Thursday, October 24, 2019

The Lasting Trauma of Infertility

When I started blogging I was very sure that the lines I was writing would be interesting only to women like me - childless women.  But during the last few years  I got quite some emails from readers who fought infertility, got a child but the trauma of infertility still affects them. So this article is for them (so that they see that they are not alone):

The Lasting Trauma of Infertility

I liked this part of the article:

"I recently came across a quotation by Vincent van Gogh, and it triggered something in me. “There may be a great fire in our soul, but no one ever comes to warm himself by it, all that passers-by can see is a little smoke,” van Gogh wrote, in an 1880 letter to his brother, Theo. The line haunted me for days; I was struck by this concept of the fire within. How many people do we pass every single day who are carrying around raging fires — who have a passion or a pain inside that is so great they can barely contain it? For me, and for thousands of other people, infertility is that raging fire."

But then I came to this part:

"We kind of know that cousin or aunt who loves kids, and we kind of see the sadness in her eyes at baby showers, but we don’t really know the depth of her pain. We see how our co-worker lights up whenever other people talk about their children, but we don’t really know why he and his wife never had any.  "

I agree - nobody (except the ones who went through the same infertility hell that left us childless) can truly understand the depth of our pain.  But the second part - about co-worker who lights up whenever people talk about their children - this is so very wrong. I have never ever met  another childless women who would light up when people talk about their children.

For me - listening to stories about children who are not part of my life is either hurtful or annoying or combination of both.

I am actually only interested in hearing the stories of children who belong to my life and who consider that I am part of their lives.

Sometimes I get a what's up message from my bloggie friend from Paris. She is very busy (and so am I) so we don't write to each other often. But sometimes she sends me few lines what her little girl told her about me and our time together. My heart just melts... I love that little girl so much!

And then there are my nieces and nephews and few other children... I am very interested in hearing about them.


  1. Wow. I was just reading that article - when I saw both you and Loribeth had linked to it - and got to that very sentence about the co-worker lighting up, and also thought, "WRONG!!!" And I stopped and thought - "I wonder what Klara has said about it?"

    There's also the implication that only people who show that they love children and "light up" at talk of children suffer after infertility. Argh. I know I should read the rest of the article - maybe when I'm not fuming!

    1. dear Mali, how lovely it is to start an early morning by reading your thoughts. I love your comment ... I could not agree more!

  2. Oh yes, I agree with you Klara, the sentence couldn't be more wrong. In my case it would rather be: "We see how our co-worker is bored and runs away whenever other people talk about their children" - except if I personally know the children and if they are part of my life, exactly like you.
    Sending hugs!

  3. The idea that my eyes would light up when a co-worker starts talking about their children is laughable. In the past, it was painful. Now it's just boring. In fact, I'm thinking about one woman in particular that I am required to meet with at work. I have given up on getting anything out of these meetings. They always end up with her talking about her carpool problems and other child-related things that I literally could not possibly care less about. Shrug...