My cracked and bruised heart

by Andy Harrod

It was after the second IVF. Hopes for a successful IVF were diminished, haunted by the miscarriage of the first round and the sense it was a last roll of the dice. I no longer saw the 34% success rate, I saw the 66% unsuccessful rate. They don’t tell you that. The hope is falsified not only by desire, but also the selection of statistics. Needless to say, the second round was unsuccessful.

I remember saying it was over. Trying to convince myself this was it; time to move on from trying for a baby, to having children to love and nurture, to watching them become who they wanted to be. But it wasn’t over, it was only just beginning. My emotions were raw, my heart cracked and bruised. Some months later in our garden I came across some decaying leaves, all that remained was a framework of veins. I saw my heart. I photographed the leaves and put them in a drawer. Sometime later I brought some paints and a cork board to produce some art to represent an aspect of my grief. Three years later I created my cracked and bruised heart.

These gaps in time highlight my slow process of grieving, my avoidance and my required readiness, as well as the need to just function everyday. That need was to appear normal, to be part of society – I felt such an outsider by not being a Dad and I didn’t want to increase my feelings of shame and loneliness by further removing myself from society in order to create the space I needed to grieve. I had to continue working. I had to be a man, at least in this way. That need overrode my greater need to grieve, to process our losses from miscarriages and the loss of my/our hopes and dreams. By functioning I neglected myself. My heart continued to crack and bruise. It certainly wasn’t over.

Then my work situation changed, and I started a PhD, which was for me and I realised as I studied that I was fragmented, shrivelled and lost. That both the PhD and me could be so much more. I saw, at last, that I needed to grieve. So, I slowed down and I began my grief work, which includes this expression of how my heart feels to me. A representation of the strain of years of trying for the impossible, the bruising of repeated traumas, not only from our losses, but also from it appearing so easy for ‘everyone’ else, from the endless adverts, car signs, family friendly events, the bumps, prams and conversations. There was no escape, they told me loudly I was not part of this club, and with the witnessing of each event there was another blow to my heart, another crack appeared. On top of this, was my harsh treatment of myself. I didn’t hold my heart with compassion and care, instead I hit it even harder by telling myself I was to blame, for I had let my wife down and that I was a failure by not being a Dad, by not being a Man. I ignored that we were told it was unexplained infertility, instead I saw the what ifs. I kept hurting my heart.

After last World Childless Week I registered a domain name, (in)visiblechildlessness. For a year I did nothing, now I am building the website. (In)visible Childlessness is a place for the expression of what it feels to be childless not by choice, a place to make the grief visible, to develop the community’s voice. Once the website is complete, I will be accepting submissions, art, film, music, photography, writing – any capturing of the aspects of being childless. I am especially keen to hear from men, as we don’t talk enough, if at all, but it is a place for all voices. I hope it to be a safe place where grief and the griever can belong and connect via the acceptance of the grief and the bumpy process of that grief. As well as through allowing submissions to be anonymous. Which is important as it will also be public, to raise awareness, to improve the conversation and to make the invisible visible. It is a place for cracked and bruised hearts. 

Andy is a writer, PhD student and person-centred therapist. He is making his way through his grief with the love of his wife and two black cats. Find out more at Decoding Static or if you like to submit to (In)visible Childlessness you can contact him @AndyHarrod79 or via email.