Looking back on the blog: 2021

Phew, we survived 2021 too. In so many ways, it has been a struggle. A struggle for all of us, all over the world, a struggle to survive, to maintain our patience and compassion for fellow humans, and for ourselves. And I've found it a bit of a struggle to blog here. Maybe I've said all there is to say about No Kidding topics? As the years have passed, the grief of not having children plays a smaller and smaller part in my life, even though ageing without children looms and requires more thought space too. So maybe the focus here is changing too. There are still things to say though. Still conversations that surprise me, either in a bad or a good way! So I intend sticking around in 2022. By now, it is just what I do!

So, back to the blog. I wrote 52 posts in 2021, seven fewer than in 2020. That's quite a drop, but shows there is still food for thought! It wasn't a stellar year for No Kidding in NZ though - no projects as I've done in previous years, or major new insights. But as I review my blogs from the year, I see some themes:

I talked about gratitude, the little moments, finding beauty in unexpected moments, all of which help us cope and enjoy our lives:

Beauty in the Weeds
Gratitude

And I wrote a number of posts where I was able to find shared experiences in other groups or individuals outside our No Kidding community. Whilst it is easy to focus on our isolation from the parented sectors of society, my experiences have also made me feel even more connected in other ways, which is a gift.

Shared experiences in beauty and grief    
Shared experiences (again)  
We're not so different

I continued to talk about the way we think and our attitudes towards not having children, our recovery and healing from that, and our approaches to life, in:

Hope
Accurate Thinking
Inaccurate Thinking
Rising from the Ashes
The Road to Ithaka
Grief, Attitude, and Hope

I touched on a few issues around Ageing without Children, and also similarities between infertility/childlessness and the pandemic, was very lazy when I was travelling in May and reposted a few of my thoughts. And I finished the year looking back at posts I'd written before, and looking way back to the days of my losses and infertility, beginning to walk this No Kidding path. In reviewing previous posts, it always strikes me how important it is to reread posts after all the comments, because they add so much to the conversation, to our collective wisdom, and to our sense of community. I am so glad you are all part of No Kidding in NZ.

Which brings me to the fact that the first week of January is blog delurking week. So, do leave a quick hello in the comments (I’m fine with anonymous comments if you’re shy) or send a quick email to me at nokiddinginnz at gmail dot com. I love to know who is reading here. 

I wish you all a safe and happy 2022!

  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).

Out of Office reply

My husband and I are spending time with my sister, her husband, their daughter, and Jeff the dog. Not a bad spot, is it? 

For more pics, check out A Separate Life. 

Twenty years

After writing last week's post, when I realised that this December was the 20th anniversary of my first pregnancy and loss, I had a period of remembrance. I let myself remember the hope after the first positive pregnancy test, the shock I felt from that, then the shock of learning I'd lost the pregnancy. In fact, there was a lot of shock, because I was shocked at how shocked I was, shocked at how strongly I felt the emotions. So last week, I let myself remember a lot, thinking I would post it today, and wrote a draft post. But then the rest of the week happened, the weekend passed and life moved on, and by today, it only seems worth noting two things.

The first is that it has been 20 years. That's worth noting, I think. Yet I can remember it as if it were yesterday. Secondly, although the losses can still hit me and make me sad, that sadness doesn't stay very long. In that way, it feels like a lifetime ago.

Some seasonal thoughts

I was going to start a campaign in today’s blog, but Jess beat me to it, by getting a publisher to change an image of a pregnant woman to highlight an article about fabulous No Kidding women embracing their lives. Go read her story on her blog – and a link to the article – here. So instead, I've turned my thoughts to December, and what it brings.

There has been quite a bit of activity around the place about dealing with the holidays when we have no children. Gateway Women have highlighted a conversation about reclaiming a childless holiday and Infertile Phoenix has reviewed it here, and has talked about following the advice she heard there.

I’ve written and talked about reclaiming Christmas (which is the prevalent holiday here in NZ, but applies to any holiday) for over a decade, and was interviewed about it a few years ago here, though to my disappointment, the phrase was edited out of the article. The journalist was most put out, as she really liked my approach, and wanted to emphasise that Christmas (in this case) is for all of us. I’ve joked recently that I should have trademarked the phrase “reclaiming Christmas!” But really, I’m just glad to see that it is reaching new people, and that they are all finding strength from the idea.

I’ve written about it before in these posts, as well as other issues around this difficult season:

Reclaiming Christmas – written back in December 2010, only my second month of blogging (though my seventh year of No Kidding Christmases)

Holiday Season: If Money were No Object 

You are Not Alone

Childless at Christmas

My 2016 Annual Holiday Post

Four Rules of Surviving Christmas for No Kidding women

The Season and Traditions

This year, Christmas is going to be low key. Our second Christmas without either my parents or my husband’s parents still feels a little weird, as we are so used to having others to care for at this time of year. But it means I have to follow my own advice. And so, I have my tree up already in honour of hosting some friends last week, and I have enjoyed doing the very limited amount of gift shopping that I need to do this year. (With two family birthdays on the 20^th, I almost have to do as much birthday shopping as Christmas shopping!) I just have to pick up a book for someone, and something for my niece. Actually, that last item will be the most difficult! But at least I’ll get to deliver it personally. And lastly, I’m planning to do my Christmas baking this week. I usually make mini mince pies, and will do that, as they are little mouthfuls of scrumminess. But one of my friend’s brought a fruit mince baclava on Thursday and it was so good, I’m stealing the idea and will make some to take to my sister’s house, and to give to an aged uncle-in-law, and some friends who are probably tired of getting the mince pies. Neither my husband nor I are into big Christmas presents, so the emphasis is on food and relaxation.

In fact, this time of year, I like to focus on:

• My tree and all my ornaments collected from all over the world that I love dearly.
• Food traditions – old, and new, experiments successful or not.
• Compassion for others who might feel alone and sad at this time of year.
• The coming summer shut-down that occurs this time every year in NZ, and brings a very relaxed sense to the season.
• Summer food and drink!
  
• A very low-key and casual Wellington, a government city that empties out as the workers all go to the beach or the bush for a few weeks over Christmas and the New Year.
• The year gone and the year to come, forever hopeful that it will be better.
• Celebrating relationships in person, online, and on zoom.
  

That is not to say it’s all fine. Twenty years later, December is filled with memories of positive pregnancy tests, losses, hospital treatment for ectopic pregnancies, and disappointment. They usually pass quickly for me now, or hover without much pain, watching me navigate the month. I like to honour those little sparks of life who never made it here, but who helped make me who I am today. The best way I can do that is to embrace the life I have now, and live a good life. I know so many of you are doing this, and are shining the light for others. I hope that will be the case for you all.

 

Finding understanding unexpectedly

I love it when bloggers review books. It sometimes leads me to wonderful books I would never have read. Thanks to Loribeth’s review of Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason, I had it on my library wish list, and it popped up in the last week, so I read it. (Given that I have only read 22 books this year, when I had been aiming at 35 at least, that was quite a feat in itself!)

I won’t review it here (Loribeth did such a good job of that), except to say that although it was dark, it was very readable, and not too depressing. There were moments of humour, and some very likeable characters (and some much less likeable, though the reasons for that became apparent at the end), and I read it in just a few days. The reason I am mentioning it here though, is because the issue of wanting or not wanting, having or not having, children became a key point of the book as it went on. And there were a few quotes that I thought were exactly right.

This paragraph, written in the words of the main character, is so perfect. It reflects a number of my experiences in telling people I didn’t have children. It was lovely to read, to laugh at the parented people who apparently say the same things the world over, and to, completely unexpectedly, feel that someone else understands.

“When you are a woman over thirty, with a husband but without children, married couples at parties are interested to know why. They agree with each other that having children is the best thing they have ever done. According to the husband, you should just get on with it; the wife says you don’t want to leave it too late. Privately, they are wondering if there is something medically wrong with you. They wish they could ask directly. Perhaps, if they can outlast your silence, you will offer it up of your own accord. But the wife can’t resist – she has to tell you about a friend of hers who was told the same thing but as soon as she gave up hope … the husband says bingo. In the beginning, I told strangers I couldn’t have children because I thought it would stop them from continuing beyond their initial enquiry. It is better to say you don’t want them. Then they know straight away that there is something wrong with you, but at least not in a medical sense. So the husband can say, oh well, good for you, focusing on your career, even if, to that point, there had been so little evidence of a career being focused on. The wife doesn’t say anything, she is already looking around.”

That last line is a killer. Ten simple words perfectly explaining our isolation, regardless of the reasons why we don’t have children.

Another quote talked about coming out of grief and loss, and putting it in some perspective:

“I could see what I’d had now. Everything people want in books, a home, money, to not be alone, all there in the shadow of the one thing I didn’t have.”

I think most of us can recall being “in the shadow” of the one thing we didn’t have, the thing that had taken over our lives. It’s why I don’t really like the explanation that grief doesn't diminish, that it stays with you but you learn to live with it, as life grows around it. I think our lives are always there. But for varying lengths of time, grief can be so large and so dark that it puts everything else into shadows, in the shade, and we forget what we have. Eventually, as time passes and as we allow ourselves to heal, the shadow begins to clear, and our losses take their place with all the other aspects of our lives.

Finally, I loved this so much, because it is, essentially, the message of this blog.

“You were done being hopeless.You were done, you were done, you were done being hopeless.”

I've been there. I hope you have all been there. And the best thing is that we all found new hope elsewhere.