There’s nothing more invalidating than being unheard. Unseen. Invisible.
Especially by those closest to us.
How many of us can say, “Been There. Done That. Got the T-shirt” ?
That’s why two blog posts written by women living two completely different lives, but facing identical emotions resonated this week.
The first came from across the continent and the Atlantic Ocean. From deep in the heart of Slovenia, Klara wrote:
“….our friendship was seriously damaged because she did not know how to handle my infertility issues (her way of dealing [with] unpleasant issues: Let’s stay positive & do not even mention anything at all. If we do not talk about [it], it means everything is perfectly fine.).
“Why [is it] people do not get it? — which topics are safe area for somebody who has invisible scars? [A] few days ago I went for a long walk with another friend and my dog. We spent many beautiful hours together. This friend is single, childfree. She is single because she never met the love of her life. And I know she is a bit sad about it (she is two years older then me). Anyway, whenever I am with this friend, I am careful that I do not say something that might hurt her. Why can’t other friends do the same for me? “
Klara: I wish everyone was as kind and self-aware as you. What you’re asking for isn’t anything extreme. In fact, it’s really quite simple, you want only to have your life acknowledged. While you are willing to do this for another friend, clearly some people are unwilling or unable to oblige.
This point was made in greater detail by Esperanza — who, a day later and on the west coast of the U.S. (experiencing secondary infertility), confronted the anger and frustration felt by all who feel invisible in their infertility struggles:
“I’m frustrated that our culture only has room for the good news and hides the bad, because that kind of society only supports people when they don’t actually need support, leaving everyone else to struggle silently and alone.
“…I’m just trying to express how hard it is to be on the other side of that need to move on. How challenging it is to walk through the dark times all by yourself, pretending like everything is hunky dory when it’s not.
“…We go out of our way to celebrate pregnancy and child birth. And I’m not saying it’s wrong to do so, but I hate that it comes at such a high price to those who struggle to conceive or lose pregnancies or babies. I hate that it leaves those people all alone; makes their burdens even harder to bear.”
Esperanza: Your post speaks volumes about how ill-equipped society is to face up to any pain and suffering that doesn’t square with their own experience. Discomfort on the scale we’ve experienced forces people to confront the unthinkable — and rather than do so, they’d prefer to duck and run.
What struck me most about these two blog posts? They signify that, through a shared crucible, a bridge can be built between our unfamiliar worlds. While our lives may pull in different directions we inhabit common ground.
Regardless of the hand we’re dealt, it’s up to us, each and every day, to truly see and hear those around us.
dear Pamela,
I was just about to shut the computer and go to work when I noticed your newsletter in the inbox.
What a beautiful surprise to see your comments on my feelings.
How lovely it is to feel heard and understood.
Hugs!
What a profound post. Thank you for including my writing and helping me to see that I’m not alone. A very powerful message indeed.
Great post and so very true.
I love what you said at the end, and the image of a crucible.
I hear you both, Klara and Esperanza. Abiding with you both.
Thanks, Pamela, for this thought-provoking post.
So many things (all the things!) in here are so true. Society doesn’t want to hear any complaint graver than “they were out of my favorite muffins at the bakery this morning!” because we don’t know how to handle human suffering, and even as social media bring us “closer” to 1000+ friends, we actually find ourselves frighteningly distant from all those around us. Forget infertility – how would your favorite coworker react if you walked in and told him or her you’d just been diagnosed with cancer? The number one goal would be, “Get this person out of my office as quickly and seemingly-considerately as possible,” right? And then add the deeply personal nature of infertility and the fact that everyone who has babies desperately needs to believe they deserved them, and everyone who doesn’t yet desperately needs to believe that they will, and – nobody wants to hear it.
I have made the same lament about how I can edit out mention of my husband (and/or my marriage) around friends who are unhappily single, or divorced, but friends with children seem to have an impossible time editing out mention of their kids.
And then there are my former childless friends. One couple in particular. They’re both so sweet. And every time they see me, they say, “I want to hear all about your cabinets!” Sure, my cabinets are my hobby. They take up a lot of my time. And they’re objectively fascinating – EVERYONE should want to hear about them :). But the insincerity is so palpable. Yes, they really want me to answer the question. Yes, they really want me to feel that they’re interested in my life. That’s kind, and I should be happy about it – right? But before they adopted their baby, they didn’t have to WORK to strike up a conversation when they saw me. They didn’t have to pretend they were interested in things they weren’t. They didn’t have to patronize me.
I’ve been reflecting recently about how far I’ve come through toward the other side, and how much more out of this I feel (and how grateful I am for that). But it’s not all better. I’d rather spend an hour talking to other friends about teething than spend time with someone who patently feels sorry for me AND is afraid of me.
Lots of room for improvement, I guess :).
This is a lovely post, reminding us that what we have shared is so much more than what separates us.
So very true… our society is profoundly uncomfortable dealing with pain and anything considered too far out of the norm.
A little empathy can go a long, long way…
Dear Pamela,
I just had to send you a message. I found your book last night, after a really hard day, and I can’t tell you how much it meant to me. Thank you so much. Thank you SO MUCH. Rock on with your badass self.
JJ
Both posts highlight a big problem – a society that does not know how to deal with the less happy side of life. I’m not sure how new this problem is (seems to me there has always been at least a bit of isolation for those not happily following the crowd) but I sure hope we can make progress towards a better resolution.
Great timing, dealing with this from family just this week. I wish they would talk to me and not me hear about secret conversations about me. Family that hasn’t talked to me in years have such strong opinion about my life yet never once pick up the phone to see how I’m doing.
I don’t want pity, just acknowledgment!
This was a great post. Needed to be reminded that I’m not alone. Thanks
So agree that a heartfelt acknowledgement goes a long way…
So glad it helped ease your way…
Why can’t we celebrate life in all it’s wonders, ups and downs? I truly wish that it was as easy to talk about endings as well as beginnings. Because every time we humans experience pain it opens the door for new things. I wish with all my heart that my loss of 4 miscarriages and 2 failed PGD Ivfs could be talked about openly. In both ivfs we didn’t even make it to transfer. But at the same time I don’t want to be pitied because although I suffer in silence I know each day I’m getting a little stronger and will come out the other side with a beautiful life. I am more than this struggle. Big hugs to all.
Beautifully put, Angela. Sending you the same…