Motherhood journeys from the Dochas team

This month has brought us all the feels. With May being Women’s Health Month, and celebrations happening for all the Moms out there on Mother’s Day, we felt inspired to come together and share something in support of the untraditional, and sometimes heartbreaking journeys of motherhood. Infertility, miscarriage, adoption, the choice to not walk the path of motherhood: we see you all. 

What is better to share than our own stories, right? Three amazing women are sharing their motherhood struggles on the blog today: Dochas owner and Psychologist Kim Long, Dochas team member Lindsey, and our special guest blog writer and owner of Fesyk Marketing, Elissa Fesyk. Three different stories, one strong connection. 

Kim’s Story

My story is a bit different than you might expect. I didn’t go through the heartbreak of a miscarriage, I didn’t struggle with an overwhelming desire to have a child. I accepted the idea of not having kids. And because of this, I’ve struggled with having to over-explain that choice.

When I married (my now ex) husband, the topic of having kids wasn’t at the very top of our priority list. We talked about it and it was something we both wanted in the future, but we weren’t in a rush. We immediately told our parents to not bombard us with questions about when we were going to begin trying. We wanted to enjoy being married first! I mean, is that too much to ask? 

Because we had set up this mutual understanding that no one would ask us about having kids, when we started to have problems conceiving, no one knew. It was a really private thing for us. Even as I write these words, I feel anxiety because I’ve never opened up about my struggles with motherhood. I always joke it off. “I’m not facing the trauma of childbirth!” “I was a teacher. You think there’s a name on this planet that isn’t already tainted?” I always have a witty response to why I don’t want kids in an effort to keep things light.

We were married for about 5 years when we started trying, and nothing was happening. After some time had passed we decided to explore the possible reasons we weren’t conceiving. We were prepared for there to be health issues that were preventing us from conceiving. I mean, I wasn’t in my 20’s anymore and I was no stranger to the favouritism society (and biology) showed to young mothers. We talked about IVF and ultimately decided not to go that route because of the high costs, and the side effects and trauma it would cause to my body.

I was then faced with an important medical decision. My doctor recommended that I start to take a certain medication for a skin issue I was having. In the same breath, my doctor told me if I plan to have kids I shouldn’t take the medication. This medication would affect my chances of conceiving for at least a couple of years. I wasn’t getting any younger, so it was a now or never moment. I was out of time. 

So we talked about our (very limited) options. My ex husband was really happy with where our life was at the time. His mindset was “If we have kids one day, great. If not, we’ll continue to enjoy our life just as it is.” His easy-going mindset gave me an easy out. I was already scared about the idea of having children because to be totally honest, I thought I’d be a shitty mom. I wouldn’t know how to bring a child up in this world, I wouldn’t know how to keep them safe. How could I put aside my own problems and give 100% of myself to a child? So I agreed with him. I accepted that we weren’t going to have kids. I was content with my decision not to become a mother, but I was also really sad. It was a weird contradiction. Even though deep down I was sure I made the right choice, there was still an ache in my heart. 

I can’t say the people around me were supportive. They thought of me as selfish, as someone who valued her career more than motherhood. I was seen as emotionally defective because I didn’t want it badly enough. Who doesn’t want to have kids? They must be unwell! There’s this huge disconnect between women who long to be a mother and women who don’t.

To me, my decision to not have kids was selfless. But to explain that to people feels impossible. So instead, I lean into the assumptions that I value my career too much, and that it was an easy decision for me not to have kids. It’s easier to joke it all off than to try and explain my decision not to have children to a world that is full of judgement. 

Lindsey’s Story

I come from a family of three siblings, my husband comes from a family of three siblings, so when I had my first daughter it was a given that I was going to try for another! But my journey didn’t look like I had always imagined it would. My husband came into my life when my daughter from a previous situation was two. I knew I wanted to give her a sibling, and having kids was important to my husband, too. 

So we started trying right away. To my surprise, five years passed and we still couldn’t get pregnant. I didn’t understand why. I had no trouble getting pregnant with my first daughter, so I thought my husband should get checked out for any health issues. Those conversations aren’t fun! He was supportive, and he was more than happy to make a doctors appointment, but how do you tell your husband that he might be the problem? I knew that I didn’t blame him, but I wanted him to know that I didn’t blame him. The unknown was the hardest part of all of it. I hated that we didn’t have answers as to why I couldn’t get pregnant. Month after month, nothing. Not even a miscarriage. I know, that sounds odd to say. But all I wanted was a sign – a sign that at the very least, we could conceive a baby together. 

We went to the doctor, he did all the tests he needed to do, and so did I. The doctor told us he would help us get pregnant anyway he could. Again, to my surprise, I found out that I had a blockage in my left fallopian tube, and because of the blockage my body ovulated month after month only on that side. This was devastating news. Years had passed where I thought my body was working like it was supposed to. And very quickly I started to feel the blame I’m sure my husband felt in the beginning.

I had a procedure to remove the blockage, but was told that I only had one ovary to ovulate with. To say the hope we had in the beginning quickly diminished is an understatement. The team of doctors told us that our chances of conceiving after my procedure was slim and that we should consider other options. What other options? When you’re already a mother and you dream of having a second child, you don’t think about other options. IVF came up, and we had to swallow a difficult pill and accept that it wouldn’t be feasible for us. We couldn’t afford it. And let me tell you, having to associate the pregnancy you so badly want with a price tag is defeating. After we left that fertility appointment I felt like a failure, and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. I felt like my husband deserved to be with someone who could give him a child. He reassured me that if it was just the three of us, we’d cherish that. 

That was on October 30th 2012, and three months later we found out we were pregnant. We prayed for our daughter, and we finally got her. After all we’ve been through, we lean on knowing that she was meant to be – and that makes all the heartache and pain worth it. 

Elissa’s Story

The short story? In 2011 my husband and I had a surprise baby. We weren’t trying, we weren’t not trying, but we were pleasantly surprised. When our son turned two, we thought it was a good time to try for our second. The years went on, and I had many, many miscarriages. Flash to today, our son is now 10 and we have a dog! 

I’ve never really thought much about the long story. I mean, I’ve thought about it in my own head, but I haven’t articulated it to others all that much. My struggle to conceive a second child along with the miscarriages I experienced feel like a part of my life that I’ve now accepted. But going back to that time, saying it was hard was an understatement. The pressure that comes with motherhood is overwhelming, even more so when you have a son who is two and strangers are asking you “When are you going to have another one?” “Don’t you want him to have a sibling?” There’s an expectation that because you have one, you should have another. 

My doctor basically told me that I was old (well, that my eggs were old), and my chances of having another baby were slim. We all know this. The woman who is over 35 has passed her “prime time” so it shouldn’t be a shock right? Still, I felt ignored. My desire to have another baby is just as important as the 25 year old sitting next to me in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. But still, they said they’d help me anyway they could.

So I went to appointment after appointment, looking for someone to give me the green light to go conceive my baby. I learned I had chronic BV and was told it wasn’t an issue for fertility. I listened to them. I trusted that my doctors knew best. 

The first time I got pregnant after having my son was so exciting. We told everyone, because why would we wait 12 weeks to share this news? I ended up losing the baby quite early on, and because of this, I didn’t feel much of an attachment to being pregnant. I think the minimal attachment actually gave me the ability to keep trying month after month. I had multiple miscarriages, and I carried to 12 weeks before miscarrying my last ever pregnancy. This miscarriage was the hardest – for a few reasons. At this point in my life I felt like my family was settling down. We had travelled to so many different places, and finally moved to Edmonton where we found our long term home. It felt like a meant-to-be-baby. When we found out I was miscarrying this far along, we had some serious decisions to make. To have a DNC at the hospital, get referred to the abortion clinic, or to have the baby at home and miscarry naturally. 

This wasn’t a decision I ever thought I’d have to make, and to top it off, I felt really lost on what the best option was. The doctors had one opinion, society had another, and I didn’t quite know where mine fit within those. I didn’t want to experience the trauma of going through labour to not have my baby, I didn’t want to be induced and wait it out in a hospital bed. I wanted it to be over. Working through these logistics in the midst of all my grief was the hardest part of it all. 

Experiencing a miscarriage is hard for everyone involved. It’s hard to open up to people about it, and when you do, they don’t know what to say. But I think everyone did the best they could, the only way they knew how. There’s an episode from Sex and the City where Carrie tells her friend that she had an abortion. Her friend asks her “How long did it take you to get over it?” and Carrie says “Any day now!” That’s how I feel. Even though my experiences with miscarriage feel like a part of my story, and maybe a part of me feels like what was meant to happen happened, I still think about it every day. 

My one wish is that I had let myself sit with my emotions when I was going through it. I shrugged it off in a sense – we already had a baby, we were lucky. We would be fine without another one. That was true, but the fact that I had suffered multiple losses was also true. 

Motherhood looks different for everyone

Whatever your journey, whether it led you to motherhood or not, whether voluntary or involuntary, your story is your story. No one can take that away from you. We don’t know anyone’s story. We don’t know what someone has gone through, or the reasons for the choices they make. As women, we need to come together and support each other no matter how different our stories look. Compassion is a really great thing! 

If you have a story to share, or if you connected with a story in this blog, let us know in the comments below! Help us spread the love and share this blog with someone who needs to hear it. 

About Dochas Psychological

Dochas Psychological Services is a well-established and trusted therapy clinic located in Spruce Grove, Alberta. At Dochas we value the idea that everyone deserves a safe space. Through connection and education, our team works hard to build a trustworthy relationship with each of our clients. It is our goal to create a community for our clients to feel like they belong.

Disclaimer

Information provided through Dochas Psychological Services blogs or vlogs are meant for educational purposes only. They are NOT medical or mental health advice. You can read more about our disclaimer here.