also helpful for those who are nervous about having a public presence. Talking to others, helping those who might be a few weeks or months or years behind us, helps us feel less alone, and helps us help others. Being able to do that feels good, and I needed that. We all need that.

Later, as I began volunteering, and then eventually began blogging here, I found that responding to a question or issue someone else raised often helped me figure out what I thought. And by writing it down, I didn’t have to hold onto it. Being able to have relief from intense emotions or feelings of loss or failure is really important for our recovery and mental health. Being able to put those thoughts away for a while, or being able to figure out what we think, and what is important to us, really helps. I found that learning to understand myself and my emotions helped me regain control over them. All of this helped me fully re-enter society after loss, find my new normal, and embrace my life as it is.

Writing – or more accurately, recording, or perhaps expressing yourself (choose which fits best for you) – might start as simply as jotting some test results down. Or listing frustrations, or things that people have said to us that we want to remember, but don’t want to go over and over in our heads. It might stay at that level, and if it works for you, that’s great. Or maybe just venting once to a good friend might be all you need to sort things out, or to express hurt or frustration. Or maybe you might find other ways to heal, through craft or art or music or dance, for example. Perhaps you’ll follow a progression, as I have. Perhaps you’ll go further – some people have turned it into a calling, with articles published in major newspapers, or turn it into a business or career, turning loss into purpose. It’s different for all of us. But I do think it’s important to have an outlet, even if it is just a scrap of paper with a list.

I write about other areas of my life too. It stops me going over and over events, to myself, or – quite often – to my husband! If I can get something down on paper, it stops me fuming quite as much as I might otherwise. Last week, my 2020 Blogging with Friends project asked me to write an advance eulogy or note of appreciation to someone who is still living. I wrote about my father-in-law, but found it difficult. As I would write about something nice, I would remember things that had hurt or frustrated or confused me. I fumed and decided I wouldn’t write about him at all. But at least I had it all written down in draft, and I could let it go. By the next morning, I knew I could edit most of the negative stuff out, and focus on the positive. It was, as I wrote here on A Separate Life, a lesson in kindness, if not understanding. And you know what? I feel better about it – and him – now.

So it’s a lesson I keep learning. I have a number of draft posts written, about a whole range of issues – about childlessness and not about that at all – that I might never post. But the act of writing them, of really developing and articulating my thoughts, feelings and beliefs, almost always helps. I highly recommend it.

The Results Are In: To Instagram No Kidding or Not

As you'll recall, I conducted a small survey of readers and their preferences regarding blogging or Instagram. Here are the results:

As I suspected, almost all of you prefer to read posts here on the blog. I was never going to stop the blog, and with 91% of you and perhaps didn't make my thoughts on that clear enough, so I'm sorry if I worried you.

91 % of you said they'd prefer to read the blog, and of those who follow Instagram, still 87.5% said they'd prefer an Instagram page to have links directly back to the blog.

That's an overwhelming endorsement of keeping the blog. However, there was a small interest from some who preferred Instagram, and some who pointed out the visual side of it, which might be fun to work with.

No Kidding in NZ here on the blog will always be the primary venue for my No Kidding thoughts. But I think I might give it a go on Instagram AS WELL. Mostly I'll just link my posts there, or post some of my photos and brief thoughts, so there is no need for any of you to go out and get Instagran accounts! So I'll start it on a trial basis, and see how it goes.

You can find me at @nokiddinginnz, though I will keep my personal account (at travellingmali) for my personal and travel photos.

Meanwhile, it will be business as usual here. And I have had some ideas for blogging this year that I'm a little bit excited by. Watch this space!

2019: Looking Back on the Blog

Another year and I'm still here, even though 2019 wasn't my best blogging year. It's worth looking back though, as survival is a feat in itself! And worth celebrating. Remember that!

Over 2019, I wrote sixty posts, which I'm quite pleased about, as it averages one a week, with a few more thrown in. Sixty times last year, I thought about writing about not having children, I thought about the positives and negatives of my situation, and I thought about what you might want or need to hear about. Sixty times I reminded myself to be honest. I might not have always had words of wisdom (I hope I had some), and sometimes (like yesterday), I might skim past the topics, but even in that fact, I hope I'm showing that I am not defined by my No Kidding status. Instead, I'm just living my No Kidding life.

I kicked off the year with good intentions for blogging in 2019. I'm not sure I met many (any?) of these "blogging resolutions", but that's okay. There's always this year!

January and February saw me write my five-post menopause series, which you can find here.  It's funny, because just a year later, it feels like something I wrote a long time ago, and something I went through in the dim and distant past. I'm still on HRT, and I still overheat, but the horror memories are fading, thank goodness.

A lot of my writings have been focused on my efforts to see things from both sides. Two in particular are:

Issues from all sides
How infertility affects our world views
Stories we tell ourselves

I've written more about ageing when you don't have children, sometimes specifically, sometimes in thinking about the need to build a community, and quite often about what legacy we leave when we don't leave children. Perhaps that's natural when for the last years I've been surrounded by elderly parents and in-laws, with only one left still hanging in there. Ironically, having written about Recipes as Legacy, I was hunting for my mother-in-law's zucchini chutney recipe recently, and can't find it in her recipe books, despite finding at least one carefully copied recipe I gave her which I know she never made. It is very frustrating, as it is one of only a few recipes of hers I actually wanted, and I can't find it!

I started last year with some optimism because of a potentially changed situation, but due to someone else's misfortune, that didn't continue. It's a situation I'm not happy about, but have to remind myself - Pain Olympics style - that perspective is everything. Perhaps because of this though, and perhaps unconsciously, I wrote a couple of posts about suppressing ourselves, our wishes, our realities.

Suppressing our personalities
Celebrations vs Grief

But on the other hand, I did talk about occasions when I spoke out. These small instances, when I (figuratively) stamp my foot and refuse to let my situation be ignored, help me to remind myself, and the world, that I'm here, and that I (and all of us who are Not Kidding) count.

Speaking out revisited
Don't render me invisible

As usual, I got a lot of inspiration from other readers and writers on this topic, both from their posts, and comments. My posts are often sparked by ideas when I read a post, whether I agree with it, want to take it a bit further, or on a different tangent, or when I vehemently disagree. I think it helps me a lot when I try to figure out why those I disagree with take that attitude. Understanding, even if I still disagree, helps. So I thank you all for thinking and writing and discussing and inspiring me. Please continue to do it!

Finally, I conducted a To Instagram or Not survey. I'm monitoring the results, but will close it in the next week, so if you haven't commented, or filled it in, please do so here. It'll only take you about one minute! It's a question of whether to add Instagram to the No Kidding online presence, not to replace this space here, which was a concern of many.

Here's to another year of blogging, of thinking, of growing, and of trying to continue to be able to say, I'm Not Kidding.

This is an annual nod to Mel, who used to run the Crème de la Crème, where we would list our favourite post of the year. It always provided inspiring reading. So even though it doesn’t happen officially now, I hope that you too will list your favourite posts from your own blogs, on your blogs, for us to enjoy again (or for the first time). 


PS: And Mel has reminded me that this week is blog delurking week. So do leave a quick hello in the comments (I'm okay with anonymous comments if you're really shy) or send a quick email. I'd love to start the year knowing who is here reading.

When silence is the best policy

I’m still recovering from this virus, and though I thought I might be feeling better, the fact that I fell asleep on the couch when I was keen to watch the final of the US Open today, being woken only be the cheers announcing the winner, means I’m still not right. So I don’t have any great ideas about writing, or life without kids, right now.

Rather, I’ve been thinking about when not to write something. I was taught that if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all, so there are times on this blog (or in my virtual or real life) that I choose to keep quiet, even if I think that I have a wider knowledge and experience than someone who may disagree with me.

I remember clearly how I felt back when it was all new and raw (and I’d documented this at the time in case I might forget), and my writing today calls on how I felt at the time - my intense emotions and rationalisations, the overwhelming desire that coloured my thoughts and decisions and life, my need to protect myself and my husband, and my anger that someone might suggest I wasn’t thinking clearly. But today I also have the advantage of time, of hindsight, of understanding what was hurting me or many others across the world, of understanding what would help, of recognising what was and is logic and what was and is emotion, of sensitivity and hurt and sadness.

Sometimes, people aren’t ready to hear what they don’t know, and knowing better doesn’t mean pointing that out, but holding off. After all, I remind myself,  I’m not in this to win arguments or be proven right, but hopefully to help someone who needs it on a day when they feel that the world is against them.