“When are you going to have kids?”
I hear this very often. Being almost 38 and childless, I sometimes feel like the target for this question. I feel like I have a sign on my forehead that attracts this question. I try to smile though it’s usually a struggle. I try to fight against the slow ache that begins in my chest and slowly spreads throughout my body. How do you explain that your body doesn’t seem to have the ability? How do you explain that even if you could get pregnant that your hormones or immune system might not let you remain so?
It’s a complicated answer to a question that should be simple for most people.
I knew from an early age at around 15 that children might not be physically possible.
It did not make accepting it any easier. I was told time after time that doctors know what they know but God is in control. What we don’t usually like to accept about the path of your life is that sometimes it’s not what you would like. Children die, bad things happen, and we may never understand why, but God knows. He knows why.
It’s a hard thing being a woman that’s infertile. People don’t normally think about what is endured. To have a body that is made to carry and bring forth life and not have the ability to is a constant sadness. It’s looking into your husband’s eyes and knowing you might never give him a child with those same eyes or his dark curls or his dimples. It’s watching people you know and love have children while you are unable. You love them and you love those precious babies, but at the same time, it hurts. It’s hard to go to birthday parties or showers when you’re the only childless woman there. There’s talk and planning of children, and you feel the pain of knowing you may never do that.
It’s listening to someone complain about lack of sleep or changing diapers when you know you’d give anything to experience that. Gladly.
I’ve made peace with God, with myself. Peace does not always remove the ache. Living as an infertile woman in a fertile world is a heavy burden to bear.
Tony swears that if we never have a biological child that he doesn’t mind, that he’s fine with it. It’s just hard to realize that if he’d have picked someone else to be his lifemate that he could have children and could have already had them by now.
People don’t realize what I’ve dealt with and what women like me deal with every single day of our lives. I’ve thought long and hard about what steps people that love us could take to help.
- Try to understand.
Look at your child. Imagine your life without that child. Imagine your life without the joy that child brings you everyday. We long for that child. Our wombs are empty, barren space that are coupled with empty arms. That can be so painful and be a hard thing to live with.
2. Don’t make jokes.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve mentioned craving something or feeling nauseated and the first question I’ve been asked was, “Are you pregnant?” I understand it’s a joke, but it can wreck a good mood in no time. It’s not funny to the infertile, and we don’t appreciate it.
3. Don’t mind when we don’t come to parties/showers.
We love you. We love your kids. It’s just very difficult being the childless one. It brings about the dreaded “When’s it your turn?” question and puts into focus the fact that one of the little people running around should be ours or that we’d like a shower to welcome that baby we’re supposed to carry.
4. It causes depression.
Not being able to do the one thing you feel like you’re made to can be devastating. Sometimes we want to be alone. Sometimes we’ll be depressed. Sometimes we can’t bring about a smile no matter how bad we want to. Unless you feel we may endanger ourselves, leave us be. It’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to need time to deal with our emotions.
It doesn’t mean that we’re not ok. It just means that we need time.
5. Be there if we need you.
I deal with things better on my own. Sometimes I find myself needing to talk. Let us vent. Let us be angry at the universe for how things are. If we need to talk, let us. If we want quiet, let us know you’re there if needed.
The heartache is like the weather. Sunny days will happen. We will smile, laugh, and experience joy. There will be days with gray skies where our moods will be gloomy and sadness will close in, and there will be storms. There will be tears and rage like thunder. Our bodies will tremble with the ache of it. It’s a depth of pain that is only known by those who have experienced it. When the storm is over and the tears dry, we just have to wait for the sun to return. Please be patient with us and love us through it.
It won’t be easy. It won’t be pretty. It will be hard on all fronts, for us to experience and for our loved ones to watch. Life is like that.
Just try to understand, listen, and love.
Kacie Jones 