#Microblog Mondays: "Only a parent ..."

Over the years, quite a few women have said to me, “MY child won’t do X” or “OUR relationship is different, we’re very close!” only to be (predictably) proved wrong as their children grew up. In another conversation with a woman I know well, the "only a mother ..." and "only a parent ..." comment was uttered in this context repeatedly, blocking any possibility of a real discussion and the consideration of alternate views. It was clear that my role in the discussion was intended to be one of support, nodding and sighing, and validating the parent's decision. Whilst I couldn't bring myself to put my heart into this, I also couldn't put the child's case, as I wanted to do. My restraint was impressive (if I do say so myself)!

Later I said to my husband,

"Only a parent can be so self-righteous that they are blinded to the truth."

He laughed, we shrugged, and then went back to whatever we were doing.

The happiest times of our lives

Some time ago, Jamie wrote a post about mothers who are certain they’ll look back on the time with their children as the happiest in their lives.

Whilst I might have a counter to that – that mothers probably feel they have to say that or the world will judge them harshly, and that it is also probably the most stressful time of their lives (when I think about mothers I know, or follow) – I guess mothers do, in general, look back on the time with their children and remember the good times, and their love for the children.

“What do childless people look back on?” Jamie wondered. (Apologies to Jamie – I can’t find the post right now).

I thought that was a good question, and – given my advanced years - decided I wanted to answer it, from my perspective.

1. I look back on my school years. I was achieving well, and the world was my oyster. Yes, it was painful, as our teenage years are often filled with emotional angst, cliques at school, pressure to perform. But overall, I have very good memories of my school years.


2. My AFS year in Bangkok when I was 17-18. Though I wouldn’t say it was the happiest time of my life, it was the most extraordinary year, the most life-changing year, and one I have many happy memories from.


3. My years as a diplomat in Thailand ten years later, with my husband, when we explored Thailand and Southeast Asia together, gave me wonderful personal and professional experiences.


4. I would also look back on my volunteering days. I was healing after loss, and coming to terms with childlessness, learning contentment and mindfulness, and knowing I was helping people. It was a time of growth and insight and friendship, and was very rewarding. It was completely unselfish – well, apart from the good feelings I got from doing it – unlike looking after my own nuclear family would have been, and that also makes it a very special time.


5. My travelling years – which overlapped with some of the worst times of my life – started in earnest in the late 1990s. In fact, last year was the first year we haven’t been overseas since … I think … about 1996! We loved travel, we could finally afford it (unlike now), and there were so many places to go. We would go on a trip, and while we were away, we’d often start thinking about where we wanted to go next! I have such great memories from our travels, even the trip to Vanuatu between our two IVF attempts, when we went snorkelling, and attempted sailing on a small catamaran but didn’t know how to turn it around! Even when I was sad because I was recovering from a lost pregnancy (our France trip), or cancelled IVF (Vanuatu), or my father’s death (Queensland), I have fond memories of each place. Perhaps in some ways, the memories of those places are special because of the sadness, and are worth keeping too.

So just because I don’t have children, I still have plenty of times that I can think of that I was happy. I may not have one period of 20 years that I can say were the happiest of my life. But perhaps that’s a bonus – I can look at my life as a whole, and say I had many happiest times of my life. Sure, it has had ups and downs, but much more happiness than sadness. And I’ve still got retirement (provided we can save enough money for it) to look forward to!

What would be your happiest times?

#MicroblogMondays: Running out of time

This last year I’ve been looking for jobs. I’ve applied for the few jobs that are appealing and relevant to me and my experience and abilities, attended a few interviews, and in between have been thinking about what I would really like to do. (Yes, I’m still trying to decide what I’d like to be when I grow up!)

My husband has also been without work for most of that time (though not just now), so I’ve been fretting about retirement savings, worrying about what sort of a lifestyle we’ll be able to live when we’re old. And of course, that becomes a little more pointed when there are no children to take up any slack, in the way that my sister or I can – if necessary – for my mother.

I feel as if I’m running out of time, and that is a bit of a flashback to trying to conceive, when I knew I was running out of time there too. The insecurities are different, but - like infertility - I struggle to escape them, even when I know I'm highly skilled and employable.

Yet today, I feel hopeful, simply because I feel good, I’ve worked out this morning, had a coffee that has perked me up, and I’m sitting at the computer, focusing on the good in my life, and ready to rock!

#MicroblogMondays: It's over!

Last week on #Microblog Mondays, Cristy asked her readers to finish the sentence, “Infertility is ________.”

My first reaction was a rude word, as I remembered my own pain, and thought of all the people I know, and all those I don’t, who are going through pain right now because of infertility.

Closely followed on the heels of that expletive that first shot to mind/fingers/lips, was the sudden realisation that the word I was really looking for was “over.”

Of course, I am living with the results of infertility, and I always will – and that means that there are times I will feel sad or regretful about what never was. But for me, happily, infertility is over, and no longer has day-to-day power over me.

Discovering that I feel this way was liberating - I felt a burden had lifted, and stood taller, straighter, stronger -  as it means I have done the grieving, endured the growth pains, and moved through healing to a good place. With the will to grow and to embrace our lives, I think this is the inevitable destination for all of us on this journey. Arriving at “over,” all we have to do now is just live.

#MicroblogMondays: Not sleeping? A tip.

When I lived in Thailand as a teenager, I kept a diary. Turns out, I’m crap at keeping diaries - Samuel Pepys or Anne Frank I am not! My daily entries often consisted of a list of what I’d eaten - interesting only because I was living in Thailand – but they tell me little about how I felt or what I was thinking. My letters home though, were much more enlightening, perhaps because I like to talk to people, and a letter – like a blog - is more of a conversation?

Blogging too is more like writing letters, and tells me much more about my thoughts and feelings than keeping a diary every did for me. Except for when I was going through infertility and loss, when I was often kept awake at night, thinking about treatments or my losses and the details - always the details - of what had happened recently. I would go over and over events and hormone levels and doctor’s comments, in an effort to remember them, worried I'd forget the details of what I'd been through, or worried about what people might be thinking, and what I might say to them. Finally, I realised that writing these things down before I went to bed freed me of that need to churn it all over and over, it reduced my stress levels, and made it so much easier to turn off my brain, breathe deeply, and fall asleep.