Friendship

Its international friendship day, and it would strange for us not to mark this, as without it Anotherhood would not exist.

If you have read through our website, you will know that Kadi and I met through an email from a mutual contact.  We were both looking for someone to talk to about being infertile, and feeling like we had no-one who truly got it in our lives.

All of a sudden we had each other and someone who got it, someone we didn’t have to explain ourselves, we had someone who got the sub text and someone who we really valued in a part of our every day life.

What seems crazy to us is that we are so far apart, one massive ocean divides us, Los Angels to Scotland. It did not stop us forming a friendship of immeasurable depth.

After many emails, WhatsApp chats and video calls we knew we had to create Anotherhood, a place for women without children.  We wanted to celebrate our lives, your lives and how we are valued and play a important role in this world. We wanted to add more voices to the conversation and to share more stories, to help eliminate the feelings of isolation that can be felt through being a women without children whether through biology, circumstance or choice.

So here we are today, 7 months down the road, and we have shared 21 stories, with many to more to come, all from that one e-mail back in 2017!

One topic we often circle back around to, is one of friendship, but not ours, but the ones we have surrounding us. We were delighted to be invited to take part in a webinar with  Katy Sepi from Chasing Creation focusing on the theme of friendship.

We cover many aspects on here, to our friendship, friendships with pals who have children and how to make new connections and friends that share your passions and you can go on adventures with.

Check it out here. 

We are truly grateful that we met, that the universe did its thing.  We can not wait to meet again. Top on our list of things to do are: go surfing, to go mountain biking and just sit, hang out and chat away to our hearts content.

 

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Guest blog: Bitter

by Brigid May

June 2020

 

Bitter

/ˈbidər/

adjective

adjective: bitter; comparative adjective: bitterer; superlative adjective: bitterest

  1. having a sharp, pungent taste or smell; not sweet.

“the raw berries have an intensely bitter flavour”

2.  (of people or their feelings or behaviour) angry, hurt, or resentful because of one’s bad experiences or a sense of unjust treatment.

3. (often used for emphasis) painful or unpleasant to accept or contemplate.

“today’s decision has come as a bitter blow”

4. (of wind, cold, or weather) intensely cold.

“a bitter wind blowing from the east”

 

My name is Brigid Maire. Brigid is an Irish name that means, “strength.” Maire is the Irish form of Mary, which means, “bitter.” I like to think I’m like a good black tea! Strong and bitter! But maybe that’s just how I like my tea…

I sometimes think I’ve been strongly bitter since I was a baby. My mom likes to fondly tell the story of when she was at the grocery store with me as a baby. A woman told my mother, “What a cute baby!” Without missing a beat, my mother says, I slowly turned my head and scowled at her. “Oh, it’s a mean baby,” she laughed.

I was the youngest of five girls, I was constantly bitter about some injustice. My sisters always had something I didn’t. Why did the oldest always get the front seat? That meant I wouldn’t get the front seat until it no longer mattered! I was required to go to every play, game, and graduation for my sisters. By the time I was in plays and games, they were off living their lives. Even when they were nice to me, I was bitter, thinking, “Why are you being nice to me?!”

Bitterness isn’t appreciated. Why would it be? Bitterness is “unpleasant.” It’s uncomfortable, unattractive, un-ladylike.

But bitterness is also a helpful tool. It teaches you to get angry instead of sad. When my college boyfriend broke up with me for another girl, I told him he “would regret the day” he let me go. I was bitter. How dare he!? My sister was shocked. “How are you so confident?” Because for some, if a guy broke up with them, they’d think, “What’s wrong with me?” But my bitterness told me to think, “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Eventually, I came to terms with my bitterness. It was a part of my personality that for the most part I, and my family and friends, could ignore. If I got started on a rant, I’d eventually take a breath and apologize. People just came to know me for rolling my eyes and getting angry. It was never acknowledged to be an asset, but it didn’t stop people from loving me either.

 

I was raised to believe that having children was my life purpose. My parents told me that having children “teaches you true selflessness.” My dad said my mom was never more beautiful than “when she was pregnant.” As soon as the talk shifted from who we were marrying, it shifted right onto having children. How many you planned to have, when you planned to have them, what did you plan for the nursery, the names, the schools, etc.

So, I got married (to a wonderful man, by the way, who turns my bitterness into delicious cocktail bitters) and we planned our future. Three kids. Of course, three kids! Two is too few! One is just sad! Four is craziness. Three kids. I’d like all girls. I’ll accept a boy, but I’d really like all girls. We can only agree on girls’ names anyway. We should try at this month in this year so it can coincide with my summers at work and my workload in my graduate program. We’ll buy this house, but maybe we need to upgrade when we pop out all these kids we’re going to have.

My family would laugh! “Just because you planned that, you’re going to have all boys.” “You can’t plan when you get pregnant.” “What if it doesn’t go according to your plan?”

“What if it doesn’t go according to your plan?”

Their comments made me bitter. So, you guys get to plan your futures, and teach me to plan mine, but as soon as I voice my plans you laugh at them!?  I’ll show you!

But I couldn’t show them. I couldn’t get pregnant. Ohhhh, and that made me…. Even bitterer.

 

WHY could I not get pregnant? Everyone else could get pregnant. My period was regular. I was a healthy weight. I had cut back on alcohol. I had even started taking daily prenatals that made me feel constantly nauseous, so then I’d think to myself “I’m pregnant,” but boy, was I not.

My sisters got pregnant, one after another. My dad once joked to me, “Here comes your sister who gave me grandchildren.” He didn’t know at the time it wasn’t going to happen for me. My family never considered it wouldn’t happen for me.

I tried for a year listening to people say, “Just relax,” “Just have a lot of sex,” “My friend used this ovulation app and was pregnant within a month, “You’re going on a fun trip? Oh, you’re definitely gonna get pregnant there.” But I didn’t get pregnant. I would cry bitter, bitter tears asking God, asking anyone, “WHY can’t I get pregnant?” It made me so fucking bitter.

 

And again, the good thing about bitterness, is it prefers anger to sadness. “Why can’t I get pregnant?” turned into, “Why is it so important that I get pregnant?” “What’s wrong with my body?” turned into, “My body is great! Why is there a pressure for me to make my body do something it’s not doing?”

I leaned very hard into my bitterness. I saw the Childfree community having drinks on their patios in the dappled sunlight and I wanted to join them. I didn’t want to join mothers with their children and the breastfeeding and the labor and the tired, hard nights that don’t look like one iota of fun. Yuck! I wanted to bask in the childfree sun with my amazing husband and our beautiful dogs.

I tried my luck in that club. Babies? Ew! Not for me! Granted… I tried really hard to have a baby, because I do feel pressure from my family to procreate, and I do think having a child would be fun for like 20% of the time, and I do wonder which features in my child would be from my husband and which from me, and I do enjoy working with preschoolers and the joy and frustration that comes from the beauty of childhood. But I also really like not being a parent and the choice wasn’t really up to me and I don’t want a child living in my home! *catching my breath* Please let me in your club!

 

Of course, they let me in their club. Just like mothers would let me in their club if I had asked. But the childfree by choice didn’t truly understand my grief and the mothers didn’t truly understand my happiness. And that made me… bitter.

So, I sat with it for a long time. I read all the philosophy books I could. I read books on a childfree life, on infertility, on the pressures of motherhood and the female identity. I constantly evaluated where my bitterness was stemming from, whether I was hurting people with my bitterness, or whether they needed a good dose of bitterness to be a little more sensitive. And I’m still working on this.

 

“What’s my point?” I ask as I near the end of another long rant…

I guess my point is: I’m bitter. I’m bitter about things from my childhood. I’m bitter about things from my teens. I’m definitely bitter about things from my adulthood. And while I identify with the first three definitions of bitterness, I don’t want to become the last. I don’t want to become “intensely cold.”

My friend who’s a new mom and I have been discussing infertility, motherhood, and the idolization of pregnancy. She expressed a viewpoint unique to motherhood that frustrated me, and I told her, “Ugh! I hate when people say that.” But that’s my infertility bitterness shutting someone up. Just because I’m bitter about parts of my experience doesn’t mean I get to invalidate someone else’s experience. I need to use my bitterness to light fires, not become hard and cold. I need to say, “That sounds like it sucks! And let’s light a fire and burn down all the reasons why that sucked,” instead of shutting her up. I want the world to see my bitterness as an asset, to speak up when they feel bitter too!

And I hope ultimately that people can see my bitterness, see the fires I’ve started, and say, “Wow. She must really hate how hard society is on women, on women’s bodies, on women’s purpose, that she is fighting to change it,” and not, “What a bitter barren bitch. Why doesn’t she just adopt?”

Although, they’re right. I am bitter, I am barren, and I’m definitely a bitch. And I’ll keep you warm with the fires I light.

 

 

To find out ore about Brigid’s story you can check out her interview with Anotherhood here, or checkout her Instagram.

If you would like to do a guest blog or find out. ore information then please send an

e-mail to Kadi and Laura anotherhood.info@gmail.com

Illustration created by Laura

Uncertain Times

Here I am sat at the computer and the world feels like someone has hit pause, whilst simultaneously hitting hyper speed in my brain.

Thoughts are whirling around my head, news stories flash in and out, images clatter against the side of my skull, and my breath feels hard and stuck.

Stuck, stuck in a strange alternative universe, stuck in a weird movie, stuck in an unknown time, stuck, just the biggest almighty amount of stuckness.

This is my reality, but what is the reality for others?

My Whatsapp is lit up with voice and video messages as I connect with friends all across the globe. Old voices I haven’t heard in a long time, faces that shift with every second as the reality presents itself.  The sound of tears and heartbreak, businesses fold, and livelihoods shift beyond control.

The words I type feel weighted, like they are being dragged down, pulled down to depths that I can no longer reach. Somewhere I am not in control of, until they all slip out of sight.

As I look down into the depths, I am struck that in the dark waters I can see my reflection, I can see the water moving, I can see bubbles rising. Light reflecting off the surface, ripples appear and words float below the surface.

The words are not clear, but they are there, the water shifts and changes with every glance.

My reflection moves in flow with the water and the light changes the way I see and the way I feel.

The darkness is full of glorious blues, greens and glossy black, iridescent, dancing around with each other, delighting in each other’s company.

The voices I hear, the faces I see through Whatsapp all change.

I see them, I see the true them, I feel them and I hear them.

I am connected more than I have been in a long time.

My reality is this, its what I choose to see and what I choose to feel. The waters may seem dark, but with darkness there lays inherent beauty.

Mother earth has pressed pause, she has pressed the reset, we are being invited to connect, but to really connect with one another.

To share our true feelings, let the tears roll, let the fears have space, let the anxieties rise, and for them to be truly heard.

Honour each other, be still, be there, listen, hear and acknowledge together that this is hard. Together we can find, see and create the beauty.

Do what’s right for you, honour yourself, your body, and be gentle with your self and gentle with others.

 

Take care

Laura

 

 

 

 

I am woman hear me ROAR

Femininity, I can’t say the word let alone spell it, the m’s n’s get me in a muddle and so often I avoid using the word altogether. My dyslexia makes it hard to say and to spell but there are other reasons I have in the past not felt an affinity to the word.

I have felt removed, detached like it was not a word that described anything I could recognise or feel.

I rejected the word because I felt like it rejected me.

Me my femininity and I have not always seen eye-to-eye.

In fact we have been devoid of each other a lack of connection, a split and inherent misunderstanding of the role that we played in each other’s life.

As a child I was not into girly things, yes I liked Beatrix Potter, but I mainly liked climbing trees, being outside and riding my bike.

Fast forward to this very day not much has changed, aside from the fact my body has shifted through teens to adult hood and now I am in my late 30’s with a body that feels like its bears a few scars as markers of the years gone by.

I feel like I have never conformed to the archetypal female. I chopped my hair short after years of it being really long and dressed in men’s clothes; I struggled to be comfortable in my own skin. I bought sports bras that fitted so tight reducing the size of my breasts; I worked out so much to shift any curves.  I focused on growing muscle so I would look lean and be strong.

I calorie counted until I was so skinny and I thought I would be happy but I was miserable, I couldn’t get my body to fit what I wanted or who I felt like I was in my head.

Then enter Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, a return of Alopecia who brought along its friend Vitiligo and Fibromyalgia.

My body internally and externally was stripping back of all I knew. My body stopped being able to move, I was consumed by overwhelming fatigue, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t eat without my body having reactions to food.

I couldn’t think, a low fog engulfing every space in my brain, my hair started to fall out in patches and my Vitiligo graced me with its presence on my face for the world to see.

Days and months became a sea of tests, sleeping, hurting, thinking and the regeneration of all that is feminine within me.

The shifting point was the day I decided to shave my head, the day I decided I wasn’t going to let my hair fall out, I would celebrate it and join it on its journey.  That was liberating, I was stripped back, my face was there for all to see, the tiredness, the Vitiligo, the puffiness, but I didn’t care because it was me.

 

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Infertility, autoimmune disorders, loss and grief create who I am today, it has gifted me the understanding of what it is to be feminine.

It is not having long hair, to have perfect skin an unrealistic body and it certainly is not being a Mother.

What makes me feminine? The way I feel, the way I think, and the way I allow myself to be guided by my intuition.

My strength and determination, my ability to sit and feel the challenging emotions, to let them rise and fall, to acknowledge them and celebrate them in all their glory.

To stand tall, to own my Alopecia, my Vitiligo, my CFS, my PCOS and my Infertility. Together they have a created a cocktail of experiences, layered, complex and churned together in my body, but that body is me.

CFS was a pause, a time to stop a time of reflection, and a time to tune into my body, my soul and feel what I really wanted.

I delved into my creativeness, swam in my thoughts and ideas, had wild imaginings and let my soul dance and sing.

I let my body dance the dance of the feminine. I let my soul sing a haunting melody of what has brought me to where I am today.

I reconnected with my inner child and now together we play and delight in our womanly abundance.  I feel a strength within, I feel it rise and grow as I acknowledge it, listen to it and know that I am all-feminine.

I am me, I am strong, I am feminine, I am a wild woman, with fire in her belly and strength in her soul.

I am female hear me Roar!

 

Illustration by Rachel Sego

Rachel is the deisgner of Anotherhoods logo, check out her work on her website Rachel Sego Illustration or insat @rachelsegoillustration