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| Lady Ultrasound says, "Screw off, unicorn" |
Every step of the way in my infertility/fertility journey*, well-meaning people have exhorted me to think positively.
- "Go home and take care of yourself!"
- "Nourish your body so a baby can come into it!"
- "You might have a miracle!"
- "Have faith in God!" (and oh, that one's a doozy)
And guess what happened?
MY BODY DOESN'T MAKE GOOD EGGS.
Of course, I don't mean to offend those who use the language of "thinking positive." I'm sure positivity works for them in their worldview regarding their fertility. And I know positivity would work for me in all the other areas of my life in which I'm languishing/suffering/dying (career, weight, overall sense of self, etc.). I know it would. I'm not trying to be glib. Perhaps I'm too wounded to accept grace. Or to expect it, more rightly.
But what I want to say-- what I want to pronounce about the philosophical bent of my too-bent spirit-- is that in certain ways, "thinking positive" is damaging. To me, anyway. It's damaging. Here's why.
Every time someone tells an infertile woman to think positively, it is subtly arguing that her fertility (or lack thereof) is somehow a function of her mental state, which she can control. So it establishes causality between the woman's actions or very being and her inability to conceive. And in this way, it blames her. To essentially suggest that the reason my body wasn't creating a baby was in some way my fault, my doing, able to be fixed by my right thinking, was a kind of injustice. Yes, I say injustice.
Because my babies didn't die because I didn't think positively. And I didn't fail to conceive because I failed to think positively. My thinking didn't kill my babies. My thinking didn't prevent children from being born. If there's anyone to blame for that, it must be God, and there will be a reckoning between Him and me at some point.
I have a friend who suffered herself for a time, but who was able to conceive her child after a year of trying and who now has her Happy Wonderful Life with her little boy. And she told me with a tone verging on the sanctimonious, "I know it's going to happen for you. I feel it."
How dare you.
My sister-in-law has conceived twice easily, and she lives a very crunchy/hippie/New Age life. She froze her placenta. She had home births in the tub. And she told me once, "The body is meant to conceive; it's the natural thing. Nature takes care of everything."
How dare you.
All these platitudes, all these well-meaning comments-- they always seem to be uttered from on high, by women standing as it were on a far cliff of joy. These comments twist like a knife. They cut. They burn. They maim.
And they sear my open wounds.
* I don't even know what it is anymore. The jury's still out; the final page hasn't been written.
Every time someone tells an infertile woman to think positively, it is subtly arguing that her fertility (or lack thereof) is somehow a function of her mental state, which she can control. So it establishes causality between the woman's actions or very being and her inability to conceive. And in this way, it blames her. To essentially suggest that the reason my body wasn't creating a baby was in some way my fault, my doing, able to be fixed by my right thinking, was a kind of injustice. Yes, I say injustice.
Because my babies didn't die because I didn't think positively. And I didn't fail to conceive because I failed to think positively. My thinking didn't kill my babies. My thinking didn't prevent children from being born. If there's anyone to blame for that, it must be God, and there will be a reckoning between Him and me at some point.
I have a friend who suffered herself for a time, but who was able to conceive her child after a year of trying and who now has her Happy Wonderful Life with her little boy. And she told me with a tone verging on the sanctimonious, "I know it's going to happen for you. I feel it."
How dare you.
My sister-in-law has conceived twice easily, and she lives a very crunchy/hippie/New Age life. She froze her placenta. She had home births in the tub. And she told me once, "The body is meant to conceive; it's the natural thing. Nature takes care of everything."
How dare you.
All these platitudes, all these well-meaning comments-- they always seem to be uttered from on high, by women standing as it were on a far cliff of joy. These comments twist like a knife. They cut. They burn. They maim.
And they sear my open wounds.
* I don't even know what it is anymore. The jury's still out; the final page hasn't been written.
