Invisible Losses and Grieving Together

Last week was National Infertility Week. It's so incredibly heartbreaking that this week exists. But what is perhaps more heartbreaking is that very few people know that it does. Infertility and childlessness are what I call invisible losses. They are losses like any other, like the death of a loved one, but they are catastrophically unseen. One of my best friends received a diagnosis of infertility this last year and it has been devastating. But what is perhaps more difficult is that her pain is often unseen and misunderstood.

My friend's loss has opened my eyes to the grief of others in new ways and it's also helped me enter into my own necessary grieving for the losses I have faced, losses which are also invisible. We try so hard to avoid grief that sometimes we aren't willing to admit our losses. For me, similar to my friend, but at the same time very different, I am grieving a loss felt by being well into my 30's, unmarried and childless. This loss too is largely unseen and misunderstood. And while it may or may not be temporary, at this time, it is a loss.

If I or my friend share our sense of loss with others we might hear well-meaning people say horrible things like "You can share my kids" or "at least you still have a great figure" or "I wish I had all the freedom that you have". I and many other grieving women would gladly bear stretch marks and give up our "freedoms" to have children. And while we who desire motherhood often love other people's children with our whole hearts (like my precious nieces and nephews) and we're so grateful to be a part of so many families, it is not the same as having our own and it doesn't take away the pain we feel.

People say horrible things, not because they are horrible or don't care (in fact, often they are the people who care for you most) but because they don't understand. It's ok not to understand, how could you unless you've been there? But we need you to care. We need you to acknowledge our losses. And we don't need you to say the right thing, there is no right thing to say. We just need you to hear us, to see us and to sit with us in the pain while we grieve.

We need you to understand that bridal showers, weddings, baby showers, mother's day and father's day... are all reminders to us of what we are lacking and they are difficult days for us to endure. It needs to be ok if we don't show up for your shower. That may sound selfish, but for a season and maybe for a few seasons, we need time to grieve and we may not be emotionally capable of publicly celebrating others in that capacity. It doesn't mean we don't want to celebrate you or we aren't rejoicing with you, it might just be healthier for us to find another, less public way to do that.

We need you to grieve with us. I cannot tell you how hard it is to grieve alone, but I know many of you will understand. Even if your loss is visible, as a culture we do not grieve well. If your loss is visible, at best, we will grieve with you for a short period of time immediately following your loss but then we will move on, while for months and years you carry your grief on your own, feeling as though if you were to share it you would somehow be a burden. We are taught to be independent and strong and we often mask our pain, "keep our chins up" with a "stiff upper lip" and grieve alone or not at all.

But losses grieved well, losses grieved corporately, can bring a healing and wholeness that could not be brought any other way. If we want to achieve this we must first be willing to grieve and invite others into that space with us, it's vulnerable and scary but it's worth it. Second we must show up, not just on day one or week one but on month two and month six and year five. Grief changes and ebs and flows but it follows no pattern or system and when we feel most alone we need others to show up for us. And I know you feel like you showed up when you liked their facebook status or sent them a text and I don't doubt they felt supported but sometimes, as often as you can, you need to actually show up in the flesh; even a phone call or a handwritten note can ease the ache of grief and remind us that we are not alone or forgotten in our pain.

I pray that we'll have eyes to see the hurts of others and that we'll overcome our fears and we'll show up. I pray that we'll make ourselves vulnerable and invite others into our pain so that they can grieve with us, so that we can grow in love for one another, so that we can see the faithfulness of God together as He carries us through.


Note: Please know that I know the potential for me to have a family is still there, I haven't given up and there is plenty of time! I know that God is ultimately in control and capable of wonderful things, but that doesn't change the pain and ache as I wait with no assurance that I will have those things...also, it's not really the point of this blog post. I'm not writing this because I'm bitter or angry or have given up hope, if anything I'm more hopeful than I've been in a long time. I'm writing this because I've been made aware of losses in the lives of others that are often unseen and ignored, of grief that has been buried, of the terrible loneliness that can come from such heartaches and I so desperately want to care for others in those spaces. I so desperately want others to care for me too and I'm inviting you in.