Titty Gate

Trigger Warning

Infertility/miscarriage/child or infant loss

This one is really deep, devastatingly personal, and raw… but I wanted to share it because I know someone will read it and say me too, and I’ve scoured the internet to find something, someone who can say “me too” to me.

Childless Mother.

I have processed and accepted everything Breast Cancer has put in front of me… hair loss (it’ll grow back)… constant monitoring of my Health for the rest of my life (no problem)… physical changes to my body (I’ll manage)…

What has been the hardest part for me? The radical change in the vision of my life.

I’m not hurt or angry, I’m grieving. Grieving the life I may never have, the child I will never give birth to. The possibility of being a biological mother. I am trying to accept the fact that apparently I am not allowed to do what women are supposed to do: carry a child.

This is something engrained in us since birth, we are to be mothers. This is our sole function in life. It is a gift we are given, to grow and create life. Only women can do that. But not all of us. And because this is something that is so intrinsically understood we are meant to do, it feels like part of our identity. And when that is taken away… who are we?

I’ve struggled with this for a while now, pre cancer. I’m 41 years old, unmarried and no potential partner in sight with whom to have a child anyway. I get gut punched every time I have to answer the questions at the doctors office “do you have kids? Have you ever been pregnant?”. I’ve watched my friends panic through their 30’s about having children because it’s gotta be done before you’re 40 or you’re too old… I’ve gotten the sad stares when I tell people I don’t have kids and they know how old I am… I’ve felt a pang of insult every time someone my age has questioned their own age on having a child. I feel a knife in my heart when my mother tells me she’s too old now to help me even if I had a child, like I failed.

I didn’t have them sooner. I feel like a failure. I failed at this one task. The only one I’m supposed to do. I didn’t do it “on time” and now I may never do it at all.

There’s a lot of questions in the air around this, so many it makes my head spin. I froze my eggs just in case. I’ll need a surrogate. I’ll have to explain all this up front to anyone I date post-cancer treatment. I have to hopefully find someone to sign up for all of that. I don’t have someone waiting for me, no one has been holding my hand through cancer telling me it’s ok and we’ll worry about it when my treatment is done. That person doesn’t exist. So even if/when I find them, it’s not like this could happen immediately.

How long will it all take? How old will I be by then? Do I want to be an older mom? Do I want to give a child an older mom? One whose health is questionable. How long will I be here for them? Is that fair? Do I want to do it alone? No. I don’t. And the sad reality is, I couldn’t afford it alone.

I feel like something is missing and I have to grieve the idea it might always be missing. I can still hear the words of someone who was very close to me, “you don’t understand, you don’t have kids”. Like a knife in my heart pointing out my inadequacy. I see all these things about how you don’t know love until you become a mother. “You’re the only one who knows the sound of my heart from the inside”…no one will ever know the sound of my heart from the inside.

I am someone who seeks to understand and appreciate every human emotion and this one will evade me if I never become a mother. I will never understand.

I will never know what it is to try to get pregnant, anxiously awaiting, peeing on the stick, seeing it turn pink, sharing the news… there will be no cute pregnancy announcement, no gender reveal party, I will never feel my child growing inside me, feel it kick, have morning sickness, make jokes about peeing constantly, complain about my back, tell my birth story, have visitors in the hospital… it will all be methodically planned if it happens and someone else will experience my baby growing inside them. There will be no surprises as my baby will come through science… and that all depends on if the 15 eggs I froze are viable and become implantable embryos.

I can consider myself blessed in one way… I know. I will not, like so many women, spend countless years and endless money trying to get pregnant, suffering miscarriages, failed IVF attempts only to then have my dream taken away. So in that way I’m grateful. My heart breaks for the women who suffer, often silently, with infertility. At least I know upfront.

For some years now, I’ve felt extreme happiness and deep sadness when I see happy glowing pregnant women. It’s always been something I’ve been waiting for but now I know will never happen. And if I never get to be a mother through surrogacy, then I will remain part of the ones who will never glow, who will remain the same small shining light in the background at weddings and baby showers. I will always be the one who buys baby clothes for others so their kids would be dressed the same as mine could have dressed. I will live motherhood through others during the day and cry myself to sleep at night because I am not as blessed as they are. I will continue to be the only Christmas family picture card missing from my friends’ fridges. I will not sit on the sidelines of my child’s sports games, watch them in their performances at school, attend meet the teacher night, or watch them receive awards. I will not watch them grow into adults and hope I did a good job along the way.

My greatest treasure in life has been being Aunt Michele/Mimi and I love my nieces and nephews more than anything. But no matter how much I love them and they love me, I’m not their Mom. I may never be a Mom. And I’m really sad about that.

I know there’s other ways to be a mother. If surrogacy doesn’t work for me, I could adopt. Could I share motherhood? I could meet someone who has children already and be a bonus mom. Though I’ll always feel inferior to the ex who did the thing I cannot do. Carry his children. I could accept that I’ll always be the best auntie there is and know that my littles love me to pieces and be content with that.

I know and trust there is a reason for all things and this is just part of my journey. I know what is meant for me will find it’s way to me. That doesn’t mean I don’t grieve the picture I had of my life. This is the thing I cannot forgive cancer for taking away from me.

To all the childless mothers out there, me too. 💗