I was in my late twenties when a gynaecologist told me for the first time that I had to hurry if I wanted to be a mother. I was young, but my reproductive organs weren’t looking as such - fibroids, hormones all over the place, and a slightly diverted cervix.
My first reaction was a puzzled face and, whatsoever, no idea of what the doctor was talking about.
I was too busy enjoying a life full of friends, parties, long hours at work and - Ahem! - too many boyfriends. A baby? A family? What?! Are you kidding me? My life was perfect as it was; why should I have ruined it with such a colossal responsibility as a child?!
Yep! This is the truth, I had suffered from Peter-Pan syndrome for a while, and I will be lying by writing that I loved children and had the dream to be a mother since I was a teen. Instead, I had no idea what a child was until I met James, my "pseudo-husband", as I like to call him. I started dating James almost ten years ago when I was thirty-five and still seeking new adventures in life. James was my same age, coming out from a pretty toxic relationship that produced two beautiful children despite all the troubles.
Dating a man with kids for many women is a big "No-No", but for me, it was different. I was deeply in love with him, as I still am, and decided to take on the challenge. After the first couple of years spent together, I started dreaming about how it could have been having an enlarged family, having a baby with James and put into practice all that experience gained whilst stepparenting his two children.
However, this article won't be about my experience as a stepparent and all the trouble I had and still going through with the biological mother, as that would need a completely different chapter. Today, what I am sharing is about grief, the immense stifling pain I had and still have since I was confirmed infertile and incapable of getting pregnant.
I was over 35, classified as "geriatric" if we use cold medical jargon. Therefore I was not even offered a pregnancy "mirage" through IVF or any other infertility treatment. In other words, I was declared clinically "childless not by choice".
I suddenly moved from a bright and cheerful place to complete doom. Depression was really behind the corner and hit me badly. I have not figured out yet if I am out of the woods or not; maybe I am not and have still to find my way out.
Since my diagnosis, I started feeling an outsider, especially when many friends and acquaintances started having kids, getting pregnant, talking about parenting, celebrating children birthday parties, sharing with the entire world how beautiful and fulfilling motherhood is, etc.
I felt completely ripped apart, with no longer a purpose in life. "But you had stepchildren, didn't you?" Someone would probably say. Errm yes! Having stepchildren when you are childless, not by choice, can be a blessing indeed but also a double-edged sword, a mixed blessing, especially when the relationship with the biological mother turns to be difficult and highly disruptive as it's been for me. The bright side is that you get the chance to partially satisfy a maternal instinct that lies within yourself. But still, I always had to be second and act on the tips of my toes, always being careful of avoiding accusations of overstepping the mark because of my caring attitude and unconditional love towards the children.
It is almost as if someone gives you the keys to your dreams' house, but you can't move in permanently; all you can do is just going inside when invited to, taking care of it whilst the actual owner is away, pretending that you live there and then hurry to leave as soon as the owner is back.
Well, I would say that my last ten years have been pretty much like moving in and out of the "shared dreams house". I love someone else children as my own, almost secretly, with the constant presence of a biological mother extremely loud about her feelings, her mental health and consistently reiterating to her kids how cruel and unfair it would be if their love and attention weren't addressed to her exclusively, since she is the one who gave them birth! But again, this is another story.
Despite all the emotional roller-coasters, I still believe that a joint family with James' children and our own baby would have been enormously beneficial for all of us. Biological mother included. But Hey! That's life.
My body turned out to be faulty on that aspect, with too many health issues and, on top of that, an early menopause coming up, and today I am still coping with the grief of a never-born baby. I sometimes like to imagine it as an angel up in the sky that looks at me, waiting for that day when we will be together.
I know! I am in a pickle. What keeps me going? My faith in God.
The grief and the pain sometimes get unbearable, and the only way I can cope is to think that all this came for a reason and God will take care of it. I am perfectly aware that religion can't be a solution or an answer for everyone. Please, forgive me if I brought up an uncomfortable topic; I am not here with the purpose to preach to anybody.
Taking spirituality off the way, I would recommend psychotherapy, though; I personally went for CBT and found it excellent! For those not familiar with psychotherapy, CBT ( Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) aims to help you identify and challenge unhelpful thoughts and learn practical self-help strategies. Through CBT counselling, I am learning how to look at my circumstances from a different standpoint, and also I started loving myself more.
I have just stopped a second typing and I am looking at my hands hovering over the keyboard, asking myself why I am writing this down; it is to break a taboo and eliminate the stigma from women like me, childless, not by their own choice that society still marks with.
I am sick of being classified as a "class B" woman just because I don't have children to look after and don't know what giving birth feels like; I am tired of being looked at with pity because "something was wrong with her ovaries". I am also tired of feeling so angry whenever I see some horrible adult being given that chance that I was denied myself.
I am still looking for a way to deal with my grief, still seeking all of it, still considering my stepchildren almost as my natural ones; there is a long way to go, I know! Before I could say I had gotten over it. But I am here writing about it loudly and making it public, and this is a big start!
Thanks for reading through these random and entirely guts-driven thoughts.
Let's be in this together.
Anonymous