The Dreaded Questions

Are you trying for children? How many children do you want? How many children do you have? When will you be having children?

The intention of these questions are often to invite conversation but such innocent questions can cause so much pain and heartache for those who have struggled with getting pregnant, the loss of a pregnancy, not being able to carry a child, and/or the death of a child, the flood of emotion that comes is overwhelming.

As we stare blankly back at the person, we may notice our chest clench, heat spreading through our body, or our heart racing. A flood of thoughts may pass through our minds. Do we count those precious pregnancies we lost? Do we share how many rounds of fertility treatments our body, mind and spirit have endured? Do we share our child’s name who has not survived? Do we include all our children we dream and hope for having every day? Instead of sharing the truth, why is it more often that we curl into ourselves with our painful experiences and hide them from the world. 

If your suffering and pain is new, you may need more time before being able to slowly open up to others. Be kind to yourself and give yourself the time and space to begin your process of healing. Towards the beginning of my painful journey, I felt that if I opened up, even just a little, all of my emotions would come pouring out. I was like an egg, so fragile and delicate. At times, if I cracked, just a little, I was able to hold myself together. But if I cracked too much the emotions would become overwhelming and spill everywhere. And so I protected myself, and when this question arose, I hid the truth from the outside world. I needed time and patience with myself to be able to allow the shell of my egg to soften and be able to hold together a bit more. As time went on, the questions never ceased but I noticed my desire to begin opening up my shell and sharing about my pain.

I wanted my pain to be acknowledged. I needed my pain to be heard. I knew my losses were real, but I needed others to acknowledge that they were real. To not be made to feel bad that I was suffering. Suffering is hard enough to experience day in and day out, I no longer wanted to feel the pressure to hide it. Slowly I began playing around with how I would answer the questions. For me, it felt safer to test out responses on strangers as I could simply walk away and never see them again.

Surprisingly the roles began to reverse as I began to share. I watched as others froze, not having a clue what to say. When they would say things that I felt were insensitive, I would become flooded with anger. What is wrong with them? Don’t they know I’m human? How could they be so cold? But every so often there would be someone who would simply say, “I’m so sorry” or ask more about my experience.

My heart hurt but with their acknowledgment of my suffering I felt better. I began having more compassion for the strangers, recognizing that before my losses, I don’t know if I would have said the right thing. As this compassion grew, so did my bravery in opening up to friends and family about my difficult journey. Slowly but surely I began speaking. Sharing little pieces of my experiences, what I felt comfortable with. And I found when someone responded in a positive way, I would share, with them, a little more.

I began coming out of my shell, allowing myself to be real with others. I began building the support system that I wanted and desperately needed.