A Season of Alone

Once upon a time I was infertile. For years I struggled to find my place, my “tribe” if you will, and I did find it at last. I found support online, and I found it through a Support Group I helped start at my church. I felt scaffolded by the other women who were trudging through this valley with me.

Then I became a mom.

It was, of course, the greatest miracle and biggest honor of my life–to at last experience motherhood. I had prayed and yearned and begged for this for so long that the awesomeness was definitely not lost on me.

But while I had the child I had dreamed of, I suddenly felt completely and utterly lost.

One of the most difficult parts of my journey into motherhood was that I felt abandoned by both groups of women—both the infertile women I had walked with for so long, and the mothers whose ranks I had finally joined. The operative word here is felt—I was not abandoned so much as I felt I did not belong in either group.

The groups of childless women who had supported me through my barrenness still loved me, of course, but they were unable to join me on my new path. I knew how they felt because I had been there before. I had watched friend after friend enter the sea of motherhood, and I was unable to get in the boat with any of them. Details about pregnancy and childbirth, and complaints about poopy diapers are painful when you’re facing infertility.

But the hardest thing to me was the sense that a few of the mothers didn’t quite seem to want me in their group either. Oh, they never said so directly of course, but I quickly realized that they were measuring me with a different stick. If I complained about morning sickness . . . If I lamented the loss of my personal time . . . If I struggled through a day sleep-deprived . . . I felt (and actually heard some of them tell me) that I shouldn’t be complaining. I’d wanted this miracle. Now I had this miracle. How dare I express frustration or spout off about a hard day?

This left me feeling alone. I know that not every woman felt this way about me, and not every woman treated me this way. I had many women welcome me to their MOPS groups and playdates readily. However, you only need to feel that way once to fear it. I decided that I wouldn’t share anything that was not positive and chirpy and upbeat. I pretended everything was completely okay.

And I pretended my way right into a sea of postpartum depression.

Here’s the truth, fellow women. It may not be infertility. It may not be motherhood. But chances are you find yourself hurt by other women. You find yourself feeling abandoned and alone. It may be purposeful. But it may also simply be circumstantial, as it was with me. It may be a move to a new city that has left you feeling like an island. It may be a new job. It may be a new season of life. Maybe your last child has graduated and you are suddenly an empty nester. Perhaps you’re good friends with a group of runners, and now you are injured and no longer able to participate. Maybe your husband has been transferred to a new town, and the women in your last town have gone on without you.

You get the idea.

In my case it didn’t stop with infertility. After ten moves in twenty years through our life in the military, my family has settled into a new home on a farm, way out in the country. I’ve said good-bye to so many groups of women over the years, and it never got easier. But this last move was particularly challenging because I was not scooped up into a military community. We are civilians now. I am out on my own. And I am out on our farm, removed from the bustling towns and cities to which I was accustomed.

Suddenly those military women with whom I had been included for so long were moving on without me. And the new women I was meeting had their own lives and their own routines and existing relationships.

The examples are endless.

The feelings are not.

I want to offer you three suggestions during a season of alone:

1. Reach OUT. Seek others. Do not give up. Keep trying. Volunteer. Offer. Keep trying!
2. Reach IN. Turn to the Lord. Tell him how you feel. Commit this empty season in your life to him.
3. Be REAL. Don’t pretend you are okay. Tell people how you feel. Express how you are doing. Share.

In my case, during this new season on the farm, I have decided to seek community by inviting old friends and family to visit. We decided to take in farm volunteers, young adults with whom we could share our life and faith. I have also saved the money I would have normally used having weekly girlfriend outings and picked a place to fly to every few months in order to reconnect with the women who have meant so much to me in past seasons.

I encourage you to not give up. Look for a way to find other women like you, and make the most of your season.

Because it is a season.

And joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30

Wendi Kitsteiner is a former city girl now living on a farm in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee with her husband and four young children. She is passionate about the causes of infertility, adoption, and keeping it real as a mom. You can follow her at flakymn.blogspot.com or becauseofisaac.org.

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