so you're pregnant .... a guide to telling a childless loved one the news

I found out on Friday that a friend of mine is pregnant.

Now while I know I will eventually be happy for my friend and even excited at the arrival of a new little person, the day that news comes is always a reopening of a wound that I work hard to keep closed. And the news wasn't -- how to say this delicately? -- delivered well. So Friday was hard, bittersweet and sobby and puffy. The separation I feel from the rest of society is never more pronounced than at the precise moment that news is shared. A few people got delightful spewing emails from me that I'm sure only cemented me in their hearts as a source of real joy and sunshine. So that was Friday. Today is better. A bit.

Over the years, I've had people announce their pregnancies to me many many times. Family, friends, family of friends, friends of family. And over the years, based on these experiences – ranging from very bad to less bad -- I've developed some pretty firm ideas about what to say and what not to say when you're announcing your pregnancy to a childless (not by choice) woman. Some of these might carry over for a single woman or, really, to any woman who has experienced grief and longing in this area.  Obviously, these are based on my personal reactions to various announcements over the years, but I imagine other women might react similarly. It's food for thought at least, if you're pregnant and actually don't want to announce the news in a way that emotionally guts your loved one.

So let's walk through the do's and dont's.

Since I'm only a bit better today and my crankypants feel a little tight, I imagine I'll be rather blunt in this post. True, I'm only basing this prediction based on knowing and enduring myself for lo! these many years, but we'll see if I'm right. That said, I may well deploy the biblical word "ass" in the near future.  Be ye prepared.

All right. So you find out you're pregnant. You need to tell Betty, a childless friend/loved one who you know grieves over that painful reality.

~ First, understand that Betty is happy for you. Well, most likely. Unless you're some kind of weenie, some kind of shrewy figure in her life, she is happy for you. It's just that in that moment, she is so incredibly sad for herself. Please understand. Betty's sorrow is like a stone in her heart and it should be respected. It weighs much much more than your joy. I'm sorry, but it's just true. It's a lifetime sorrow that can't ever entirely be overcome, but must simply be managed. Taking a moment to consider what all of this might be like for her will help you make a more caring announcement.

~ Obviously, you can't avoid announcing your new arrival forever, unless you're planning to hide the baby in a cage in your basement in which case a helpful little post about being "compassionate" and "sensitive" ain't gonna help you much at all. If you're the praying type and not the raise-the-baby-in-a-cage type, ask God for an extra measure of divine sensitivity. I'm not kidding with that.

~ Do try not to be an ass. If you're normally an ass, pray that God will give you 5 minutes of non-assiness to break through your usual loathsome persona. If it works, perhaps Betty will never like you more than she does in those 5 minutes.  Handle it well, and she just may say, "Wow. For a few fleeting moments, Slappy Sue seemed so much less odious." Think about it. This whole announcement thing could be your chance to gain some sensitivity points.

~ Consider asking yourself: Am I the right person to tell Betty? That might sound weird, but maybe Betty would take the news better if it came to her indirectly. For instance, if you know Betty's husband or your husband knows her husband, perhaps one of you can share the news with Betty's husband and he can tell Betty. It may very well be easier for Betty to hear it privately from her husband. Personally, I have appreciated this approach. Betty won't feel so on the spot to have just the right cheery reaction for you. She can cry on hubby's shoulder if she wants or needs to. A loving husband knows his wife better than anyone, knows the ocean of her heart, knows how to navigate those waters. If not a husband, perhaps someone closer to her than you could deliver the news to Betty. Tell the intermediary to say, "Polly Prego thought it might be easier to hear it from me." This makes you sound sensitive, you see, and you don't even have to do any hard stuff like actually be sensitive. (Score!) 

~ Another approach is email. It's less personal, yes, but it's also less in Betty's face. Write the news briefly. Don't gush about it but, also, do not apologize for being pregnant. That just sounds disingenuous. Betty's not stupid and will not fall for that.

~  Don’t announce your pregnancy on FB.  Or if you must, then some "compassionate blocking" is in order -- just block Betty from being able to see your announcement.  But, really, if Betty is a very close friend, then FB is not the appropriate venue for this announcement.  She’ll open up her FB, see the announcement in her newsfeed, and it will be like a sucker punch to the gut – that surprise news, all those congratulations from excited friends, all those things that are for you, not her.  All of that is painful and isolating.  Please approach her privately and personally. 

~  On that note, as your pregnancy progresses, consider how much about your condition you want Betty to see on FB.  Consider some regular use of “compassionate blocking” on certain posts so it’s not so “in her face” all the time.

~ No matter which venue you choose, do acknowledge that you know it might be hard for her but that you love her and that you can't wait for your new little one to know her.  Stuff like that. Betty needs to be soothed in that moment, so do take one moment out of your months of nesting and expectant bliss to make it about another person who has not been blessed in this area. That one moment can go a long way in your relationship in either a positive or negative direction.  Strive to make it positive.

~ In both of the above scenarios -- the indirect approach, the email approach -- the goal is to allow Betty the dignity of a private response. She's not on the phone with you, trying to hide the choke in her voice, which is what happened to me on Friday. You're not in her face where it's even harder for her to hide that she's struggling. She loves you, okay, but for God's sake, she's just struggling.  Don't make her pain worse. Don't humiliate her with your expectation that she will smile and laugh and jump up and down. 

~ As a matter of fact, try to dial down to nearly zero your expectations of Betty's response.  Hard to do, I know, but try to remember that no matter how happy she is for you in an ultimate long-term sense, in that vulnerable moment, she will likely either openly cry or tear up at the news.  If you tell her in person and she does neither of these things, she has remarkable self-control and, to her eternal credit, she is saving her tears for later when she can turn into a blubbery ball of goo on the bed if she wants. This isn't to guilt you with that mental image.  Or maybe it is.  I can't decide.  Let's just move on then.  Bottom line: Dial your expectations of Betty's response way down. 

~ Don't talk about how excited you are in that moment. That's a given. Betty knows that.  There are others with whom you can share your excitement.

~ Don't pee on the stick, get the results, and immediately call Betty. You're too excited.  I mean, good grief, call your husband or someone you know will be as excited as you are. You need to be more measured if you're going to approach Betty in person or on the phone, okay? Calm down before you contact her.

~ Don't mention God. Do not. I don't care if Betty is a fellow believer. Do not do it. Telling Betty what God did for you to get you pregnant is no freaking bueno, okay? The news on Friday came with "Well, we were undecided about trying for a fourth, but I guess God decided it for us."  No, no, no.  I started to crack into pieces. I had to move the phone away from my mouth so my meltdown couldn't be heard. Not a good tactic. This is not to say that God isn't involved in getting people pregnant. This is to say that now is not the time to mention him. But if you do decide to wear your ass hat and mention him anyway, just know that Betty will feel that God does not love her and her husband as much as he loves you and yours which makes no sense to her because, uhm .....(pardon me here) .......  you're such an ass.

~ Told you my crankypants were tight.

~ But believe me, Betty already struggles mightily with whether God loves her and her husband. Don't pick at that easily opened wound.

~ Don't say, "Oh, this was a total whoopsie/accident/surprise." This is another moment from Friday, but I've heard it from others, too. Don't say it. Seriously. Just how badly do you want to destroy this person you allegedly love with your news? She's struggling with childlessness and you're pregnant with an easy "whoopsie"?  Keep your whoopsie to yourself.

~ Again, understand that you will need to think through what you say. It's only seconds/moments for you, but Betty, unfortunately, will never forget how you tell her the news. She wishes she could forget it, but ..... she can't.  Please think carefully.

~ Don't bellyache along these lines: money's tight, the timing's bad, I don't want to get fat, I'm getting too old to be a new mom/dad, blahdie blah blah. Basically, don't moan to Betty about your expectant worries. She'd be thrilled to have your worries. I'm not trying to minimize your concerns.  I'm trying to encourage you to find a more appropriate venue for them than your childless friend.  Again, there are others with whom you can share your anxieties.

~ Another thought:  It might not be a bad idea to wait until you're past the first trimester to tell Betty. Many people choose to wait until then to announce their pregnancy anyway, but the benefit to Betty is -- to be blunt -- she doesn't have to sit with the information for quite as long. Do this, and there are six as opposed to nearly nine months of knowing about your pregnancy and having to put on a happy face.  The idea should be to minimize her pain in whatever area you can. This is one of them.

~ On the other hand, a friend told me she was pregnant several months ago and told me I was the first one she told, even before her family. That made me feel special. It was the opposite of the thought above, yes, but it was done with so much love and with an added level of "I think you are special. I set you aside to be the first person I told." I'm tearing up now just thinking about that. (Thank you, Sarah.)

~ If Betty and her husband are still in trying-to-conceive mode, don't say, "I'm sure it's gonna happen for youu" or some other variation of this theme. Betty hates that.  It's patronizing and it may not be true, either.

~ MEN: If you cheated on your wife and then wooed her into bed several months later, getting her pregnant with your super-cheatin' sperm, don't tell Betty, "Phhew. Guess I get to stay married now. It's like a redemption baby or something." Betty will kill you and the jury will acquit her. (Okay. Hm. That's a really specific scenario. But, yes. I experienced this scenario personally. How that man survived that encounter with me, I still don't know.)

~ But on that same note, less specific, is this: Don't go around proclaiming that this baby has some kind of spiritual symbolism in your life -- not to Betty anyway.  Perhaps you believe that's true, but honestly, Betty doesn’t care. I mean, great. It's the "redemption baby" or whatever, but there is such a thing as time and place, peaches, and this is neither the time nor the place for that.  You don't have to share everything. Beyond that, placing some kind of symbolism onto the conception and arrival of this child is -- let's face it -- a lot of pressure for a little baby who pees and poops his pants for the first few years of life. I think we can safely assume you are not giving birth to the baby Jesus, so let the baby be a baby without a bunch of pie-in-the-sky symbolism weighing him down. He's lugging enough around in those Huggies.

~ The best announcement comes from someone who can imagine, however briefly, what it's like in Betty's shoes. Someone with empathy. If you don't have that, well, you probably don't know you don't have that because you don't have that, so that's a problem. Unfortunately, you'll likely run Betty over with the information without thinking and leave her flattened and sobbing and then wonder why you don't hear from her for months. So here's a test for you: If you announce your pregnancy to a childless woman like Betty and you don't hear from her for months afterward, I hate to tell you this, but you probably botched the whole dealio and sent Betty into emotional hiding.  Please don't get mad at Betty for not calling. Don't sit around wondering, "That Betty. How come she doesn't want to hear about my barfing/swelling/cravings?" Becauuuse ..... you probably screwed it up, that's why. This doesn't mean you're History's Worst Monster, although you're now one step closer. It simply means you need to make amends. Pick up the phone and talk to her about it. Apologize for being a cow if you need to, and take that as a lesson that you need to practice better empathy in the future. Tell yourself you'll do better next time and then do better next time.  (Or, alternatively, have your tubes tied or his wee wee snipped, so you don't have to announce a pregnancy badly ever again.)

~ Hm. These crankypants are really tight today. I'm breathing funny.

~ Think of a way to show Betty some extra love. You're being hugely blessed with something that she desperately wants. To her, you're in the promised land and she's still wandering in the desert.  So maybe .... oh, call her a few days later and ask her to lunch. (And talk about things other than the baby, unless she asks.) Send her a book you know she'll love. Get her a gift card for her favorite store. Don't do it right at that moment. Don't say, "I'm pregnant, and since I knew this would be hard for you, here's a gift card to Pottery Barn." No, you weenie. Don't do that.  Wait a few weeks or so. You just want to express your love for her, okay? Especially if she's been gracious about your news. Because if she's been gracious about your news, I can tell you that took something out of her. It cost her something, that graciousness. So think of some way to celebrate how much you love her with some small kindness on your end. She is going to love your baby and that will cost her something too. She'll never speak to you of the costs; no, she won't. She'll love your baby and play with your baby and she will probably cry all the way home after seeing your baby, but you will never witness that. She will fight with everything she has to spare you that because she loves you and your baby.

Understand that it costs her things she will never tell you and celebrate that you have such a friend.

the childless christian closet

How did this blog come about?  Well, good question.

I had another blog for about ten years. I stopped blogging there about 18 months ago or so for various reasons, some of which I understand and some of which I don’t, honestly.  Because of that, I feel a little surprised to be here with this new blog.

But sometimes, I come to these places in life where I believe God is asking me quite pointedly to do something and it’s usually something that stretches me way past my comfort zone. (Not “usually" -- "always.”) This is one of those times and, honestly,  it scares the bejesus outta me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it.  Let me further whine that in addition to being scared, I’m also unhappy because stuff like this makes me sound insane and nobody likes that, but I’m not asking anyone else to believe the Lord asks them to do things. I’m just asking them to believe that I  believe it. Make sense?

No? Okay, then. Moving on.

Now while I do believe that, when I tell you I’ve wrestled with this and fought against it for over a year, I ain’t kidding. We’re talking literal tears and sleepless nights and generalized angst about it all and I thought I was done with angst when I graduated high school.

I did not (and basically do not) want to do this.

Because, essentially, I’m being asked to “come out of the closet” as a childless Christian woman on this new blog. As myself, as me, to people – in general. And I’d rather hide, be anonymous, tell only a select group of people.

I don’t always feel certain about what I know in life, but there is one thing I know I know and it’s the one thing I can’t pretend I don’t know anymore:

There’s a childless closet in Christian culture and it’s deep and dark and suffocating and soul-sucking. Anyone who doesn’t believe me probably isn’t a childless person in the church.

(There’s a childless closet in secular culture too, but the topic is slowly starting to be addressed. Why secular culture is always ahead of Christian culture on necessary redemptive conversations, I have no idea. We should be in the engine room of redemption not the caboose.)

You know, on any given evening, I can turn on the TV and see a gay character on almost any show. I can see transgendered characters on TV shows now, too. This isn’t an indictment of their presence on TV, merely a statement of fact because I want to make a point here. The one life circumstance I don’t see represented anywhere with any honesty or transparency is infertility and childlessness. I’ve seen fleeting moments of honesty – a 10-second scene from “Julie and Julia” and the montage from “Up” come to mind – but those are split seconds, mere moments. They’re certainly no depiction of a life. Sure, ten years ago or so, Chandler and Monica on “Friends” dealt with infertility but they were given a happy ending with a miracle adoption – not one baby, but two! A boy and a girl! Because real life is just like that, of course.

I mention all of this because it’s time to say the emperor has no clothes. It’s time to call out the massive cultural lacuna we’re all suffering from regarding infertility and childlessness. For my part, I believe that books, TV shows, movies don’t depict these issues because there is so much shame around them that the infertile and childless feel their mouths are sewn shut. The shame keeps them silent, the silence breeds cultural ignorance, and ignorance can't possibly create any honest depictions of the childless life where the childless feel seen as actual human beings.

There is so much shame around it, the culture is having conversations about the homosexual life and the transgendered life -- life circumstances which affect much less of the population -- before it’s even opening the closet on the childless and letting them breathe fresh air again. I’m not saying those conversations shouldn’t be happening. They should. I’m saying this -- because I’ve looked it up using multiple resources: Approximately 1%-3% of the population is gay, lesbian, or bisexual. Approximately .01% to .03% of the population is transgendered.

However, approximately 12%-15% of the adult population suffers from infertility and childlessness.

So it’s certainly not a numbers thing that's driving these conversations. If it were, infertility and childlessness would have been talked about openly long ago. No, I’m convinced the amount of silence on this issue is directly proportional to the amount of shame society heaps upon it. I honestly think it’s one of the last societal taboos and too many people are living the slow death of silent shame on the inside while smiling smiling smiling on the outside.

It’s time to break that off. It’s time to break that off before it breaks any more people. Actually, it’s past time.

And, you know, it’s way past time for the church. Unfortunately, because the church is such family-centric institution, it suffers from the biggest compassion deficit of all on this issue. "Family" and "womanhood" mean very specific, exclusive things in the halls of Christendom and some people are being crushed under the weight of the church's narrow definitions. Sure, some Christians may argue or deny this point, but we need to be asking the childless Christians if they think it’s true. Hey, ask childless Christians if they’re even going to a church and if they’re not, ask them why. I bet I can tell you what their answer would be.

It's time for the church to reassess how it treats and sees the childless in its ranks.

We need you to show us the face of Jesus, not the wrong side of a door.

And I guess I’ve got some things to say about that. Part of me really really doesn’t want to "come out of the childless Christian closet" because it’s pretty scary, but the rest of me feels I have no choice anymore. As much as I'd rather just keep muttering to myself while doing the dishes, sad to say, that no longer seems to be the task at hand.

So here we are. 

With this blog. 

I hope the things I’ll write here can help the childless feel seen and less alone.  I hope the things I’ll write here can help parents grow in understanding and empathy for this particular road less traveled. I hope the things I'll write here can help, in some small way, to build bridges between parents and the childless.

We’re not all on the same road in life, but we all need our roads to be acknowledged.

Can we do that here?

 

mourn with those who mourn

It’s the week of Mother’s Day and I’m going to say something you’re probably not supposed to say. 

Mother’s Day is not a completely happy sunny holiday. 

I realize it sounds suspect and self-serving to say this – and it probably is – given my status as a non-mom, but Mother’s Day is not a day without shadow and I think we should own that. There is a lot of pain for a lot of women on this day – single women, childless women, women who’ve lost a mom, women who’ve lost a child, women with a bad relationship with their moms. When we don’t own the truth of the cloudiness of this day, I think we lessen our capacity for empathy. 

Sometimes I wonder if the combined pain of the day outweighs the combined joy of the day. 

And sometimes I wonder this, too: 

Are there moms who ever consider not celebrating Mother’s Day? Moms who would ever consider a “fast” from the day, so to speak? 

Don’t throw your tomatoes yet. Get them ready, sure, but bear with me for a moment. 

You know, part of why I have no interest in celebrating Valentine's Day, for instance, is that it bothers me to think of the people for whom the day causes pain. I know people for whom that day causes pain. I'm sure we all do. They feel their separateness from the rest of society on that day most especially and, well, I guess I feel like I'm dancing in the house of mourning if I celebrate the day. I just can't do it. 

There's a biblical concept of "rejoicing with those who rejoice and mourning with those who mourn" which I think has validity whether you’re a Bible believer or not, and I guess I find myself wondering when -- apart from obligatory funerals -- do we mourn with those who mourn their less-obvious but no less life-altering losses and lacks and “otherhood”? When do we acknowledge the lifelong pain of those who live on the fringes of mainstream society? When do we mourn with the single person, the childless person, the gay person? When do we do that? Have we ever sat with someone who's an "other" by mainstream societal standards -- that single person, childless person, gay person, for instance -- and said, "Tell me what it's like to be you. Tell me what the rest of the world doesn't know about walking your particular road. I want to understand your life and your pain better. I want to have more empathy." 

If someone did that to me, sat me down and said those things instead of treating childlessness like poison and increasing the shame around it, it would make all the difference for me, so perhaps it would for other people who live their lives in “otherhood” too. Maybe they would feel seen, validated, and valuable and not solely defined by their lack or the ways they aren't like the majority of the mainstream world. 

I apologize if I’m rattling anyone’s cage. This week just always gets me contemplative. And, yes, sad. Right now, this moment as I write, is hard. Yesterday was bad and it's spilling over into today and I'm just struggling with the sorrow it all brings up. 

I always find myself thinking this week of a piece I read once about Mother's Day and how the church handles it, and I remember how that comment thread was one of the nastiest, bloodiest discussions between "sisters in Christ" I've ever seen. I remember any number of moms on that thread who jumped down the throats of the non-moms, declaring, "You're supposed to rejoice with those who rejoice!!!!" as the reason for the church to make a big fuss over moms on Mother's Day. 

But can I tell you something, moms? When we non-moms play with your kids, we're rejoicing with those who rejoice. When we come to your kids' games, parties, plays, we're rejoicing with those who rejoice. When we snuggle and cuddle with your kids, we're rejoicing with those who rejoice. When we laugh and smile and love on your kids, saving our tears for the car, we're rejoicing with those who rejoice. 

It costs us something. 

Sometimes, it costs us everything. 

And it makes me wonder: Are there moms who might contemplate a way they can "mourn with those who mourn" like many women do on this particular day? Maybe it doesn't have to be a Mother's Day "fast," but, to my mind, "mourning with those who mourn" requires presence -- being there for that person in person -- and a willingness to expand our hearts in understanding and empathy. 

It means saying "I see you. You're not invisible. You're valuable." 

It means everything.

on being seen

Sometimes, you can remember the simplest things someone says to you for the rest of your life.

I remember two sentences my dad said to me at lunch several years ago.

And I will remember them for the rest of my life.

At that time, My Beloved and I, having undergone past failed fertility treatments, began a brand new series, certain that these finally would work. They did not. Each month felt like a death that kept on dying. Hope and crushing, hope and crushing. I don’t even know the person I was then. I felt utterly lost to myself. My family never spoke of it because there are things considered too shameful to mention, and this fell under that heading. So they simply didn’t speak of it. MB and I wandered, shattered, on the fringes of normal life. And the heavy, lingering sorrow that had stolen my hopes seemed to have taken my voice with it, too. I was mute. I could not give voice to the shame, breathe out what was being carefully ignored. MB and I were bereft and broken and hopeless.

In the midst of our failed treatments, my sister got pregnant. She had two boys and had always longed for a girl. So had I, secretly.

And … a girl it was.

I remember the day my sister called to tell me she was having a girl. I heard her voice on the answering machine and somehow knew exactly why she was calling, exactly what she was going to say, and I could not bring myself to pick up the phone. I stood inches from it, my hand outstretched but paused in midair. From where I was, far from her, I could see her joy; I could see it. The very air swirled pink and perfect with the news of a girl. And I, with my selfish sorrow and small heart, sank to the floor and cried and cried, the ugly cry that no one but God ever sees you cry.

Around this time, my longtime bachelor brother finally got engaged. There were echoing choruses of “Hallelujah!” all around at this news. Even I could manage that one. My family fairly exploded with the sheer elation of it all. A new baby girl, a wedding in the works. It was like having a whole year of Christmas where every gift is perfect; a whole year of parties with everyone you like and no one you don’t.

But My Beloved and I still went, quietly, to our treatments. And still, quietly, they failed. I was breaking in two from the overwhelming weight of joy and sorrow.

One day that year, my dad called to invite me to lunch. We met at Marie Callendar’s because he likes Marie Callendar’s and when he’s at Marie Callendar’s, he likes to order soup, which he did.

As we chitchatted about this and that, I was growing more and more nervous. He was working up to say something, I could tell, but I hadn’t the faintest idea what it would be. He’s not the demonstrative type. Emotions are private, you see.

He cleared his throat several times, in that compulsive way he has. I knew then he was nervous, too. Finally, he looked at me with those dark blue-grey eyes and said:

“I know your brother’s and sister’s happiness must be breaking your heart.”

I couldn’t breathe. I had ordered soup, too, in silent solidarity, and saw my tears dropping onto its surface. Then with a choked voice I’d never quite heard before, he whispered:

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

And I was gone. I began to shake. Tears streamed onto the table; heads around us turned. I was quiet, but I was just gone. My father, who had never, ever spoken to me about it, understood.

He understood.

And he had said all he would. He mentioned it once and never again. Still, in that singular moment, I no longer felt invisible. I was seen. I was seen. I felt warm and alive and understood by someone I'd been sure did not, could not, understand.

I know they were just two sentences spoken softly over bowls of steaming soup, but they were among the best things my dad has ever said to me.

I was less broken for hearing them.

voices of the childless

This will be hard to read.  I'm admitting that up front.  If you don't want to be bummed then click away.  But if by chance, you want to grow in understanding, empathy, and compassion for the childless people around you, I encourage you to read further.

A statistic:  Infertility and childlessness affects as many couples as breast cancer does women.  1 in 8 couples.  

1 in 8.

If you don't know any childless people now, you will.  It may be end up being you.  It may be a son, a daughter, a sister, a brother, a friend.  I'm not saying that to wish it on anyone, I'm simply saying it to say that, some day, you will know someone who is childless and, if you love them, you will need (and hopefully want) to try to understand their road.

And if you try, just try, I can guarantee that you will make a misunderstood life feel less lonely and less invisible.  If you try, they'll be forever grateful and feel forever safe in your presence.  If you try, they'll know they're loved and valued even if their lives don't look like yours.  If you try, they'll know they're not "less," but a uniquely created child of God, just like you. 

I want to try to foster that understanding, so with that in mind,  you're about to hear the voices of the childless.  These are anonymous comments I've collected from various sites, blogs, and even emails I've received over the years and I'm posting a few of them here -- just a few.  I could post many more, but how much sorrow can one post take?  

None of these comments are my own, but, rather, the voices of many childless around the world.  

They are raw, open, and honest.  

They are snapshots of the childless life.  (Italics are mine for emphasis.)

~ The urge and desire to have children is as strong as the pangs of hunger.

 

~ I would not wish infertility on my most loathed enemy.

~ I feel a lot of panic when I think how to fill my time and to do something worthwhile. Is there a way to use this sadness?

~ Sometimes infertility is the death blow to a marriage that might have had a chance otherwise. 

~ IF there was a word to describe the pain of years of infertility, IF there was a word to express the agony of everyone else in your life having babies and doting over their beautiful children, it certainly could never be expressed by using the word jealous. I believe there is a certain amount of envy, yes, but mostly -- Longing, Sorrow, Pain, Grief.

~ I thank God for my life every day but when I laugh, laugh with me and when I cry, cry with me.

~ It is a grieving process … every cycle … every month, another disappointment. I am surprised any couples make it through this at all. 

~ Still, just when I think I’m utterly detached from the idea moving forward toward other goals, something will cross my path–a pregnant woman, a family together at a restaurant, even an elderly woman going to lunch with her grandkids–and my old wounds rip open again. It’s not every time, just random, unexpected moments. 

~ Here’s the deal: We cannot get pregnant without medical intervention. We are, by all medical definitions, infertile. In order for me to get pregnant like "Sarah in the Bible," it would take a miracle, either of the man-made-medical type or the religious type. Since neither you nor I can tell Him what to do, we are deciding whether to follow the medical path or to pursue adoption. ‘Kay? Now then, every time you imply that somehow I will magically get pregnant, you are dismissing my pain and also implying that we are missing something. Can I just tell you how many people have poked and prodded me and hubby with medical devices of various types and purposes? How many times we have cried over numbers on a damn page, stared at web forums until our eyelids burned looking for the path forward, and been sick to our stomachs before going to one more frickin’ meeting with one more frickin’ doctor to hear the same message: ‘It ain’t happening’? Stop. You need to stop and listen to what I am saying to you: We are infertile. You have an infertile daughter.  You have an infertile son.  It hurts like hell, and every time you are dismissive or pretend that this isn’t real, you are causing me pain. I worry that you won’t love our child as much because you seem to not acknowledge the reality of the situation. That makes it harder for us to move forward too. Please stop. Please start saying, ‘I’m so sorry you are going through this.’ Say, ‘I wish I could take the pain away.’ Say, ‘I can’t understand how this hurts for you, but I do understand that it does. It hurts for me too because your pain is so great.’ Say, ‘We are a family, and I am here to listen.’ Say, ‘Whatever path forward you choose, we are here for you.’ Say, ‘I say these things because it’s hard for me to hear that you are facing this situation. I’m also upset that our grandchildren may come into the family differently than I imagined, but in the end, we just want you to be happy, and we support you.’ Say, ‘I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m listening, and I support you and love you.'"  Or,  you know,  something like that.

~ Surely there is more to me than “You know, Kate and her husband, that couple that can’t have kids.” Will I be fifty and still wondering what if?

~ It’s when I don’t feel like I’m “producing” anything spectacular that I fall prey to the childless blues the most.

~ I found your article while googling “the meaning of life without kids.”

~ It is emotionally, psychologically, physically and economically demanding. It is isolating and dehumanizing … you continue because to you it is worth it, worth everything …. and then you’re told no more, it can’t be done.

~ I feel your pain, Jennifer. I know you are hurting. I know you are angry. I remember being quite pissed one day when my mother was trying to be positive. I tried to explain the feeling to her, "Mom, I'll never know what it feels like to labor or breastfeed."  She didn't get it.  I almost took my life that night.

~  I am a married, infertile, childless, mid-40's woman who feels so left out at church. I have grown up in church, been in leadership of some kind, including youth ministry, for most of my life. It is difficult to be left out, to hear comments that 'I wouldn't understand because I don't have kids' & to be treated like I am less of a person because I don't have children. I am still a woman, I love kids, I have interests & abilities that God gave me, I can be a part of a conversation.  I love God, but I have been definitely pushed out of the women's circles for a number of years. It is difficult & painful. It has caused a lot of self-doubt, a lot of tears, and tremendous loneliness. I get continuous questions of why didn't you adopt, which, we were in process and the mom (a relative) changed her mind, but really does it matter?? Why is it anyone else's business?? I am not lonely because I don't have children. I have accepted that and am fine with it. I am lonely because so many people in and out of the church, ostracize the childless. I still have plenty to offer you as a friend, a sister in Christ, and a woman. I would have thought by this time in my life that people would have been different, but they aren't. My husband and I still are not included in things because the people with kids are getting together. Did you ever think to ask us, or anyone else who is single/childless/etc. if we would like to join you?  

~  I went to a church for a while that honored all women on Mother's Day. The pastor said, "Even if women don't have children, they are still involved in some child's life either as an aunt, a children or youth leader, a teacher of some kind to someone, a friend to a neighbor kid, or a sister. They have value. Don't treat them as if they don't." Unfortunately, most of the women in the church did not hear what he said, but it was great that he said that and gave worth to each woman there.

~  One lady in a church we were at very briefly said to my husband that she understood and struggled with infertility as well, so if we ever needed to talk, she was available. First thing, my husband didn't even talk to her about our childlessness; she made her own assumptions. Second, she had four of her own kids  ..... she had wanted six ……

 

~  Most of the time, I have peace over the fact that God chose for us to not have kids, (which people don't understand when I say that because they are sure God didn't choose that for us) but occasionally, it is still very painful to be so ostracized by others. I know I belong to Christ and I am precious to Him. I know my worth is in Him. But sometimes, on my low days, I would like to be treated like a woman who has worth that other people can see.

 

~ (From a woman with cancer) The infertility hurts worse than dealing with the cancer.

~ The dashing of a lifelong desire for motherhood -- I lament it.  I lament it deep into my soul, from now to my grave and beyond.