I follow @iwassupposedtohaveababy on Instagram, even though, B'H, that is not my concern. But I feel a vague sort of kinship to women who waited years for something that others seemed to have attained with ease.
(Disclaimer: I am in no way comparing my situation to that for those struggling with infertility.)
I did a little googling on the creator of the account, who expresses raw emotion at times, even posting reels of herself crying. So I was surprised to learn that she had, B'H, overcome her infertility struggles and B'H has a bouncing family.
Initially, I was confused—if she has her children, why does she still carry such sadness?
But then I remembered:
"All's well that ends well" isn't quite true. You read this blog, hearing me still complain about my single years, how I was treated, how much it hurt, and maybe some of you wonder, "She's married now, she has kids, maybe she should let it go"?
It's not so easy to let go of pain.
I was once venting to my sister about relatives who live in a bustling, interconnected community, and how they had never attempted to set me up, even though they had tried for other people.
She said, puzzled, "But you're married now. To Han. Who isn't even from their area. So it all worked out anyway."
"That's not the point. When I was in it, when I was desperate for a suggestion, when the phone wasn't ringing . . . it hurt when they would gush about a shidduch they were trying for someone else, and not for me. Never for me."
When I see the people who insulted me in the past, it's hard to get over what they thought of me then. Do they find me acceptable now that I'm married? Maybe. Well, I don't care, and would prefer not to interact with you, buh-byeeeeee.
For those who have experienced pregnancy loss, people (including me) can mistakenly believe that with the arrival of other children, the previous ones were simply "replaced." But she lost a child. The child may not have been viable, the child may never have drawn breath, but that child was still loved, cherished . . . and lost. Those children cannot be replaced, anymore than my mother could be replaced with a stepmother. People are not interchangeable.
I hear you. I was set up on, I think, two shidduch dates, and nearly set up on another three that fell through for one reason or another. I did wonder why I was set up on so few. Was I too quiet and shy to be noticed? Did the people I knew just not know any single women my age? Or were people making a conscious decision not to set me up because they thought I was socially or religiously "wrong"? I will never know, and it's probably better that way. "To those who curse me, let my soul be silent."
ReplyDeleteI am a follower of Aimee as well - and while bh that is not my concern (bli ayin hara) it resonated with me, even before I was married. She’s currently having a series on circumstantial infertility - which is somewhat what I viewed myself before I got married (which likewise, agree it’s not the same as biological but pain is still pain)
ReplyDeleteDS: I'm trying to be silent, but as you can see, I'm failing miserably.
ReplyDeleteChavie: Right, because marrying "late" leads into circumstantial infertility. I was worried too, in those years, calculating how many kids I could have before the door closes. Then I would worry that I had something wrong with me that would prevent children, so yeah, lots of anxiety then.