Sonja Roos
Many friends were lost during IVF due to lack of understanding. Babies and pregnancy shoved in my face by those who could not comprehend, shattering my vulnerable heart each time until I could no longer see these people I call friends without wanting to fall apart.
Will this be my life from now on? Am I doomed to remain friendless, alone in my childlessness due to lack of understanding by society? The thought chilled me to my core. No one wants to be alone, yet going to social functions filled and still fills me with anxiety. Will there be babies? Will there be toddlers? Will my “friends” be able to talk about anything else than milestones and bedtime routines? Will I feel left out, once again, due to not conforming to social conventions due to no fault of my own? Will I be able to handle it? Will there be an escape route when I need it? So many questions. Being friends with people with children should not be this hard. We are after all, all people.
I find myself in a sea of silent darkness and unbeknown to me, there was a ray of light coming my way in the form of the unexpected. An acquaintance enters my life, someone I never truly confided in. To be quite honest I disliked her as she got pregnant so easily when we were doing IVF. Yet, there she stood, almost a stranger, giving me her hand. Then again, isn’t there a saying that says that friends are just strangers we haven’t met yet.
This “stranger” is kind, and compassionate, filled with love and understanding. I want to be her friend but she has a little toddler girl. No, I can’t do it, I say quietly to myself. I have to protect myself. Yet, something about her is different than my other so called friends. She doesn’t shove her daughter in my face, she is able to talk about things other than motherhood.
I envy her when I see her with her daughter living the life that I will never have. She envies the freedom I have due to not having kids but at the same time acknowledges how hard it must be for me.
Our friendship start to grow and so does my love for her daughter. My interactions with my new found friend and her child both pains me and in some way also heals me. I am struck by waves of grief when I see the experiences that I am missing out on, the good and the bad. Yet, I also get to receive the love from a child even though she is not mine. I am trusted with a child even though I am not a parent. I am seen as a responsible person with love to give, not as someone who isn’t good enough because she is not ‘normal’.
My confidence about being around children, although still lacking, grows as time goes on. My friend remaining by my side, always there.
We are sitting in the park, side by side. We have both been going through a rough time. I open up to her, and unload the struggles I have had due to being childless not by choice. She listens with compassion, and empathy. It is her turn, she shares her struggles of motherhood with me, in a way that is sensitive to my situation. I in turn listen with compassion and empathy to the best of my ability. There is mutual respect, an understanding. I have the ability to speak up if something is triggering.
It is in this moment that I realise that our lives are on opposite sides of one pole, we are living two very different lives, yet here we are, friends and not “friends”. The reason:
We are both just people with hopes, dreams, ideas and problems. We are both just people and we are more than our circumstances.
It is hard to make and be friends with people with children, and I still struggle with this, but this person has made a huge impact on my life and my healing journey. There are more people out there, just like her, and they may be few and far in between, but it is people like them who helps you swim in your sea of darkness until you can find the light, no matter how long it takes.
Photo by Brent Ninaber on Unsplash