I want to talk about the experience I had on Wednesday with my reflexologist. I shall call her Wren (*not her real name). She is an acquaintance of mine, very good friends with a lot of my friends, and I have seen her professionally twice before.
She came to know about my losses, and has offered me an opportunity to work with her as a case study for her new course in maternity reflexology. This entails me divulging my experiences so far; getting regular free treatment from her; and Wren consulting with her supervisors to design a course of treatment that will best suit me needs. I am thrilled at such a gift!
Wren has a gentle nature, a vibrant energy, seems to exude goodness from deep within her soul and is a pillar of the community. You would never catch her saying anything bad about anyone. She lives as though she has deep faith in something beyond her, but I have never asked her about this. Our session began rather awkwardly as neither of us quite knew how to begin. I started with my experience of TTC and she would stop and ask questions, or for more detail, and took notes as we went.
Of course, being a weeper, I began to cry quite early in the piece. That was no surprise. What did upset me most, however, was the shock of seeing Wren’s reaction to my anger. We had begun talking about my feelings around other people’s pregnancies, and how it had affected my friendships. I think it really threw her, the vehemence with which I was offloading all the angst over not being able to connect with most of my female friends on the level of motherhood. And that they were immersed in that role so far as to the exclusion of almost everything else. So that not only did our common links dwindle rapidly, but these women were continually distracted by their offspring and our encounters would be interrupted constantly. This gives me the shits, and I said so with vitriol.
As her eyes widened and her eyebrows raised, I could sense the sadness she felt for me, for feeling this way. I could almost see her heart sink. And as I watched her watch me I saw so much bitterness and hatred that it scared me. I don’t want to be like that. But as we talked around the topic some more, and she offered me alternatives to my reaction, I also felt like I didn’t want to change either. I didn’t want to do those other things, things that would mean I would have to let my defences down further, to open my heart more. And at the root of this I saw the fear I had was of pain.
To honestly open myself to the joy of other people’s children, and happiness for their blessing of the opportunity of motherhood, is to expose myself to the rawness of the deep longing, the lack, the loss. To immerse myself in the environment of motherhood and pregnancy, is to be made aware of my alienation, the hanging on at the fringe, of not really feeling part of the group. Of living the feeling of isolation, difference and absence of my own children at every moment. These feelings hurt. And I don’t want to feel them all the time because I can’t function under that level of constant pain.
But I also know enough about change to know that in order to do so, you must deal with the conflict. To grow, you must widen your comfort zone, which entails of course, going into the realms of discomfort.
Robert E. Quinn, in his excellent book ‘Deep Change’ calls this “Walking naked into the land of uncertainty.”
And I thank Wren for being brave enough to offer me alternatives that would challenge the boundaries of who I am and what I can deal with. So the second thing I felt bad about was rejecting them. Not because they were offered in good faith and generous spirit and here I was turning them down, but because even as I was saying “I can’t do that, I don’t know how much more pain I can take on board” I was hearing the subtext as “I don’t want to change if it means I have to look harder at myself and see things I don’t like. I don’t want to grow because I am scared to hurt. I don’t want to get past this bitterness because it is who I have become and I am comfortable with this identity.
And so, with a bit more soul searching I have come to realise that in some perverse way, a deep part of me is feeling this: I have lost so much and lack so much more, that all I do have is this prickly kernel of injustice. If I let go of that, I will have NOTHING LEFT.
All of this was going through my mind while a scowl etched itself into my tearstained face and I hunkered down into a defensive position. I couldn’t bring myself to disclose these thoughts to Wren. Though I think it will be helpful for our professional relationship if I do bring them up at the next session. Because I feel like having acknowledged this, I must now take the hard path. For to discover an opportunity to grow, and not to take it, I would see as weak. I would despise myself for not trying. At the core of my being is a need for perfection- to strive to find the most efficient way to achieve the greatest good in all things. Such cognitive dissonance this is creating for me- to take the pain of change in order to be true to my nature!
Wren wanted make the point that I stand a better chance of becoming a mother if I am open, around motherhood and babies, inviting of these maternal feelings, stirring up these hormones etc. I also believe this, but part of me feels resentful that I should have to open myself up to hurt in order to enjoy other people’s children and feel happy for them. Wren said gently “but you would be doing it for yourself, not for the mother, or even the child.” *insert sound of penny dropping here*.
I think I can take that sentiment and work with it. Perhaps that is my entry point into the dark space of unknown feelings and certain pain. I’m doing it for myself, for my own benefit.
So it seems as though at the moment, the greatest gift I can give myself is to empty my cup: let go of the kernel of injustice, reduce what I supposedly have left to ‘nothing’, and begin again, filling that space with something a little more positive. Some light, some love, some compassion, some joy. For me.
