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The New "It Girls" ... Give it Up for Non-Moms

Pamela — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 15:44:27 GMT

I hereby declare the "Mommy Era" to be post-peak. While the diefication of mothers has had an extended run, it's time, ladies, to make some room on the stage.

Who are the new "It Girls"? That's right: Non-Moms! We've got books, PhD dissertations, events, virtual lunches, video chats. Our star is rising. Who knows where it will take us?

I'm pleased today to share not one but two conversations -- and a dissertation. The first a Q&A, a video chat, among Women Without Children took place Saturday hosted by Lisa Manterfield. You can tune in here to listen or watch.

And today, we are shining the spotlight on ground-breaking research, RECOVERY FROM TRAUMATIC LOSS: A STUDY OF WOMEN LIVING WITHOUT CHILDREN AFTER INFERTILITY, published by the University of Pennsylvania. You might remember the call for participants came in a post here a year ago.

Dr. Marni Rosner is a New York City-based licensed psychotherapist. Her specialties include working with anxiety, relationship issues, trauma, loss, and infertility. She can be reached at marni.rosner@gmail.com. After May 15, her newly revised website, drmarnirosner.com, will be up and running. She joins us now for a interview and welcomes your questions and comments.

What led you to this topic?
I had been ambivalent about having children, yet found myself surprisingly overwhelmed when I discovered I wasn’t able to. And, despite all my education, and years of clinical experience working with clients with varying degrees of anxiety, depression, and trauma, I had no knowledge of the psychological trauma of infertility! I didn’t understand my reaction, nor did anyone else in my support system, including colleagues.

And you, Pamela, unfortunately, were not yet on-line. The isolation was incredible. So I began reading, which has always been a safe harbor for me – you know, knowledge is power and all that. Yet, I was unable to find research that addressed infertility for those who were not interested in adopting or third-party reproduction. There was Sweet Grapes, of course, now a classic, but no real research. I also attended numerous conferences and workshops on infertility; all focused on increasing one’s fertility, IVF, donor eggs, and adopting. It seemed, and felt, that deciding to not have children after infertility was as isolating as living on Mars!

How did it go over with your advisors?
They were all wonderfully supportive. The primary concern, always, is, “is this research necessary? Has it been done before? If not, why? Will it really enrich our knowledge base?” One professor said, early on, “It must be interesting to more than just your own mother!” So this certainly passed the “sniff” test. There was really no other research that focused solely on this population in this era (with numerous reproductive options available, and so many life choices available for women).

What about your peers in the program? How did they respond to your topic?
Everyone seemed receptive and interested. I sometimes wondered if I was making some of the 30-somethings in the room, who didn’t have kids, anxious, although no one ever said so. An interesting moment occurred during my proposal defense – which is when I formally presented why this research is necessary. There were probably about 10 people in the room – my three advisors, some classmates, and a few others. During the q. and a., someone began a question, “for women who decide not to have a family…”. Three people in the room, at the same time, immediately jumped all over this, responding, “They have families, they just don’t have children!” That was interesting for me, especially since I hadn’t caught the “slip”. So to immediately have that effect - that I was able to communicate the significance of this topic to the point where language immediately became sensitive - was rewarding.

What were some of your biggest takeaways or surprises in researching previous studies associated with infertility?
It was shocking to me how little attention was given to the aftermath of infertility. As of 2007, only 2% of the research explored the post-treatment phase of the infertility experience. Infertility is traumatizing! Even if you eventually have a child, through biology, adoption, or third-party reproduction, it changes you. A few years ago, I went to a talk, for clinicians, given by a woman who was interviewing (and filming) women who had adopted after infertility, and encouraging them to reflect on their infertility experience.

The filmmaker showed a clip of a woman who just cried and cried remembering that time. The interviewee had clearly buried these emotions for so long, and had never worked through the trauma and loss of her own experience from many years before. It may not all go away just because you have a child – a lot also depends on your history, what came prior to the infertility. Anyway, after the clip, we clinicians began talking, and the discussion immediately focused on adoption! I observed what was happening and redirected, but it was tough to stay on topic. I think it can be frightening to sit with intense emotions.

Many people view infertility as a deeply private, personal experience, however, you make clear that recovering from infertility is actually more of a team sport – meaning we can be seriously helped or hurt depending on the actions/behavior of those around us. Can you elaborate further?
I think much of the reason infertility is viewed as deeply private and personal is because it is often experienced as extremely shaming, and it’s instinctive to keep our shame close. This is compounded for those who were raised in an environment of shame, secrets, and/or unresolved childhood trauma. When we do reach out for help, we are often rebuffed – often not intentionally - and it’s hard to not be sensitive. So we wind up with unacknowledged and disenfranchised grief, feeling stigmatized, our relationships with friends and family suffer, and basically experience an assault to our identity. It becomes self-protective to not talk about it. But this doesn’t really work; it simply lessens us. We need to give voice to what has happened in order to move the trauma through our bodies and minds and make sense of what has happened.

This isn’t new – Shakespeare talked about the power of giving voice to sorrow, Freud addressed the “talking cure”, and the Catholic Church embraces this concept in the form of confession. 12-step programs, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, adopt this method as well. Give voice to your struggle, and something shifts internally. Having a witness to your process is quite powerful, and more witnesses are even better. What I found, in the study, was that this process was circular, reinforcing, and progressive –shame began to decrease as the women found a safe place, or places, to talk about what had happened.

As shame decreased, voices became clearer, and the women were more able to integrate, rather than disavow, the loss into their life story. This made them stronger and more confident. Shame holds us back, diminishes, and slowly destroys us. So – yes – it is a team sport. It takes a village to not have a child! Unfortunately, for women who decide to live without children after infertility, there is no obvious place to go for comfort. You have to work at it by either educating your current supports, or finding new ones. It isn’t easy, and requires energy that has often been depleted due to trauma. That’s why sites such as yours, and Lisa’s, among others, are so critical. They are, literally, life-saving.

You cite numerous theories and studies associated with human development and personal growth (for instance, you describe the concept of “twinship” -- seeking to avoid feeling alone in the world -- as well as a need for an "accepting, confirming and understanding human echo”) … what’s the impact when these are denied?
The “accepting, confirming and understanding human echo” – isn’t that lovely? That’s Heinz Kohut. Kohut addressed the different relationships we need, throughout our lives, to feel stable and well. One of these is a “twinship” relationship, which provides the feeling that there are others like me in the world, someone who understands me. When this doesn’t exist, or disappears, it can result in feelings of utter aloneness, deficiency, maybe some regression. It can be pretty unsettling and scary.

Many theorists from various schools of thought believe that our relationships have a direct impact both on identity and ongoing development. Certain theorists believe that this is particularly true for women - that disruptions to certain relationships are experienced not only as a loss of a relationship but something closer to a loss of self. Women who experience infertility often face disruptions to their relationships, and for those who decide to not have children after trying, this issue, this assault to identity, may not resolve on its own. There needs to be some active work around it.

It’s reassuring that you’ve gathered evidence to prove what many of us living without children after infertility already sensed keenly – that we’re living in an extended pro-natal period. What implications does this have for those who don’t fit the pro-natal norm?
This is a great question. I really don’t know. I think, at this time, you, Lisa, and all the other bloggers and voices addressing this issue are in the process of forming what this means. We are what I would call "in the process" of developing the narrative for those living outside the pro-natal norm. We have the power to direct this a little, I think. Don’t forget those that have chosen to be childfree, despite all the cultural and societal messages to have children. They are a great crowd – they can be so normalizing! And – just a quick statistic – the number of women, aged 40-44, without children has doubled to 20% since 1976 – this includes the voluntary childfree. That’s an enormous change in a relatively short time. So, again, we are in this moment contributing to and shaping the dialogue.

Based on your research/findings, is anything you’d like to add – words of advice – for the “silent sorority?”
You know, there was such fantastic advice, words of wisdom, and relevant stories told by study participants, that I could not possibly do them justice here. I would encourage those interested to read the paper. It’s long, but I think it’s pretty reader friendly. Maybe focus on chapters IV and V (the less theoretical chapters) to best hear the actual voices and themes. And, of course, I’d love to hear any feedback and questions!

Readers: Get your highlighters out. You can find the full dissertation, RECOVERY FROM TRAUMATIC LOSS: A STUDY OF WOMEN LIVING WITHOUT CHILDREN AFTER INFERTILITY, here at UPenn. The discussion is officially open.

Don't Ignore...There's More Than One Infertility Ending

Pamela — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 16:29:46 GMT

Okay, I'll admit it. More and more these days I find I just don't have the energy, the once all-consuming interest I once did in being infertile. Is it any wonder? It just may be the least flattering thing you can say about a woman. It's far worse, downright damning, to hear as a diagnosis.

Now that the shock, stigma and the ensuing hairball of emotions that infertility exploded on me has dissipated, I'm happy to report that with each year (nearly nine) post-treatment, life has become better than good. And, furthermore, my reproductive organs are thrilled, positively delighted, to be out of the limelight. It's also a relief not to be wracked with shame, guilt or feelings of failure.

It didn't come easy, casting aside the infertility baggage, but these days I much prefer to focus on the non-reproductive aspects of my life and the freedom that comes with reinvention.

I was fully prepared to let the "youngsters" focus on National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW), this year themed "Don't Ignore Infertility."

There was something, though, about reading Lisa's post, Don't Ignore...The Life Without Baby Option, though that pulled me back into the conversation. That's because the vast majority of NIAW blog posts, testimonials, infertile twibbon-wearing women focus on infertility through the lens of trying to conceive -- or we hear from mothers recalling the devastation infertility once wrought on their lives. The voices missing or hard to discern over all the cooing (or kids fighting) are those who walked a thornier post-infertility path.

Thornier because once infertility treatment ends -- without the result we once hopefully sought -- it is akin to having the door slammed behind you or being cast into the wilderness. The infertility industry (and it's now reaching nearly $4B a year) is focused solely on those in treatment. There's another monstrous market focused on mothers. If you're not, well, you are O-N Y-O-U-R O-W-N.

That is unless you stumble across the not-easy-to-find online, but without question, eclectic, charming, passionate, extraordinary and strong group of women who, left to their own devices, are making their own way and extending a hand to those just coming onto this path, one that doesn't involve mothering in the classic sense, but they are nurturers nonetheless.

I'll have more to say on this rarely researched group of women when I get the go-ahead from the now "Dr. Marni" (congrats!) to share a link to her dissertation, Recovery From Traumatic Loss: A Study of Women Living Without Children After Infertility. It contains all sorts of "ah ha" moments and insights about what we've lived through and how we survived.

Meanwhile, I thought I'd share one other link, a story in The Globe and Mail, that still blows my mind because it includes my name (aka the "non-famous") along with an assorted set of celebrities. Amid the obsession about celebrities getting pregnant, those of us in this "silent sorority" who can't or didn't get pregnant are finally getting into the collective consciousness ... slowly but surely.

As always, welcome your thoughts...

More on the disease of infertility - www.resolve.org/infertility101
About NIAW - http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html

Whose "Personal Handicap" is Bigger?

Pamela — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 15:35:36 GMT

Editor's Note: I'm pleased to share with you a guest post from Gillian Guthrie, author of Childless: Reflections on Life’s Longing for Itself. You might recall I included a link to an interview with Gillian in a previous post. (Thanks again, Carmel, for pointing us to the story.) Curiosity led me to seek Gillian out. A few emails later the world got a little smaller once again...

~~~
Greetings from Australia, Pamela, and thanks for inviting me to contribute to your blog.

I thought you might be interested in a story from across the Pacific, which, in a way, brings us all closer together.

The story goes that the Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, and the US President, Barack Obama, are good mates.

According to Ms. Gillard they’ve been known to exchange good-humoured banter about what might be perceived as their personal handicaps.

“I tell him: ‘You think it’s tough being African-American? Try being me … try being an atheist, childless, single woman as Prime Minister’.” She was quoted thus, speaking at a private fundraising function in Sydney last week. She rarely, if ever, raises that subject unprompted by the press. It was surprising to hear and it came only weeks after a public revelation that her arch foe on the same side of politics had recently sought to discredit her as a ‘childless, atheist, ex-communist’.

Julia Gillard has weathered those attacks from both sides of politics long enough. I thought the most recent slur against her childlessness was so uncalled for it warranted a call to end such personal mud-slinging in the name of political debate. So I wrote an opinion piece for The Sydney Morning Herald which attracted the lovely, ironic headline: ‘Put a stop now to mother of all insults’. It also attracted 414 online comments – the most blogged about story that day!

When I was writing my book ‘Childless: Reflections on Life’s Longing for Itself’ I found a quote from Laurie Lisle’s book ‘Without Child’ that said: “We have no support from collective knowledge and thus little confidence in our childlessness.”

I think that’s very true because it’s such a hard thing to talk about when all your friends are having children – or grandchildren. It can be a conversation-stopper to boldly state that you never want to have children and you’re very happy without them. In some circles that can unforgiveable. In other circles it’s difficult to explain the often-complicated reasons why children didn’t become a natural part of your life, as they did for most of your friends and colleagues. And if you’ve suffered grief and guilt over not having children, talking about it becomes even harder.

Midway through writing ‘Childless’ I decided to invite some childless friends around for what I jokingly called The Childfree Lunch. I thought that would give us what Laurie Lisle suggested we lacked - ‘support from collective knowledge’. There were eight of us and I knew them all but had never really spoken seriously to any of them about the taboo topic - until I realised I might have to interview them.

Now that the book’s published and out there, I’ve re-invented the childfree lunch and invited interested readers - women – to come along and compare notes, listen to each other and hopefully have a good time out with fellow-travellers. And none of us will have to ask of the other ‘… do you have children?’

It’s a question I used to dread – but not at the childfree lunch!

-Gillian Guthrie, author of Childless: Reflections on Life’s Longing for Itself
www.childlessreflections.com

~~~~
Since we have readers scattered around the globe from Canada to New Zealand, Slovenia, France, Ireland, England, Australia, South Africa, Finland, India, Germany and points in between (in the U.S. -- Michigan, Rhode Island, Utah, Oregon, New York, Virginia, Florida, Texas, Massachusetts, Georgia, California) finding a convenient place for lunch will be a challenge. Instead, I'm happy to host a virtual lunch. Grab a seat and join us. What would you like to discuss? (and please tell us where you call home).

Post-Traumatic Growth

Pamela — Sun, 01 Apr 2012 18:55:49 GMT

In a recent conversation, Lisa and I talked about the delicate balancing act required when writing about a topic that is deeply personal -- one that has wide-ranging impact and carries the power to reshape our sense of identity and the way in which we move forward in our lives.

Further complicating matters, we don't uniformly move in the same direction at the same time. Each of us on any given day, when we reflect on it, find ourselves at different stages when coming to terms with infertility or childlessness. The recovery is non-linear. Lisa described (and later wrote about) watching a frog swim valiantly and hard across a pond before resting and regrouping, and how it gave it her pause to reflect on her own journey.

We're often so caught up in trying to make sense of a complex experience that we can lose sight of the progress we've made. Not long ago I came to realize that I had in every sense survived the trauma of infertility. Over time I had climbed out of the emotional quicksand. I now view infertility as something that happened to me. My interest today lies in exploring the legacy -- what it's taught me.

In a recent New York Times Magazine article on trauma, a reporter talks to two psyshologists at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte, about their research on trauma suvivors. They started their research by interviewing survivors of severe injuries. They went on to survey older people who had lost their spouses. "Person after person told them the same thing: they wished deeply that they had not lost a spouse or been paralyzed, but nonetheless, the experience changed them for the better."

Patterns emerged. Among the trauma survivors:

- they found a renewed appreciation for life;
- they found new possibilities for themselves;
- they felt more personal strength;
- their relationships had improved;
- they felt spiritually more satisfied.

They developed an inventory to track and measure positive changes associated with the phenomenon and coined the term "post-traumatic growth."

The reporter, in talking to others, went on to write, "The way we cope with trauma is far more complex than once thought, and the way it molds us is similarly complex. We bend, we break, we repair and rebuild, and often we grow, changing for the better in ways we never would have if we had not suffered."

He concluded that "for most people, change does not occur in a transcendent moment but over years of prosaic searching."

Wecome your thoughts ...
~~~~

Hat tip to Carmel, a previous contributor, who shared a link to an interview with Australian journalist and author Gillian Guthrie. Ms. Guthrie's new book is called, Childless: Reflections on Life's Longing for Itself. The podcast includes a discussion about the devastation associated with coming to terms with an inability to conceive, and the harsh judgment from society towards women without children. Warning: there is some discussion about challenges that can appear later in life. Ms. Guthrie discusses a recent heartache she experienced -- that of missing out on the experience of having young adult children -- a topic less explored as most conversations about childlessness focus on the baby and toddler stages. When asked why women remain silent about childlessness, she responded, "It's a very private thing. There can be a feeling of fault...aspects of grief." The interview covers quite a bit of territory from the trauma that accompanies losing children in silence and the alienation that women without children can feel in a child-centric society, best summed up by one of Ms. Guthrie's subjects as "feeling like a fringe dweller."

On Tribal Loyalties

Pamela — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 00:03:22 GMT

What drives our tribal instincts? Whether political or religious, social or sporting -- our identification with tribes seems to have an outsized influence on our thinking and behavior.

My desire to understand how tribal associations govern our actions was inflamed once again a few weeks ago when a renegade group within what had been patchwork community -- a loose federation of infertility blogs -- opted to secede.

The action, aggravated by perceived exclusivity, prompted all manner of hurt feelings, accusations and second guessing. To help provide an airing of grievances a few bloggers, (yours truly included) banded together to host healing salons -- encouraging a conversation that culminated in this roundup of summaries.

Now that the dust has settled, I'm back to trying to understand what is it about humans that makes us feel the need to strongly identify with one tribe or another. I certainly find myself gravitating to women whose lives look more like mine. In my research I came across this piece on Time.com by Michael Shermer ruminating on our divisive political process. He observed of modern humans:

"We are a scant few steps removed from the tribes of our hunter-gatherer ancestors, and a few more leaps afield from the hominid ancestors roaming together in small bands on the African Savanna. There, in those long-gone millennia, were formed the family ties and social bonds that enabled our survival among predators who were faster, stronger, and deadlier than us: unwavering loyalty to your fellow tribesmen was a signal that they could count on you when needed."

He also noted:

"Research in cognitive psychology shows, for example, that once we commit to a belief we employ the confirmation bias, in which we look for and find confirming evidence in support of it and ignore or rationalize away any disconfirming evidence."

In hindsight, given the super sensitive nature of what brought women to the infertility tribe in the first place it's not unexpected that many felt betrayed by fellow tribeswomen who identified and blog badged as "parenting/pregnant after infertility and loss." It translated to a sense of disloyalty or tribal abandonment.

I was reminded of an F. Scott Fitzgerald quote:

"The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function."

It is in that vein that I was delighted to become acquainted (and re-acquainted) with a set of bloggers whom I might have overlooked -- "non-non-moms" -- who shared with me a larger mission: a desire to nurture fellowship, find common ground ... all on equal footing. It's good to know that even after the infertility scars have healed and we've moved down different paths we still have each other's backs.

Why Waste a Good Flood?

Pamela — Sun, 04 Mar 2012 16:20:44 GMT

This sentiment delivered with a laugh from a grizzled ex-Brit has now become part of my philosophy.

The wise words came from a cab driver conveying us to the Brisbane airport on the last day of a two-week, five city journey. Our knowledge of Brisbane had been limited. We knew it was situated on the gold coast of Eastern Australia. On the map it appeared as a convenient stopover from the Whitsunday Islands in Queensland on our way back to San Francisco through Sydney.

With few expectations we added the locale to the end of our itinerary. It turned out to hold discoveries in a trip had already that had already revealed the marvels of the Daintree rainforest to the north, the colorful Coral Gardens of the Great Barrier Reef, and west of Sydney the majestic Blue Mountains and the wondrous waterfalls that lie within. The magical Aussie landscapes aside -- and dodging some of the stormiest summer weather patterns in 50 years -- we also witnessed the resilience and optimism of a people that spoke volumes.

This is a country that now takes a certain pride in its rough and tumble convict past. It's come a long way. In 2011 the Australian economy was the fastest growing advanced economy in the world.

Brisbane suffered floods of biblical proportions in December 2010. We had heard that it had set new records for recovery but we were unprepared for just how little evidence of the flood remained. We had dinner on the balcony of this domed building (left) on our last night in town and saw first hand that even in the wake of destruction, life can be restored -- and not just restored but reinvigorated.

Why waste a good flood became the battle cry for a city bent on becoming better than it was before. Volunteers showed up with shovels and mops and got to work.

Australia held many other lessons. On our flight home I clicked though some of the nearly 600 images locked in our digital camera and saw evidence time and again of nature's power to renew. The trees in the Blue Mountains that cling to their seeds until fires sparked by lightening allow them to spawn new forests. The bountiful coral in the reefs formed after tectonic shifts that shudder deep below the Earth's surface. The strange and beautiful creatures that inhabit the rainforest adapting with each new generation or threat to survival. Life in all its splendor.

This trip was one we had planned to take for years. It was well worth the wait. In many ways it seemed all the better coming at a time in our lives after fully emerging from mourning. The years of painful introspection and catharsis fostered a newfound childlike wonder. We savored each moment. We not only made new memories including those with a blogging friend (thanks again for organizing the warm Aussie welcome, Barbie!) we made new friends, cuddled Koalas, bushwalked under waterfalls and snorkeled in a summer rainstorm. It brought us home refreshed and eager to plan our next set of new adventures.
***

If you'd like to read more about how women are reinventing their lives, check out this interview with Jody Day in The Independent called, "I May Not be a Mother, But I'm Still a Person."

Anything But Ordinary

Pamela — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 02:41:32 GMT

One of my longtime blog penpals once observed that women without children after infertility are extraordinary -- in large part because we have to examine ourselves, our relationships and our place in society in a way most ordinary people don't. Furthermore, we redefine and find our happiness at a point in life when most people, busy raising kids, are on auto-pilot.That puts us much further ahead and able to roll with the changes that life inevitably throws at us...

That's where I left off in my comment to Mali who wrote a passionate post titled, "She has no children. She has nothing," in response to two other equally heartfelt posts, one on Simply Inconceivable and one on Real Life & Thereafter. Each ignited conversations and comments.

And that's a good thing because the more we (and I mean that to be all inclusive) hash out our thoughts and experiences the more we learn not only about ourselves, but about others.

This point was underscored recently during a panel discussion I attended on the campus of Stanford University called Ms. @ 40 and the Future of Feminism. Among those speaking were early editors of Ms. magazine: Marcia Ann Gillespie; Suzanne Braun Levine; and Helen Zia joined by newer feminist voices: Katherine Spillar; Miriam Zoila Perez; and Shelby Knox (perhaps best known as the subject of the Sundance award-winning film, The Education of Shelby Knox -- by all means rent it).

With this diverse set of life experiences on the dais were there differences in opinion? You bet. Have they encountered misunderstandings over time as a result of age, race, religion or sexual orientation? Uh, huh. Were there competing agendas? Hell, yes! And that, according to Ms. Braun Levine, was the nature of a Ms. magazine editorial staff meeting. Near the close of the panel, she observed that the audience had, in fact, "just witnessed an editorial meeting live."

The incongruities, all agreed, are what has kept Ms. edgy, provocative and not always in step with its readership.

Our readers often informed us, Ms. Gillespie explained, "their letters and phone calls pushed us forward."

You don't have to identify as a feminist to know that women have always found it difficult to agree. It's not just our age -- I was eight years old when the first issue of Ms. was available on the newsstands -- but our complex life experiences that shape our often differing views.

Each woman brought a unique perspective to the wide-ranging panel discussion, which prompted questions including, "How did we end up with Sarah Palin 40 years after the women's movement?" and "How do you explain the return to the extreme sexual objectification of women?"

I madly scribbled notes in the standing room only venue. (Note to self: don't wear heels and skirt to an event when you might have to sit on the floor.) During 90 minutes I enviously watched those in slacks seated around me in chairs and various floor openings while trying to write on top of a laptop wedged between the sound board/AV guy and the wall. Here are some of the comments I captured. Do any of these sentiments sound familiar?

"The stories I read made me feel less alone and more pissed off. Hearing your own pain and struggle in another woman's voice you realize you're not crazy or unreasonable. It's the world around you that is..."

"Other women's stories help us make sense of our own."

"Our tribes are necessary to define and defend who we are..."

What seemed to resonate most with me from the panel discussion and through the blog posts cited above is the obligation we all have "to bring stories to the people who are not living the experience."

That's what we in this extraordinary community, this tribe are doing with each blog post we write and share.

****
p.s. One other thing that struck me -- standing in that campus' humanities building surrounded by females ranging in age from 18-70 -- were the topics unbroached -- anything "mom." Zip. Nada. Zilch. It was amazing -- and refreshing. It was just plain nice in an era where "as a mom" seems to dominant (and, at times, divide) all conversations to feel included as a woman.

p.p.s. This post marks my blogoversary. Five years in the blogosphere, my dear Internets. And for those of you who are not familiar with Avril Lavigne's songwriting, you may find these lyrics from Anything But Ordinary particularly relevant:

To walk within the lines
Would make my life so boring
I want to know that I
Have been to the extreme
So knock me off my feet
Come on now give it to me
Anything to make me feel alive...

On Friendship and Hardship

Pamela — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 22:02:11 GMT

Strong, honest and profound friendships can be hard to come by in a fast-paced world characterized by constant interruptions, overscheduling and lives shared in 140 characters or less. Sure, we can graze all day long but we often don't feel fully satisfied.

A hearty friendship feeds your soul. This weekend I feasted.

Friday night the lights twinkled on the Bay Bridge in San Francisco as I drove down the Embarcadero. Beneath the warm light of the Ferry Building slow-walking tourists mixed with locals racing by in running gear. Just beyond the entry of a bustling restaurant and into a noisy bar I saw a friendly face scanning the crowd. My soon-to-be dinner companion knew what I looked like, but I was operating at a disadvantage. While I knew some of her deepest thoughts I couldn't exactly hold up "B's" blog post and say, "is this you?" Her wave in my direction clinched it.

What followed was a 4.5 hour meal that moved effortlessly from one story to another revealing a kaleidoscope of overlapping experiences and emotions. To anyone nearby we appeared to be longtime friends animatedly catching up over edame, wine and fusion cuisine. Laughter tumbled easily. In truth we had only exchanged blog posts and comments on and off over several years. Until that point a blinking cursor was as close as our pen pal-like relationship had gone.

Yes, we both speak English -- she from Australia and me from North America -- but we also speak another language. One that we learned in the heart of darkness, from shared hardship. There was no straining to understand, no awkward silence, no uncomfortable moments punctuating our conversation. The pauses, when they came, were thoughtful ones as we searched around, together, to find just the right word or emotion or answer. We could see into each other's heart.

We marveled at the ease with which we could laugh, ponder and reveal our secrets without fear of misunderstanding or judgment. We also talked about friendships and family ties damaged or lost along the way. The anger. The sadness. The unspoken words. The strange isolation that accompanies a loss or suffering others don't know how to interpret -- either because they lack the capacity or because they can't muster the fortitude to tread into an unknown sometimes messy territory.

We came to these conclusions: Some people, despite our nudging, simply refuse to budge from engagement at the superficial level 24/7. (That's not to say that small talk and niceties don't have their place. They do). But when there is precious time to spare, there are a set of acquaintances, friends and family, we've observed, who can't or won't visit the underbelly of our lives --even if it's a quick reference simply to underscore that which has made us who we are now. In their presence we feel unfulfilled, incomplete.

While the avoidance behavior is more often the rule than the exception, there are those who have surprised us with their depth and insights. Who are these people, you ask? Other infertiles? Not necessarily.

Reproductive organs aside, we also belong to another cohort: Those who have a genuine desire to evaluate and learn from life's suffering and hardship, to crack the oyster and find pearls. (Whereas the first group is all about burying the oysters.)

In this second cohort is where I spent time Saturday. After I completed the required instructions to combat a nagging respiratory affliction, and my friend of 20 years found a sitter for her children, we embarked on a slow-paced afternoon/evening of big girl fun. We indulged in reflexology, sampled a wine flight and managed to secure, without reservations, the last two seats in a cozy Italian restaurant where the pasta is made daily on site. Much like the night before the conversation ran the gamut.

Clearly our lives had taken very different paths, and over the years we've had some spirited discussions, at times talking past each other. But when I wasn't consumed with my own, I've watched her wrestle with a different set of demons, navigate a different set of hardships. Despite all we have experienced, together and separately, we always find the courage to hop into life's elevator and go down, deep, to explore. With flashlights in hand we uncover and share inner thoughts, question and challenge each other and come away fulfilled, validated. And we usually we see things a little more clearly and grow in the process.

Christina Gombar once addressed, this way, why some friendships lose their way:

"If you're happy being a planet orbiting around someone else's sun, good for you. But I find one-sided friendships as rewarding as unrequited love affairs, and as healthy. To me friendship is like a Siamese twin: the life blood must circulate through both bodies. When the spirit of one twin departs, the furiously working heart of the surviving twin cannot do all the work of keeping the other half alive; the joint life-force dies."

Friendships come in many shapes and sizes; the very best ones feed our souls.

Care to share when you've been starved or fed?

***

Editor's Note: A Fresh Start has received record traffic in the past month or so -- due mainly, I'm sure -- to the guest posts from New Zealand (Mali), Slovenia (Klara) and Virginia (Wendy). I'd also like to share a story from Ireland. You can read Jane's inspiring piece here.

An All Too Familiar “Waiting Game” Pays Off

Pamela — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 20:37:24 GMT

Editor's Note: A new year brings new beginnings, something we particularly relish here at A Fresh Start. One of the silver linings that accompanies infertility is the ability to redefine life on our own terms. As a result of our unrequited efforts we also learn to practice patience, accept ambiguity, and develop a keen sense of what makes us unique in a society that often overlooks those whose lives don’t conform. We develop and contribute our talents, gifts and contributions without mainstream adulation. Along the way, we also find that life holds many happy surprises -- something our latest guest blog contributor, Wendy, 39, makes abundantly clear.

I found Silent Sorority when I needed it most -- a few years ago when I struggled with my diagnosis of Premature Ovarian Failure/Primary Ovarian Insufficiency (POF/POI). I kept the book at my bedside for over six months before I read it. When I did, there were all my thoughts and feelings -- once a mash-up in my brain -- in black and white in Pamela’s book. I kept thinking, how did she sneak into my brain??? I had always wanted a child, always imagined myself as a mother. I couldn’t get past the feelings of brokenness, emptiness, and inadequacy. Yet her words validated everything I had been struggling with, and showed me that there is life after infertility…

Fast forward three years to December 2011, and I found myself immersed in the “waiting game”. Oh, it was so agonizing! My future could change depending on the answer. My daily routine, relationships with family and friends, my definition of self, could all be impacted in ways I could not envision. I was an answer away from knowing if one of my life’s goals might be achieved. The waiting was driving me crazy, and I felt almost immobilized – how could I commit to anything else, or even make plans, if I didn’t know the answer? My husband’s fate would also be determined by the answer; would he get what he’s wanted? Would he be 100% supportive, or worried at how this might change our lives? All this waiting, the months of doing all I can, then to have no success, only to try again. How did it get to this?

Then, I got the answer I’ve been dreaming of for the past seven months – YES!!!! I feel such success! I feel validated! I can finally put all those years of experience as a child development specialist to use. There is so much to do, so many things to prepare. All my work, all my sacrifice, it is paying off…. CONGRATULATIONS TO US!!!!

No, we are not having a child.

Funny how this is everyone’s first or second thought when someone announces they have good news to share, or they just found out something exciting, etc.

No, my husband and I have made the shift from seeing ourselves as childless, to childless by circumstance, to childfree by circumstance. I cannot say we are childfree by choice as we feel there was no choice to make. If we could have chosen, we would be parents, but fate intervened. We learned to accept fate.

Why do I say childfree vs. childless? Because childless implies I am incomplete, missing something, “less than” compared to others. Circumstance led us to be childfree -- without our own children living under our roof -- free to focus on who we are and what we want to do (for ourselves, for others) without the complications and responsibility a child might bring

This was NOT an easy journey. It was full of emotional potholes, with people along the way who tried to sabotage our journey to peace, with complications both real and brought to us by imaginary insecurities. I read Two Is Enough: A Couple's Guide to Living Childless by Choice by Laura S. Scott to learn more about those who made the choice to be childfree. I sought out people who were supportive. I found new friends in the childfree by choice community who helped us see the positives of changing our expectations of the future.

Over the past four years, I channeled my energies away from mourning my infertility into another love of mine – international education development, and traveling. Rather than taking on the responsibilities of specific children under my own roof, I decided to take on the responsibilities of improving access to and quality of education for any and all children.
I have been able to work in five countries in the past four years as a consultant, often leaving with a few weeks’ notice, without being encumbered by school schedules, dance lessons, sports games, etc.

So what has me so excited now? I know this coming year I will have a positive impact on countless children and their parents. I reached my goal and won a staff position with an international education organization. The waiting game led to the offer. It is a one year position, but it is another step upward in the right direction for me. My husband is thrilled, and can’t wait to go with me. Are we nervous about the insecurity a year from now? Yes, but it is lessened since we have fewer responsibilities than parents.

My message is this: it may take longer to get to your destination, but as long you continue in the direction you want to go, you will get there.

p.s. If, like Wendy, you have you a story you'd like to share here on A Fresh Start, email Pamela ptsigdinos(@)yahoo (dot) com.

The Best Gift: Rediscovering Zest

Pamela — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 21:45:48 GMT

I realize I'm a bit premature talking up the New Year when 2012 is still a week away. We got a head start by celebrating the winter solstice December 21 with champagne. How can you not look ahead and start making plans with the days getting longer?

That's not all. I've had a series of odd dreams. In one I was a candidate for a new position -- for what exactly wasn't clear, but I awoke with a clear message: something different is waiting for me to find it.

I've also had some time to reflect and reconnect the past few weeks -- laughing more than I have in a long time. During one free afternoon, I all but bounded down a town street, carefree, with a dear old friend. We engaged in an animated conversation, the two of us bursting with energy, positively impish as we egged each other on with our harebrained ideas.

It is invigorating to know, in my late 40s, that I can feel that sort of enthusiastic. Not unlike when I was a slip of a thing on a birthday eve -- finding it all but impossible to fall asleep -- for all the excitement I anticipated turning ... say 10. Or when I was facing my last day of school in sixth grade. I knew that the summer awaited, with day camp, a Lake Michigan vacation with my family, and long, hot nights spent playing with my friends until the street lights came on. Or when I arrived at college, eagerly choosing classes and wondering what new adventures lay ahead on campus. Each new day came full of promise.

That zest for living, that sense of gusto and anticipation has been rekindled. It's the best gift of all. This is what has me excited about 2012.

I'm not the only one who has rediscovered zest. I recently received another inspiring guest blog post. (You will have to wait until just after the new year to read her story.) Meanwhile, I'll have the honor of meeting another wonderful woman, a longtime blog pal from Australia, who will be visiting San Francisco in early January after an adventure through Columbia and Costa Rica.

And romance! There's a new dimension of zing for Mr. T. and me. We've never been in such great shape physically. We are hatching plans, sketching out new adventures -- from a trip to South America that might lead us to take a samba dance class to exploring parts of the U.S. long on our list of places to see. Whoever said kids have all the fun simply wasn't looking hard enough for it.

Happy, Merry, one and all!

The Next 15,000 Days

Pamela — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 16:36:43 GMT

It isn't often that you meet someone and instantly feel a bond. Our next guest blog contributor and I found each other across many miles. We have corresponded as penpals for several years, but only met face to face a few months ago in a heavenly place called Bled, Slovenia. It was like meeting an old friend for the first time. Our shared six-foot height aside, she and I have seen eye to eye and heart to heart from the beginning. Fortunately, for those of us who don't speak Slovenian, Klara speaks English (as well as Italian and German) with ease. She agreed to share her story in English. Here it is:

The last few years were really hard. We had 10 failed IVF treatments in five clinics in three countries. We had our hearts broken for a million times. We were so sad for all of our embies who didn't have enough strength to live more than a few days.

We had the last treatment in autumn and it was the hardest because of all the increased drugs the doctors prescribed me. I had so many horrible side effects that I made a promise to myself: if the side effects go away I will never ever take any infertility drug again. Luckily, the side effects went away after two months, and I am sticking to the promise I made myself.

I know one may ask, why so many treatments?

The explanation is simple. For me, till now, it was always easiser to endure all the physical pain compared to the pain I had to go through when I faced the decision to stop trying and to embrace a childfree life. In my country (Slovenia) we have six IVF treatments completely free of charge. So, many women just jump from one treatment to another without even taking a break or thinking of the side effects that all the drugs can leave.

With the help of our computer I was playing with numbers a bit. Just a few days before Christmas we will celebrate 3,000 days since our wedding day. Our first 3,000 days were mainly sad. Of course, there were also lots of great things. The greatest was that I realized I married the love of my life; all the pain brought us even closer together. If we are lucky, another 15,000 days are waiting for us. So, we decided to start living a new, happy life. We lost, already, enough days being sad. We just don't want to lose another day.

Christmas is coming, and for the first time in years I am actually looking forward to it. Our capital, Ljubljana, is already in Christmas lights. It is beautiful! And Winter solstice is nearing -- when the night is the longest and the darkest. After it ... the dark gets shorter and the day gets longer.

I like this symbolism a lot.

I began a list of all the positive things that my new decision brings. Some are important, some are small ... but everything helps.

I don't have to save money for the next treatment. This December I enjoy spending money. For books on BookDepository. For movies with my husband. For enjoying delicious cakes in cozy coffee shops with my friends.
I don't have to save free days at work for future treatments. I have 10 days off from work around Christmas and New Year. For the first time since we married we are spending New Year's Eve abroad. Can't wait!
They are downsizing in the company where I work. It will be clear within weeks if me and my coworkers will be made redundant or not. Coworkers with kids worry so much. But I do not. I am not responsible for anybody else so I can afford not to earn anything for a while. And I don't mind finding another job even if far away from home. Being childfree gives me flexibility.
It is our busy season at work now. My coworkers with kids are always so nervouse at four, the high time, when they leave the office and pick up their kids in kindergarden. I realized it is quite nice -- always to be able to finish work without the pressure of time.
We started to dream about our next holidays. Our favorites so far are: Malaysia; Japan; Australia; USA; Canada. We love traveling so much!

What was (or is) on your list of positive things for the period when you started a New Life? All ideas welcome! They will help me and the others who read Pamela's blog. Lots of love from sLOVEnia, Klara

Editor's note: I found Klara's depiction of looking beyond the darkness inspiring. The idea that many thousands of days await us makes me all the more committed to living each day better than the last.
p.s. One of the other many things I learned from Klara -- as her signature above demonstrates --is that Slovenia is the only country with the word "love" in it. If this beautiful "Ex-Yu" country is not on your list of destinations, it should be.

The Secret to Happiness is...

Pamela — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 01:36:10 GMT

...not having what you want, but wanting what you have.

That's just one of the many lessons our latest guest contributor has gleaned over the course of 49 years. Linda (aka Mali), a New Zealand-based blogger -- a self-described kiwi -- writes on a variety of topics. Here, in her words, is how she arrived at her fresh start.

April 26, 2012 Update: Huffington Post chose this post as one of a series of columns to highlight during National Infertility Awareness Week. (Congrats, Linda!) You can find it here.

~~~

I didn’t always want children. I know that’s not the typical confession from someone who has dealt with infertility, but I married young, and resisted and resented the almost immediate pressure I felt to have children. I was in a new exciting world where women had a choice. I was insulted by the inference that my biology would decide my place in the world, not my own thoughts, decisions, and talents. My husband was a little more traditional, but he also knew who he had married -- that I could only have children when I was ready. I spent many years brushing off unwanted questions about when we were going to have children, building up a persona of the career woman who wasn’t interested in having children.

It wasn’t just about the career though.

I thought it was important to have children when I was ready, and not before. I wanted to be a mother who was fully present for her children, not resentful of her stolen youth. I also wanted to feel the maternal urge. So I waited. At times I wasn’t sure it was going to arrive, but it ambled up to me in my mid-30s. By the time I first conceived, I was in its full grip. Whether it was simply biology (hormones and that ticking clock), my own natural wishes at the right time, or peer pressure … I don’t know and will never know.

But I do know I genuinely wanted to be a mother.

Of course, as is obvious now, it is not that easy. A long story short: after two ectopic pregnancies and later, two failed IVFs, I knew I would never have children. I got the news on my 41st birthday. I’ve had better birthdays.

Coming to terms with the news was not easy. In retrospect, the persona I’d built up in the early years of my marriage – that I didn’t want children – protected me as I dealt with the realisation that I would never be a mother. But still, it was hard. At first, the truth of my situation hit more and more deeply. Each time I thought “when I have a baby” or “my children will ...” the pain hit anew.

I wouldn’t be having a baby. My children would never ... And this got worse before it got better, like punching a bruise that is already tender. But it did get better. Gradually I realised that punching the bruise was pointless. My brain trained itself not to think about the babies I didn’t have, would never have. My brain stopped me thinking of myself as a mother.

This took time. But the good minutes, then hours, then days, then weeks, came more frequently. At times I fought against it, feeling guilty that – on the good days – I was not grieving enough. I wondered, if I didn’t continue to grieve and mourn the life I thought I would have, then maybe that meant I didn’t really ever want it ... or if it meant I was upset simply because I didn’t get what I thought I wanted. I wondered if my pain was fake. I wondered if I didn’t really have permission to feel pain ... if, in fact, I deserved what had happened.

Of course, now I look back and know my grief and pain was legitimate. But still, the recovery process itself made me feel guilty.

Back in the early days, immediately after my ectopic losses, I felt the power of joy, even with something as simple as a joke on a sit-com, or the warmth of the sun on my back, a favourite song, or sitting looking out at the sea and a blue sky. Grasping joy as it came, even when it was fleeting, was what healed me.

Healing is a gradual process. I gradually realised that endless sadness would not serve me well.

I realized, too, that feeling happy was not a betrayal, either of my lost babies, or of mine and my husband’s dreams. Feeling happy with my life did not mean I didn’t want children enough, or that I didn’t grieve enough.

In fact, I felt strongly that I needed to be happy, to live well, in order to honour my losses, my pain. I still do. And so I guess I made the choice to be happy.

I didn’t come to this insight over night. It took time. I read books written by those who had gone before me, and – on an internet forum I frequented (and that had saved my soul in my darkest days of loss) I, in turn, shared my experiences with those who came after me. Helping them, responding to their raw grief, even whilst I was still healing myself, showed me how far I had come, and gave me insight into my own healing. Learning to find happiness, and value, out of what I had been through helped me make sense of my loss. Over a couple of years, I was able to let go of the guilt.

Letting go of guilt opened up the world to me. I was able to take joy in the aspects of my life that wouldn’t be possible if I had children. I was able to read (and believe) research that promised that those of us without children would be able to have a happy life, and a happier old age. I realised that I may not have got what I wanted, but that’s not always a bad thing. I learned the secret of happiness is not to have what you want, but to want what you have.

And I am happy. I have a good life. No, a great life! I’m still basking in the memories of six weeks in Turkey and Europe. I couldn’t have done that with kids. I’m so much more in touch with myself now, my emotions, my talents and yes, even my flaws. I suspect age has something to do with that. But I also think that my infertility and loss has tempered me, forged me into who I am today, someone who is wiser, kinder, more compassionate, more realistic, and yet more optimistic too; someone who is contented, happy. Someone I like.

* * *

You can read more about Mali's life without children on her blog No Kidding in NZ. She also blogs on A Separate Life (http://aseparatelife.wordpress.com) and Travelalphablog(http://atozoftravel.wordpress.com).

What's Your Litmus Test?

Pamela — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 17:00:42 GMT

The "why" didn't fully dawn on me until I was in the final burst of packing for a Thanksgiving family visit.

Our direct flight was just under an hour and half. The destination: a picturesque part of the country, home to the world's largest international independent film festival, a former winter Olympic site, and some of most breathtaking national parks on the planet. Our relatives, peers in age and interests and genuinely warm and lovely people, had lived there since 1998.

There was only one reason why it had taken us 13 years to arrange a proper visit. The why was so large and obvious as to be the elephant in the room.

Our trip would involve spending several days in one of the largest child-centered cultures in the U.S. -- the greater Salt Lake City region.

How did it go? Surprisingly well. In fact, I'm chuffed to say that I didn't break a sweat or find my dander rise even when the local hotel where we'd book a room, with its complimentary breakfast, was over-run with toddlers cooing over waffles, or when two new BFFs earnestly set up a Candy Land board game at the base of the one and only coffee station, or when I found myself in the midst of parents swapping stories about the upcoming holidays and plans to entertain their kids. If this was some sort of test, I passed it with flying colors.

Rather than feeling like I had to mask what has always felt like the equivalent of an "I" tattooed on my forward, I was at ease. As our trip came to a close, I found myself looking forward to a future visit -- one where we could indulge in new discoveries in and around the area.

It's not as though I achieved any sort of superhuman feat, but it did in some ways feel like I'd successfully arrived at the end of a marathon. Along the way I put some former infertility demons in their proper place -- the past.

Now, what's your litmus test?

Gratitude Inventory: Freedom, Romance and Much More

Pamela — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 18:07:04 GMT

The leaves on our trees have reached crimson in their last best performance before taking their inevitable fall. Holiday ads are proliferating. I've just gathered all the canned goods and non-perishables we're not going to consume any time soon for the local food drive. The days are growing ever shorter. The Detroit Lions (yes, I remain a hometown fan) are gearing up for their annual Thanksgiving Day football match.

It seemed only right and proper to partake in a gratitude inventory. In no particular order, here are just some of the many, many things I'm thankful for...

Sleep -- the really good, uninterrupted, restful kind
Living in a country where girls can grow up to realize their full potential
Jon Stewart and The Daily Show
Coffee
Watching the Michigan Wolverines with my best guy
Spontaneity and the freedom to move in new directions
Documentary film producers, along with the writers, production teams and performers at HBO, Showtime, AMC who continually turn out great original programming
Good health (yikes, now I know I'm well into middle age -- I didn't much notice my health in earlier years)
High thread count sheets
A really good effortless hair day
Slovenia, and my online bloggie pal (now BFF), who made visiting this gem of a country earlier in the year an unforgettable, delightful adventure
Whoever invented meatloaf
The therapeutic effects of a deep belly laugh
Friends and family who not only enrich my life but patiently put up with my idiosyncrasies
Romantic, cozy wine bars
The Internet and the way it opens up new ideas and new connections around the world

Now, your turn...

Someday, We’ll Look Back on This, Laugh Nervously, and Change the Subject

Pamela — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 18:28:03 GMT

You might think this blog title was my response after a recent mainstream media interview that led to the headline, Infertile and Proud ...

But, there's some part of me that doesn't want to change the subject. What I'd like instead is to get beyond the nervous, uncomfortable awkwardness, the sense of being accountable somehow for why I don't have children. As I said in the article, there are many shades of gray when it comes to a person's family status. Just for kicks, imagine with me what it would be like if parents regularly faced the question "why do you have children?" Wouldn't it be a hoot to see how that conversation would go down?

You might say we've been inoculated against the idea that there's more than one hunky dory way for life to unfold. Since we're inundated with glowing messages about motherhood and fatherhood, encouraged to conform, to go with the herd, it's not surprising that we're scrutinized when we don't. Fortunately, there are those willing share their stories and expand the universe of thinking. They'll come in a series of guest posts from around the world -- all the better to illuminate the many paths where life can take us. The first comes from Jody in London.

***

Jody Day is the Founder of Gateway Women (UK): an organization to support, inspire and empower childless & childfree women to live fertile, passionate, meaningful lives. If you're anywhere close to London you can join her Nov 16 at a session called, Forty, Single & Childless, Dammit! Now happily post-fertile, and having made the bumpy transition from ‘childless’ to ‘childfree’ (and definitely not a weirdo!) she will share her own experience, and encourage you to explore yours.

She's given permission to share, in this guest post, some of her recent thoughts.

Have you ever stopped to question why you want (or wanted) a baby so much?

Do you find the question shocking? Taboo even?

Well, I didn’t question it. And because I avoided this level of deep introspection, I failed to realise that I spent fifteen years of my life chasing a dream based partly on the premise that someone or something would make me feel fulfilled, content, satisfied, real, right, good… I thought a baby, a family, a home, what Zorba the Greek calls ‘the full catastrophe’ – was going to make me feel whole dammit! Yes, I loved my husband insanely-much and the idea of a little bundle of our combined DNA made me go weak at the knees, but there was more going on than that…

But god forbid anyone who tried to tell me! I just didn’t want to know. Stuck my fingers in my ears and sang la la la. I stayed in the tunnel and put off thinking about ‘why’ I’d chosen to made the nuclear family my own personal holy grail. Refused to accept ‘what is’, as Bert Hellinger says.

Yes, there was a biological clock, and boy did it tick. But would I really have heard it quite so loudly had I been listening to my soul instead?

What would things have been like for me if instead of neglecting my dreams, my passions, my friends, my work, my finances (and, quite often, my common sense) during that time I’d focused on creating a life without children, whilst still remaining open and excited about the possibility that one day I might become a mother? Why did I get stuck on this one outcome, mostly out of my control, rather than take a saner, broader view of things?

Because even as the facts continued to pile up against me, the fantasy endured. And let’s face it, as a woman with long-term unexplained infertility issues, just out of the wreckage of sixteen-year marriage and watching 40 recede gently in the rear-view mirror, things were not promising in the maternity stakes!

But no. Common sense is no match for denial. And if a bit of reality ever did threaten to break through, my girlfriends usually closed it down fast with a quick, “Don’t worry. You’ll be OK. Stay positive! You’ll meet the right man / have IVF / get pregnant without even realizing it”… etc, etc. And then there were the miracle baby stories… at least I had company in my denial! Some of these stories made the stork sounds positively rational! It seemed that collectively, none of my female friends wanted me to face up to my situation.

When I started to break the taboo and began talking about the possibility that it might not work out for me, that I might not have children, it was as if I’d let off a fart bomb… women took a step back. Somehow, my honesty stank, as if my fate, my childlessness, might actually be catching…

These days, having fully come to terms with the fact that I’ll never have a child, I can see that one of the reasons I didn’t even want to entertain the possibility that I might not have a family was that it would also have meant facing up to an absence of a viable Plan B. I’d stopped dreaming my life into being. The words of a friend who was one of the first to have a baby used to ring in my ear: “Since I had her, I don’t have to wonder what my life’s about anymore.” That sounded pretty good to me; an existential get-out-of-jail-free card. These days, I’m not so sure she’s right, and I imagine that perhaps in another decade or so when the children have all grown up, she, and other parents, may find that such thoughts are waiting for them on the other side.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can see that I got very vague about my life goals in my 30s as a response to my ex-husband’s sad spiral down into addiction – and that I chose to blame some of that unhappiness and confusion on my biological clock. Somehow, because I couldn’t look into the future and see, with certainty, that I would be a mother (living with an addict, you can’t predict what’s going to happen by teatime) I decided I had a 100% cast-iron guaranteed reason to ditz around in my life and wait for a baby to come and clear this whole mess up. I took my foot off the gas. I got lost.

Now, at 47 and having made peace with my destiny and got back into the driving seat of my life, I often meet single women around the age of 40, still hopeful of having a family, and yet strangely unwilling to talk about their own dreams, their own lives. Intelligent, educated, hard-working, emotionally intelligent women – yet they seem to be living like wombs-in-waiting – a vacancy where their ambition and passion used to be. Now, I’m not for a minute saying that wanting to be a mother is NOT an ambition, not a dream… but where has the rest of them gone?

I wonder if these women feel, unconsciously, that allowing themselves to dream their non-family related dreams is somehow going to put the kibosh on having a family?

But ask yourself this, if you were a man, and you met a single, vibrant woman in her late-30s following her passion for taming sloths, writing poetry, singing, designing mazes, running for office, meditation, raising hawks, rescuing dogs, car-boot sales, running marathons, keeping bees, sky-diving, blogging, tap-dancing, saving the planet, coding, writing detective fiction, growing petunias, fencing or thrash metal… wouldn’t you prefer to spend an evening with her than with a falsely-cheerful, dolled-up ‘date’ who drinks ever-so-slightly too quickly and needs to know your views on starting a family by the second date?

There’s nothing as attractive as someone who respects their dreams enough to follow them. Children are indeed a blessing, but they are here to fulfill their dreams, not ours.

Free To Be You and Me

Pamela — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 02:36:12 GMT

I'm not sure what possessed me to write it. Was it my cumulative annoyance at People magazine for devoting so much editorial real estate (for instance every week!) to celebrating all aspects of parenthood (hey - how about some equal time, People editors)? Was it the veiled tone of pity, the whiff of judgment, or the implication that there is only one happy ending to the infertility story?

But write I did, and I'm glad for what came next...

Dispatch from "hell:" It's not all bad became an Open Salon Editor's Pick and made the "cover" for two days, with thousands of views and nearly a 100 Facebook Likes at last count.

Speaking of Facebook, the Silent Sorority Facebook page also generated a good response -- and some nurturing comments, along with more of the same on another password protected site. Here's an excerpt from that forum:

"I found it really refreshing to read something that is about celebrating and affirming life, after one has been forced to reconsider how to live it. I love that you rejected labels and divisiveness. What I took from your blog post was the idea that we all have our own unique paths, and no one choice can make you a "hero" or a "goat." It is up to each of us as people to dig deep and come out of this experience better, stronger and more compassionate."

YES! Bingo! That's exactly the message I wanted readers to take away. The essay also prompted an email exchange between me and my mother who had this to say:

"I've never understood why people automatically think that because a couple doesn't have a child of their own, they will, of course, adopt. It's like expecting a man or woman who never married to become a priest or a nun. Becoming an adoptive parent is a calling, just like the religious life. Not every unmarried person is drawn to religious life, nor does every woman without her own child want to adopt. I don't mean to equate the religious life with being an adoptive parent; just that adoption should not be considered the default position for everyone. It was good that you pointed out that there is another side."

Well said, Mom, (and thanks, as always for your support -- and for taking the time to reflect with me).

I also found this comment on Open Salon refreshingly honest:

"As the father of an in vitro child, I can relate to the pain of infertility. As the father of an in vitro child who is now a stay-at-home 23 yr-old, I can also attest that parenthood is no bed of roses either. Parenthood, like marriage, is far-too romanticized in our culture. Baby's -- from a distance -- are irresistible, and I suspect that was part of God's plan for peopling this planet. And no doubt it is a great pleasure watching your child grow -- up to a point. But as I've said here many times, if the second ten years came first, there would be no second children."

Perhaps, though, what I found most encouraging (and, yes, surprising) was the willingness exhibited by all who engaged in various discussion to be open-minded, supportive and non-hostile. This may be the first time I've witnessed such good behavior on a topic that usually devolves into name-calling and second-guessing. Have we reached a new level of civility? I sure hope so!

Vive la difference!

Two Movies, One Gets it Right

Pamela — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 21:11:05 GMT

Much has been written about The Help -- the book and the movie.

The book contents remain locked in my iPad; I downloaded it several months ago but lacked the urgency to tap it open. The movie prompted a different response. I made a point of carving out 146 minutes to lose myself in the film after the August 10 opening sparked new debates about character authenticity and raised questions about who is best equipped to tell the complex stories of women living in a turbulent and racially charged time in American history.

Among the many commentaries I read about the film was this assessment by Chicago attorney and writer Kimberly Egonmwan. She makes a strong closing statement:

"We want to be seen as we are: women who are at the foreground of our own lives, and not in the background of someone else’s."

Imagine my surprise when, after the depiction of societal oppression and civil rights struggles that brought me into the theater, I walked out identifying most directly with a background character.

Celia Foote is a young woman lost in a society that values everything she is not. She lived in a time when well-bred Southern white women were expected to marry well and have babies -- lots of them -- raised by "the Help." Celia is not well bred, but she does have a heart of gold and unexpectedly marries well when she gets pregnant. In time we learn that Celia carries a painful secret -- an inability to stay pregnant -- something she initially hides from everyone, including her husband.

Among the many scenes in this well-acted film that brought tears to my eyes was the one where Celia is openly shunned by vicious white women who refuse to allow her into their living room and their society. They leave her on the porch, as she describes "like a vacuum cleaner salesman."

While her infertility wasn't the reason she was left on the outside looking in, I felt her alienation viscerally.

I was also struck by the fact that, in the end, Celia had the only marriage that was genuinely happy.

Infertility in the 1960s was only a footnote in The Help, but it jumped off the screen for me, as it usually does. Not surprisingly, it's one of many lenses through which I see society -- past, present and future.

Coincidentally, earlier in the weekend, the film, Immediate Family, concerning a subject I know intimately, came to our TV screen. Made at the end of the 1980s, this film offered a weirder view -- bad hair and all -- of infertility. It was produced by Lawrence Kasdan of The Big Chill acclaim, which is, no doubt, how it made it into our Netflix queue in the first place.

The movie certainly put infertility front and center ... but something about the inauthenticity of the protagonists, the melodrama, and the clunky bias of the times led us to fire the film midway into our viewing. I learned afterward that the Immediate Family screenplay wasn't written by a woman who experienced infertility. It was penned by someone who was "struck that so many of her friends who had waited until their mid-3Os to have children were encountering difficulties."

Curious that two different films shot in two different eras could portray a timeless experience in such startlingly different tones, but it was the film where infertility played a cameo role that hit the mark.

Happy T(w)ogether, Thank You Very Much

Pamela — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 17:32:49 GMT

In the category of inflammatory headlines posed as a question here's one from a self-described "journalist, mother, thinker" that begs a response: Are Childless Couples Headed Toward Divorce?

The short answer from my field research is an emphatic: Hell No!

The link to the provocative Huffington Post blog headline first came from a longtime pen pal who wrote me with this observation:

"[this] absurd article rambles and makes no particular point. Is it saying that more non-childed couples divorce than childed couples do BECAUSE they are childless or because, if they realize things aren't working they don't have to stay together 'for the children'? Is it saying that childed couples are happier (or not) than unchilded couples? Is it saying that couples who 'wait too long' to have children tend to divorce because of infertility struggles?"

Next in my inbox was this assessment from Christina:

"I think this is just another Mom pumping up her world view again. I know so many people who got married just to have a baby, suffered terrible marriages -- some divorced, some are still together in misery. I think it makes them feel better to imagine that childless couples are worse off, but we're not. If you have to convince yourself that your lifestyle is the way to go, and have nothing better to do than broadcast social theories to this affect, 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.' "

Those who have followed my story will know that my husband and I fit into the group of couples who pursued parenthood early and often with dogged determination (in other words, we are not -- to use the term in this piece -- "postponers"). We instead are part of the large and often silent population of couples who, despite not being "too old" and following repeated fertility treatment, found out that biology and science don't always lead to successful pregnancy and delivery.

Did our infertility experience test our marriage? Damn right it did, but it also made our relationship stronger, not unlike this quote: "the strongest steel is forged by the fires of hell."

Readers of the HuffPo piece would never arrive at the conclusion that couples who have weathered infertility -- and don't go on to parent -- could have happy, fulfilled marriages. Rather the takeaway from this piece is that the majority of couples who face infertility trials part ways as a matter of course. Infertility + Marriage = Divorce.

Are there some marriages that falter in the wake of infertility? Yes, but it is not the sole reason why the relationship ended. To the contrary, I've seen couples who were unhappy before becoming parents have children as a way to glue together a relationship that was doomed to failure. In the end, they divorced despite having children together.

My experience tells me that life after infertility treatment purgatory can result in a deeper devotion. And I'm far from alone. The past few years, online and in person, I've come to know hundreds of loving couples around the world who are not raising children.

The past two weeks, in particular, traveling thousands of miles across three countries offered still more firsthand evidence that couples without children share a deep connection with each other. The common denominator of the couples joining my husband and me -- hailing from the pragmatic metropolis of Stuttgart, Germany, the glittering city of Zurich and a medieval town in Slovenia -- was a relationship marked by playfulness, romance and commitment.

Too often childless couples are held up as deficient, and this HuffPo piece only serves to reinforce that stereotype. There are many couples who elect early and decisively not to have children. But for those who experience infertility, society's prejudice -- that parenting is absolutely essential to self-actualization -- does nothing to ease the transition from attempting to have children to moving forward in life as a family of two.

A research paper, "Does Having Children Create Happiness?," highlights several studies that reinforce the prejudice and stigma associated with childlessness:

"Couples without children have been looked down upon by their counterparts for
years. Childless couples are often seen as unfortunate and unhappy. Ali, L. 2008"

Less publicized, however, is the conclusion of the author's paper:

"Children do not increase life satisfaction for their parents, and in fact serve to hamper parental happiness. While the positive implications regarding having children hold true, there exist positive implications for those who remain childless as well."

Unlike in some relationships where the focus is squarely on the children -- to the exclusion of all else -- we families of two can focus on our mutual needs and happiness.

Editor's Note: If you'd like to get a richer insight into the experiences of couples without children, please check of my better half's vivid, lively and well-told tale of our trip to Slovenia. It's a part of the world most know little to nothing about, but should. After you read this essay you'll add a new country to your list of places to visit.

Good Times Where You Least Expect Them

Pamela — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 16:46:51 GMT

"It was like going to a party you're terrified of, and finding out to your amazement that you're having a good time."

That's how Betty Ford, who passed away today at 93, described her life in the White House during one of the most turbulent times in U.S. history. I was only 10 years old when she became First Lady. I didn't fully appreciate, until I was older, how much she influenced my life. She didn't shy away from her struggles, she talked openly about them.

As I read some of the coverage about her life this morning I realized we shared a few things in common: both of us were born in Michigan; both had dreams of lives that didn't quite turn out the way we hoped; both of us talked openly about taboo topics (breast cancer and infertility, respectively).

She shocked many with her candor, but she also didn't pretend to be something she was not. She championed women's rights and encouraged others to overcome their personal demons. Her life story is teaching me one more thing -- the lesson of authenticity.

As I alluded to in a previous post it's not easy to be different, to not conform to what society expects us to be. My, how things have changed since Betty Ford was my age. Where she once had to stand up for the under-appreciated role of motherhood, we now live in a world where MOM has become the favored go-to descriptor or modifier.

It seemed to take hold with "soccer mom." This now prevalent turn of phrase has since become the defacto way to describe or even define women (where applicable). Just search the word "mom" on the ABC News website and here's what you'll find: "Atlanta mom," "Tot Mom," "Botox Mom," "Tiger Mom."

It's enough to drive a woman to ... well, fortunately, Betty Ford also taught us how to overcome that tendency, too.

The pendulum continues to swing, so I trust by the time I'm 93 we'll once again celebrate and describe women for the multitude of roles or interests they possess, and not just the one that's in vogue today.

Meanwhile, having been socialized to assume that my life will not be fulfilling or valued in a world where I'm not a mom, like Betty, it's with some amazement that I find I'm having a really good time.

A Mind Feast - Part II

Pamela — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 15:55:54 GMT

I clearly recall 10 years ago feeling wary and apprehensive about what my life would be like a decade later if I didn't succeed in conceiving. When the nagging worries of an unknown (and surely unfulfilled) life took hold during a frantic last engagement with a team of reproductive endocrinologists at Stanford University Medical Center I pushed them out of my head. Not gonna go there.

I was the Elder Price of infertility treatment. (Elder Price being the protagonist in The Book of Mormon who had an intractable view of the way life had to be.) Like Elder Price I had a rosy-colored one-dimensional outlook on what would bring me happiness. It was only when it all didn't turn out as I had dreamed that I came to realize there was much more waiting for me. Better still, I was on the verge of meeting some amazing women whom I otherwise would not have come to know.

Marni, for instance, a doctoral student whose dissertation topic is Living Without Children After Infertility. We met on a warm night at a lively restaurant in her Manhattan neighborhood accompanied by our significant others. Marni simply radiates peace. You can't help but feel calm in her presence. Over a series of appetizers and small plates Marni and I shared more than good food. Seated next to each other in a u-shaped booth, we shared a deep, instant connection that allowed us to leap from bashful first greetings into a series of "you, too?" moments, reliving our awakenings while the guys conversed about topics, well, more guy friendly. The evening rushed by.

The next afternoon, Christina and I met after a business conference. Seated at an outdoor table in a restaurant humming with happy hour patrons we caught up on our lives since our last get together a year ago. We talked enthusiastically about our new dreams, confidently looking ahead to still more reinvention with new projects and new plans. Christina's petite size makes her expansive enthusiasm pack a powerful punch. She is fearless and draws you into world of possibilities.

From there I had the musical The Book of Mormon to look forward to. Soaring music, energetic choreography and a story that can't help but make you think propelled us into a hot and humid Time Square with a swell of tourists on a Friday night. Every fiber in me felt alive and joyful.

So it was not surprising when Marni shared this kindred spirit observation in a follow up email, "if you want to change something, it has to be associated with joy. Joy gets people to move. Fear makes them stuck."

I wish I could go back to the woman consumed with fear 10 years ago and assure her that joy would be in her future -- that everything would turn out more than just fine.