Anne Altamore
As I sat, quill in hand, reflecting on what to write for this year’s World Childless Week submission, one image and sentence kept coming to mind – the well is dry.
I initially thought this was my unconscious saying I was experiencing writer’s block or had lost my creativity. But as I pondered the line further, it seemed to be the most accurate reflection of the early days of ending my CNBC journey.
The reality of a future without children sunk in slowly and quietly. There was no ritual to mark the end of the IVF, no acknowledgment of the many losses and deep grief, no guidebook on how the unimagined future might be created.
Do I forget the last decade and simply move on? How do I bury the longing, the loss, the regret?
How would my social circle change? It had already shrunk quite significantly as a result of the great friendship apocalypse of infertility and loss.
Do I mourn what never was and never will be? Where do I begin to process endings and formulate new beginnings? How do I even do that?
After so many years on the #ivfrollercoaster of hope, pouring so much energy, time, money, and focus into a deep well of unquenchable longing, working hard to achieve an outcome I actually had no control over, I was depleted.
The well was indeed dry, sitting in a landscape parched with the thirst for understanding and validation of the enormity of my journey and the unknown future. And there I sat for quite a while.
Interestingly in mythology, folklore, and religion, the well is a common metaphor. I am told; wells can signify abyss and despair. They can also symbolise sacred spaces connecting what is seen and what lies deep within, a representational place for renewal and refreshment. A dry well might signify liminal space or a pause waiting for new rains. Wells can be a reflection of the untold depths of the psyche and portals to new worlds.
The story that resonated most with me was a Norse myth about having to sacrifice what is seen to obtain the wisdom from the well for what is yet to come.
In my world this is interpreted as letting go of my focus on losses and actively seeking out the future. It was drawing from the deep wisdom of realisation that a dry well does not mean bareness forever. It means looking for new ways to bring life and meaning back. A future I had the power to create.
For me, this future included new interests, choices to find joy and contentment, and finding a community to help rebuild my well.
This is where World Childless Week and the connections we make during this week have been significant. The wisdom gained as we learn from the experiences of others. Finding solidarity in knowing we are not alone. Learning the language to express my truth in a way the non-CNBC world could hear it.
These connections do not end in September. With the power of social media and electronic communication, we are able to create our community to help remind us all year long that the well may be dry but it does not mean a lifelong emptiness.
