Normalising childlessness

The internet has been abuzz discussing Jennifer Aniston's comments about infertility and IVF the last week or so. There is so much good writing about it, I hope you can find it and read it all. Some of it is included in my blogroll here. But another helpful post here by Loribeth at The Road Less Travelled has summarised it, along with other No Kidding writing, including from our much loved Jess. Thanks, Loribeth!

A friend shared the Aniston article on social media, and there was a comment there that perhaps explains why I don't talk much on social media about living a No Kidding life. The person commented that a sports announcer had said publicly that she had several unsuccessful IVFs, but was still trying. The commenter said that she feels bad every time she sees her. She commented that she Aniston's disclosure resonated better with her, because she talked about wanting kids, not getting them, but that her life is good without them.

It was the pity felt by the commenter that struck me. The commenter was feeling this empathetically, as she is in the same situation. But if she feels it, then obviously others (ie parents ) might feel that too. And we all know that pity is the last think any of us want! Empathy yes, but pity? No!

It is important that talking about being childless not by choice is normalised. That people know that IVF fails more often than it works. That it is recognised that this is a possibility or even a probability, and that that is normal.That it is horrible to live with. But that it is not a sentence for a sad or lonely life. That life can and will be good. The more this is spoken about as normal, the better. That way, maybe we wouldn't feel that it is quite so awful for the world to know? And maybe the world would learn to react more sensitively? Or to simply accept that not everyone will get the children they want? To stop the pressure on women to procreate, because they don't know what is going on behind the scenes. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

Growth and personality

Back in September, Infertile Phoenix wrote this post asking Does Trauma Change our Personality? I recognised a lot of me in her post, in the shift away from confidence, or I would suggest, towards more thoughtfulness and reflection.

I've written about how trauma affected me in this post about confidence and balance, and again in my Gifts of Infertility series, when I wrote called Accepting My Mortality. To recap, whilst I've never been brimming with self-confidence, or an ability to brush off other people's views or actions, I was growing in confidence in my late 30s. But with infertility, pregnancy loss that threatened my own mortality, and the resultant childlessness, I had a much deeper feeling that we are all vulnerable, and that anything can happen at any time. It has made my behaviour more conservative in some ways. I never had an out-there risk-taking bravado, perhaps because I always had a realistic awareness of risk (I was in awe of a female colleague who travelled to Pakistan for a month on her own just for fun). But I did have a willingness to be reasonably adventurous, emotionally and geographically, if not always physically! (Don't get me on a swing bridge or a steep mountain, lol) I travelled the world on my own without a thought, took on challenging roles, and swallowed my fear to live the life I wanted to live.

However, post-infertility/childlessness, and even by embracing the freedom of uncertainty, I was perhaps even more aware of risks. I think perhaps my world view, or rather, my place in the world had changed. I'm no longer young where I believed that the world is my oyster. Lots of doors have closed to me. My early degrees of luck (or perhaps, privilege) were not an insurance against future bad luck. As I have said, whilst that freed me from guilt that genuine bad luck was my fault, it also made the world seem quite vulnerable. Age probably contributes to that. The knowledge that there are no children waiting in the wings to support us if that is necessary probably contributes to that too.

But it has also made me more prepared to grasp opportunities when I can. The pandemic has contributed to that. We never know when the world will shut down and limit our opportunities again. I know I can't control these things. On reflection, then, my risk profile probably hasn't changed a lot, in reality. My assessment of risk might be a bit more brutal - some of that comes with age I think, and further acceptance of mortality and future frailty and vulnerability, and some of it comes to my experiences of loss and childlessness. But my appreciation of my life, and what I am able to do, is stronger too, along with the confidence of knowing that I can cope with adversities that might confront me. 

I think too, that I know myself much better now too. I know my strengths and weaknesses. I know what is important to me, and the values I will stand up for. So I look after myself much more, I take care of my needs more than I might have in the past, and I am prepared to stand up for myself. (Being a middle child, this is really hard for me!) This might mean that I have limited my world somewhat - I have learned to say "no" much more often. That might feel as if I am more introverted. But maybe it has allowed me to be more true to myself too. However, knowing myself better has also allowed me to say "yes" more often too. It has allowed me to understand others. It tells me which risks are important to take, and which are not important to me. That is, I think, the biggest change. To answer Infertile Phoenix's question then, I am not sure that my personality has changed. But perhaps, through the combination of trauma, healing, and ageing, I know my personality better now.

Do you think you are substantially different now than when you were younger?

Monday Miscellany: No Kidding Style

I've passed 800 posts on No Kidding in NZ. I sneaked past several weeks ago, as today's post will be number 809. That's a lot of writing specifically on No Kidding issues! (I'm over 1000 posts on A Separate Life.) I'm worried that there isn't much left to be said. And, having passed a major birthday milestone, I wonder if I still have relevance in the world. I fear becoming repetitive and boring, then a comment from someone saying they needed to hear this today, or that it confirmed their own experiences, reminds me that repetition can be a good thing. Or at least, I hope so. And yes, I know I've written about this before - it would have been wrong if I was not repetitive in a comment about being repetitive! Right?

In case it isn't obvious, I admit to feeling a bit bleurgh right now. I've been on antibiotics for sinus issues, I've been sleeping a lot more than usual the last few days (but negative for covid) , and I'm feeling slightly stressed. I'm stressed because of the state of the world, a visitor coming at the end of this month (with polar opposite world views), and because I'm organising a trip for next year, and the bookings are becoming urgent. I'm feeling the pressure because it's going to cost a lot of money, is probably the last trip we'll make to this part of the world, and although I know this isn't possible, I want it to be as close to perfect as possible. Yes, that is setting myself up for failure ... and stress! It made me wonder what I'd have been like organising trips with children. With more people involved, and kids, would I have been more stressed or would I have taken it more casually? When it is only the two of us, I tend to want to find something that is exactly right. Yet with kids, nothing would have been exactly right, so maybe it would have taken the pressure off. Or maybe I'm just dreaming, and need to relax! I'm lucky to even be able to plan it, so I need to remember that. 

I've just realised that it is Halloween today. How easy it is to forget that here in New Zealand, and when I have no children or grandchildren. But I know elsewhere it is not as easy to forget, and the reminders of what we are all missing out on can be acute at this time of year. So I'm sending love, hoping you get to celebrate or not as you choose, that you get something sweet to eat, and a reminder that tomorrow it is November, and that particular reminder will be over for another year. Sending love to you all.

"What if there isn't a plan?"

Yael Wolfe posed this question in her recent piece about Why Childless Women Inspire Superstitious Sentiment. "What if there isn't a plan?" Perhaps because I don't come from a religious background, and I'm not surrounded by religious people or even in a religious society, as I mentioned back in World Childless Week, I don't think about "God's Plan" or believe that there is one. But as I wrote then, the "it wasn't meant to be" sentiment is still strong. Yael Wolfe's articles echoes a lot of the sentiments in my post, but was perhaps kinder to people who say these things than I was! It's worth reading. Or see Loribeth's excellent synopsis and selected quotes here.

I highlight it again here because the idea that there is no plan, and that everything is random, does not worry me as Wolfe concludes it worries so many others who just want certainty in their lives. When I accepted that everything was random, that nothing "happens for a reason" it was a moment of true relief and a lifting of the burden of guilt. Because I did feel guilt that I must have done something wrong to not be able to have children, an accomplishment that so many others - less deserving others as I know now - manage, or perhaps have imposed on them against their will. 

Realising that that guilt was so misplaced, and dispensing with it, gave me a freedom and lightness and yes, uncertainty, that I would always take over the assurance that everything happened to me for a reason. It is so much easier to show compassion to myself and acceptance of others, to try not to judge, and to be the best that I can be within my power and circumstances. Uncertainty and randomness has taught me gratitude, mindfulness, and appreciation for the little things (as well as the big). It has helped me stop worrying as much about future events. It has stopped me focusing on the what-ifs, because that is so pointless, and given me a clarity that has made life better, and easier. 

Embrace the uncertainty! It will set you free.

Childless No Kidding therapists and support

First, a disclaimer. I am not a therapist. I also have not seen a therapist, aside from two sessions when I went through pregnancy loss and subsequent IVF attempts. My comments therefore are based on only my experiences of trust, advice and betrayal.

Those of us who must live a childless, No Kidding life find a real home in this community, enjoying the depth and honesty of our discussions (here, on blogs, and other social media groups). Many of us want to be able to help those coming after us, or struggling to accept our positions, either by writing (or podcasts), or through more professional means. I’ve known quite a few who have gone on to qualify as therapists, or have seen therapists redirect their practices towards a No Kidding clientele. This provides a welcome alternative to therapists who just cannot see the perspective of those of us who don’t have children, the  loss of a future we had hoped for, the grief involved, and the ongoing losses and reminders of those losses that are all around us. Some of us have had an experience of going to a therapist who then got pregnant, and who struggled to (or didn’t try to) understand the perspective of their childless-not-by-choice clients.

But what if a No Kidding therapist is themselves having difficulties locking the door on their family building efforts, moving from Infertility’s Waiting Room through to the No Kidding door? After all, many of us have been diagnosed with “unexplained infertility” which always leaves that small window open to the possibility of a surprise pregnancy. Would a therapist in that situation fully understand No Kidding patients/clients, if they still held on to that hope? How might that affect their ability to understand our community? And if a surprise pregnancy occurred (however rare an occurrence that might be), how might that affect both her relationship with the community, and with any potential patients/clients they might have?

There is a huge difference in our feelings between still hoping and thinking there may be a chance to become a parent, however small that might be, and realising or accepting or truly knowing that that will NEVER happen. Even when we are close to the “it will NEVER happen” acceptance, a small window of hope doesn’t truly bring us face to face. I know that from my own experience, and from reading about and sharing experiences of many other women over the last 20 years! That small open window is an escape route that we cling to, being aware and glad that it is there, even when we are trying to accept and move on. It affects the way we think about ourselves, others, and the future. I can’t help but think it would influence a therapist, and the levels of advice and understanding they might give.

The difference between having that small window still open, and having it shut, is marked. It required a quite different attitude and outlook on life. Even with the window closed, there was still a tiny sliver of a gap for me, an extremely unlikely one (and one that my Fertility Guy scoffed at), and intellectually and emotionally, I knew that it was not an option. Understanding the difference between having a potential option, and no option at all, is critical. The loss was extraordinary. That needs to be understood by any therapist, or even by bloggers and friends in our community. To think that you were talking to someone who understands this, and then find that you were not, might feel like a betrayal.

Betrayal is a strong word. But I personally have had that experience with a couple of people on message boards some years ago. I thought I was talking to friends who truly understood my situation, who could joke with me about not being part of the exclusive “mother’s club.” I felt a solidarity and level of community that was supportive and allowed me to begin to heal. Only later to find that they actually already had children, much older children, and had hidden that from me. Yes, we had all experienced ectopic pregnancies, and shared that. But the outcomes – life without children – were very different. We were not in the same boat – far from it. Though I no longer feel the hurt, I am still surprised at the deception involved, and the degree of betrayal I felt when it was exposed.

Perhaps though, this is an example of the comfort that can come from those who (seemingly) make an effort to understand. Is it necessary or not necessary for them to have been through it? I think the difference is that I believed I was talking to people who had been through the same experience and emotions as I was going through. Or that they were going through it with me, too. If I’d known differently (as you might with a therapist), I might have felt differently too. It wouldn’t have been a betrayal, or hurt so much. But the level of sisterhood I had felt might not have been there either.

Likewise, I've had one or two weird experiences with women who completely turned on the CNBC community, who felt they deserved their good fortune, felt others “gave up,” and  attacked some of us saying that they were "not as resolved as they say they are" (expecting “resolution” to magically mean they were no longer grieving). The levels of judgement and lack of understanding and empathy were quite surreal. Experiences like this make many of us very hesitant at the prospect or reality of dealing with surprise pregnancies in trusted confidants or therapists.

There are of course friends and readers who comment here who are parents and who still provide support and validation and healing. I don't want to discount their value. But the core of the community is those who are childless not by choice. So whilst it might not be necessary to have a therapist who is a member of the No Kidding childless-not-by-choice community – especially when in the most intense grief and anguish – it certainly would be helpful and is worth searching out. And whilst you don’t need to be part of the No Kidding blogging or social media community to get comfort and support in healing, it certainly helps our level of acceptance and understanding to have that.

I’d be very interested in your thoughts and experiences around this. Have you had help from therapists who were parents or even pregnant at the time? How do you think you'd react if a blogger in our community suddenly announced a surprise pregnancy?  (Or surprise children?) As you might have guessed, this post arose from a question posed to me by a reader. I knew what I think, but I'd like them to hear from the wider community. Please, add your voice and help my reader.