My heart for those that are childless…. but not childless by choice. I see you.
I’m sorry. Not for anything I’ve done (I hope!), but in general.
I’m sorry for the stupid advice you hear (“Just take a vacation and you’ll get pregnant! ‘Just’ adopt! Have you tried ___?”) As if you haven’t read every word, tried every surefire method, eaten every bizarre magical food.
I’m sorry for the horrendously insensitive comments about whether or not you’re “supposed” to be a parent. I know you’re probably wrestling enough with those kinds of words in your own voice – how dare anyone else begin to pass judgement of the sort.
I’m sorry you have those days – all of them, it seems sometimes? – where you question so much about your life and who you are. I can remind you that your identity isn’t in how large your family is every day and in a hundred different ways – but I know that doesn’t silence the questioning.
I’m not apologizing or taking back my stance on the need to be real. I think we need to be sensitive (in all issues) while being transparent, but that we can still do tremendous things by supporting one another with the truth about our lives and our struggles. But I also realize we can do tremendous damage by being insensitive.
I know for some of you it can be hard to hear from someone who has gotten to the other side of the road, so to speak… but please know that the pain, the struggles, the questions, the thoughts – so many of us remember them well. Not in an unhealthy way, I hope, but in a way to say, “You really, really aren’t alone.” Though on a day-to-day basis I may for a moment, I will *never* forget when I stood in shoes similar to yours.
The reason for this post? I’ll be honest. It’s perhaps mostly for the men who so desperately want to be fathers. To reach out and be the safe arms after, “1…2…3.. jump!”. To snuggle in for a bedtime story. I’m even more sorry that you have so few opportunities and places to express your pain, your fears, your desires. I want you to know that you are seen, too.
You’re all seen, and my heart breaks for you. I have nothing else to offer in posting this today, but please know I was thinking of you specifically this week, if you find yourself in this place.
Now is your chance to speak up. What are the ways that YOU feel most supported and loved, if you are struggling with infertility (whether primary or secondary)?
Lizzi; Considerer (@LRConsiderer)
This is a very generous post – thank you for writing it.
One of the things which seems inevitable, but which I hate most about it, is the divisiveness of infertility/fertility. There’s obviously a lot of anger (rooted in pain) from the side of the infertiles, and it’s absolutely true, there are some days when I need to delete people’s FB feed and can’t stand another pregnancy announcement or baby shower.
Yes it can be frustrating and painful when parents remind us that they are parents and we’re not, by complaining about their pregnancy challenges, or wayward children, or difficult circumstances, but really it’s all rooted in envy.
But when it turns into hurtful behaviour, lashing out, shouting down and exclusion of the ‘other side’, that’s when it hurts most, I think. When we begin to tear each other down, rather than listening to and learning from, one another, that’s when it gets properly sad.
I can’t speak for everyone in my situation, but I love reading about people’s relationships with their kids, because it continually affirms for me that it’s A Good Thing, and What I Want. I love being able to support and encourage them, to share in their joys and challenges. To be allowed a glimpse. To be joined in in some way is a mixed blessing at times, but a privilege nonetheless.
And like you, I want to share the truth, about my side of the story.
Thank you for sharing yours.
Jennifer Kaufman
Thank you so much for this comment! I always hesitate with conversations like this because I truly *do* know how – at least for me – some days any little thing can cut like a knife. It is my prayer that people only stumble upon it if they’re in a position at the moment to read it with a little extra grace for me, and the ability to hear my heart.
You’ve so, so aptly captured what I think so many of us deal or have dealt with. It’s an insane balancing act – what provides hope one day might be very hard to read the next, and vice versa. And if someone is as emotional as me? Well then even they might not know what to expect from one moment to the next! :)
Keep sharing your story. I think it helps everyone, on all points along the way. Thanks again for your honest words and for reading!
Leslie
I am so very grateful that I haven’t had to deal with infertility of my own, but I had a family member who went through infertility for several years. There were times when they wouldn’t talk to any of us about it, and that was the hardest part for me. We didn’t know how to support them when they wouldn’t tell us anything.
Jennifer Kaufman
Leslie, you’ve brought up a great point – it’s often very hard on friends and family to know what to say or do. Keeping an open line of communication – on both sides – can help everyone out! It’s probably just as important for the people involved to share as much as they’re comfortable to help people know how to show their support.