easy platitudes, hopeless hope

So – having planned to write a blog a day for world childless week – here is my single offering!! Todays theme is hurtful comments. Oh my goodness, if I was being paid for all these I have received over the years, I would be a very rich woman! It’s funny how many people – often who have never experienced what others experience – feel qualified to make comments, to give suggestions, or to say things which are simply empty platitudes. Of course, as my struggle is singleness and not wanting to be a lone parent, many of these comments are mixed with that challenge and not about fertility issues.

The message I grew up with, not necessarily from family, but wider society, and I think the church was that there was a ‘man for me’ somewhere, and I would ‘find’ him. As I watched more and more friends get married, and start families, the pain started. Simply to begin with, of course, I was still young, there was indeed ‘still time’ as many people pointed out to me, regularly. To begin with, it was more of a ‘I can’t wait till this happens to me’ than the stabbing pain I get today.

I was a sick children’s nurse predominantly nursing children with cancer in my early 20’s, and I was told by other nurses often that ‘I couldn’t understand pain until I had my own children’, like I was some kind of unfeeling robot, and parents had the monopoly on pain. Actually, I can remember a large number of parents who didn’t feel anything, who showed that they had no care for their children or who in fact had intentionally hurt their children, yes, sometimes actually causing their death. Yet I was incapable of feeling pain. Even today when I hear the words, ‘as a mother / father / parent…..’ as a precursor to feeling some kind of pain or wanting to see a more just world or the environment cared for, it make me rage inside. Again, it’s claiming a monopoly on feelings and taking the moral high ground. If people KNEW how often I had wept body shaking sobs over situations children find themselves in, both here and overseas, they may realise that there is no monopoly on feeling pain and righteous anger at injustice for children.

In my late 20’s I used to spend the majority of my days with a good friend whose baby was my Godson. As I worked with children, many people (all married with children) told me I shouldn’t do this, as I needed to ‘rest’ on those days. I always wanted to say – but what do YOU do on your days off? Do you ignore your children, would you be telling me to ignore my children on my days off if I had any? I think not…..the thought that I couldn’t choose what I wanted to do on my days off was so frustrating, and actually belittled what I felt was an important role and one which deserved to be given time.

We would often end up in different coffee shops around Kent where we were, and I would often be cuddling my Godson. I lost count of the amount of comments I would receive,

‘you’re a natural’

‘you’ll make an amazing mother’

‘just wait, you will be next’ (though how people could say that without even knowing my life situation, was something I wondered regularly!)

Each one of these comments, at the time, raised my expectations and hopes. Although at the time they were not so painful as I was younger, they just deepened my longings, looking back on them, they are painful memories. What gave people the right to give hope that would prove to become so painful?

I was also told by someone close to me that my, ‘biological clock was ticking,’ as if I wasn’t aware of that! Yes, that may be true, but I WAS SINGLE! I am not sure what more you would expect me to do about this (these were the days before internet dating, which has its own issues anyway, not quite the ‘fix-it-all’ that people not doing it seem to think it is!!) having made a decision I did not want to parent alone. Another friend, trying to help me, told me I was selfish for wanting my own children when there are so many in the world without love and care I could give it to – and yes – this friend continues to make his own with his wife.

At the age of 43 I was also told, ‘you’re 43? There is plenty of time for everything yet.’ I am now only 3 months from my 45th birthday, not many people are able to conceive, let alone easily carry a pregnancy at this stage in life, certainly not without risk. Yes, this person was married, with grown children and whilst I recognise that is not a recipe for a perfect life and there are challenges along the way, her statement simply is not true. It has been a regular thing that people have told me – there is time.

And now, we have faced Covid-19. During this time someone has actually told me that they are jealous of me and my life. Jealous. Married, with 2 children which has brought a lot of challenges I know, but I also know much joy. I have had to go into lockdown and the subsequent difficulties in a housing estate which has regularly carried the voices of children, playing on their bikes, kicking a ball, splashing in a paddling pool. Oh yes, I have heard the tantrums and the tears too, but somehow, that noise still also hurts as I am not able to go to take that child in my arms and help them through the frustration or pain they are having. This is often a hard reality, especially in the summer, but this year, with children not at school, it hurt so much more. I know I have been able to do some amazing things in my life, but none of these things happened because I didn’t have children. With the right partner, all I have done can be achieved as a family too. Ironically, I did those things, with a heaviness in my heart that it was all alone. I have always worked with and for children, they have a deeply precious place in my heart, and the chance to have spent such quality time with children of my own over this time would have been amazing – yes – totally complete with challenges and difficulties too – but what a privilege that would have been. Instead, alone I have got through this time with no human touch, and for a highly tactile person, yes, that hurts, this time has also included the death of my father, and with no partner or children, I had to get through the grief with no human touch.

So please, especially if this story – and the story of so many other women like me, and who are CNBC (Childless not be Choice) for so many reasons – is one that you can’t identify with, please be cautious with your advice and your platitudes. It might make you feel better to have offered some ‘sound advice’ but it rarely sits so well with us.

the soul slowly dies

I have wanted to write a blog on this for a very long time! I was never really quite sure how to frame it, so I chickened out. Then Covid 19 and lockdown came, and the situation I wanted to blog about got a whole lot worse for a whole lot of people. This is probably the most vulnerable blog post I have ever written, but I believe awareness of this is so needed for the many people who struggle with it. What am I talking about I hear you say.

Human touch and physical, emotional, vulnerable intimacy – humans deepest need!

I have been thinking that I have friends who will usually hug me sometimes, yet, I have not received ANY human contact for 3 months. Nada – nothing at all. And, for the few months before that, there wasn’t much. Within this time I have also had to try to deal with the death of my father. I have always dreaded my parents dying whilst I was single, yet, I wasn’t expecting that to happen for one when I couldn’t even touch anyone, and had to isolate alone for 2 weeks, let alone have the intimacy and closeness that my body yearns for and my Spirit needs, especially when I struggle.

I have often thought about babies, and how we talk of the need to ‘kangaroo’ them – that is for parents to put them on their chests, skin to skin and how beneficial this is to babies. And I wonder how no one ever realises that this, actually is a primal human need. To lie with another, entangled, vulnerable yet safe, drinking in love and support and affirmation. I find it interesting that in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, sex is at the very base of the pyramid, seen as such an important activity for humans it forms part of the foundation of the pyramid, but of course, for the single person, this is a need that is not met, but no one seems to acknowledge the pain that this brings. (https://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html).

A little while ago, I was talking with a friend and I said, ‘I need a man’. Her immediate response was – ‘no Ruth, you don’t’. In many ways, she is so right, and many have got caught in this trap before, feeling unless they have a significant other, they are not complete, they are somehow lacking, not worthy of fitting into places and seen as something less than fully adult. I don’t need a man to basically live life. I can manage that well, I have done for so long, it’s a skilled art that I have had no choice but to hone. Alone I have woken many times to the sound of gunfire, woken to be told that rebels are ‘here’, dealt with poisonous snakes in my house, moved house and home (and countries!) more times than I care to remember, every time having to start totally from scratch with no one who knows me at all, I have had to learn how to change a car tyre, or mend a dripping tap (OK, possibly chewing gum is not the correct way!), dealt with the deaths of those I loved, dealt with tough situations in my work over years and in different roles, and many other things, all alone. I don’t need anyone to validate me. My response to my friend though? ‘I don’t know about you – but I do – I need some intimacy!’ That is a very different need, and a very real one.

I did some google searches as I wrote this blog. ‘What happens to a person when they live without intimacy’ was one. All that came up was about people in relationships where there is no physical intimacy. Very little came up about being single and without, reinforcing my belief that this is not really understood or seen as a serious issue. We are to get on in life, with a hug here or there, but with no understanding of the pain of no intimacy, of lingering physical contact. I have also thought for a while that this can also cause depression, and indeed wonder if this is a lot of why I am struggling to get off my meds, because I have to cope with everything – the good and the bad – alone, with no intimacy, so I also googled, ‘can single people fall into depression without intimacy,’ and guess what, the results were once again mainly about relationships not having intimacy! Again, not understood.

I would love to see a study into this – because I believe it could be a big factor for a number of people. ‘Life circumstances’ certainly is according to the Mayo clinic (https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/depression/in-depth/depression/art-20047725). But maybe that’s for another time. I can’t speak for men for obvious reasons, but as a woman, who has had the ability to be able to bear children for over 30 years and a body which gets physically ready to do that each month, the body is screaming for something it is unable to have increases the sadness and pain of this loneliness.

Struggling with this lack of touch, I booked a massage through groupon. I never thought I would during this time of Covid, seeing it as a non-essential activity which may bring risk. But I also realised, that no human contact at all is pretty soul destroying for me, and actually, this may help me in some way. I love massages, though I have not had that many and I wondered if it would go some way to helping me at this current time.

So, today I drove over to my appointment. I lay on the couch and prepared myself for the first human contact in too long. There was of course touch, that is what massages are about, but of course still very different to the kind of touch I am yearning for, my body has always yearned for, and the older I get the harder it is. I felt something a little different to hands, and realised also that the lady was wearing gloves, another CV19 precaution. Good to know, but it changed the feeling of the whole experience, and actually, means I still have not had any real human touch, I had such high expectations of this experience, yet have come away disappointed.

Not really sure how to end this blog, so I am going to leave it there, hoping that it will cause some pondering. If you choose to comment, you are welcome, but may I please ask you to think about what you write before you post, it can be VERY easy to be in a different position or have never experienced this (at least not for a whole lifetime) and try to give advice, let me tell you, this often stings – hard! I am not asking for advice, I am trying to raise awareness of what I suspect many other single people are struggling with, and to ask compassion, even if it’s hard to understand, and this, I hope I have achieved.

She held his hand

In the early hours of Easter Sunday, I watched my father take his last breaths.

It was not how I imagined it to be, if one imagines such things. Dressed up in a gown, goggles, mask, hair net, unable to kiss his forehead to say goodbye.

Yet, I know I was so much more fortunate than many. I was allowed to be by his side. I was called by the hospital about 5pm to say he had deteriorated further, and I needed to come in. I sat with him, watching him deteriorate for about 8 hours before he took his last breath. And I noticed something.

The nurse. I noticed the nurse.

I had only been by my dads side for about 4 days, after the hospital called to suggest I came in – again thinking he wouldn’t last the night, we had a number of those calls as he fought on. I had been in most of those 4 days, and I had noted three deaths (at least, I assume three, one I saw wheeled out, one I asked about, the other I couldn’t bring myself to ask about). At least one further patient had been intubated and taken to Intensive care during those days. They were four days only. FOUR Days.

I was a nurse. I have held the hand of a child who died. I know many others who died – and know even more now in my work as a hospital chaplain. Not many of them died of exactly the same thing. I know how the loss of a patient hurts, the feeling you didn’t do enough, I remember those feelings well.

And now, here were other nurses, in the middle of a pandemic, a horrendous pandemic, where more patients than usual die, and die of the same thing. Nurses watching over and over the gasping for breath, the moaning in those last few hours.

Yet, when my father was distressed as she gave more medication and reached out his hand she held it. She held his hand. She patted his hand. She talked tenderly to him. she assured him. And when it was all over, both she and her colleague (who had also been very attentive to both dad and myself through the night) comforted me, and talked with me.

I found myself wondering, how many hands had they held collectively like this over the last few weeks. I only saw what happened over 4 days. How many days did they dread coming in because they knew they may well be holding the hand of the dying. How many shifts did they leave in tears, knowing another life was lost. How much did they fear because they knew coming to work in itself with such poorly patients put them and their families at risk, or feared that once again they would be required to hold the hand of another as the fight for life was lost

I am so grateful for this team of nurses. Every time myself or my siblings rang the ward when we couldn’t visit, we were never made to feel we were disturbing, we were treated with such dignity, we were encouraged to call for updates. The ward themselves kept us well updated too, calling when they felt we needed an update as well. My father was able to tell me that the care he had received had been second to none.

And that made all the difference to us in those last few tough, tough days.

blues in the darkness

I have a confession to make, though I think I have made it before on this blog. I really do not like this season. I used to love it. I used to love looking forward to another birthday (22/12) and then to decorating the house on Christmas Eve, meaning it was all new and exciting on Christmas day when we woke up (though Christmas wasn’t quite as crazy as it is now, in the 70’s & 80’s I admit) I loved walking down the lane to midnight mass on Christmas eve, in the cold, crisp air, with our cat often following and waiting outside the church for us – already having been to the Christingle service earlier in the afternoon. Of getting home, having a drink and a warm mince pie before going to bed, to wake up and take my pillow case (no stockings for us!) into my mums room to see what I had been given.

New Year would come and go, we were never huge New Year celebrators in our family, no wild parties, but maybe a game, snacks, waiting till midnight, then going to bed, looking forward to all that the new year would bring with it – hoping it would be good.

Now, I find my spirits dropping with the dark nights drawing in. As for the last 4 years I have been away (back in Uganda / South Sudan) when the clocks have changed, I have come back to a much much darker evening than I left, and I find it so hard. I used to love the dark nights, is it since I have struggled with Clinical Depression I find this harder? Or is it that I have lived somewhere for 8 years which only had about 45 mins varied difference to light in the evenings? I don’t know, but I do know that this darkness drags me down.

The craziness of Christmas – and of course, Birmingham is a big city so really crazy – I find so hard to deal with. This year I was at Entebbe Airport (Uganda) on 17th November, and I had to walk out of the bookshop there as Christmas carols were already being played. I arrived back to Christmas everywhere – everywhere had been decorated and the lights had been turned on in the city centre. The annual Christmas Market stalls were up and going, and people were everywhere! If you know me, you will know that I am an extrovert – I love people – but I find myself screaming inwardly at the crowds of people. I hate what Christmas has turned into in the UK. I hate that decorations are up even before Advent begins – the time of waiting and preparation. I hate that it is so commercialised – and I loved my African Christmases so much. I struggle that much of what I am struggling with is in my face all the time, and I weep when I see the injustice of what is happening, balanced with things happening in other areas of the world – and our own country, people living on the streets, families going hungry and relying on foodbanks for example. I think of other people who I know will be struggling, the elderly on their own, people far from home, the bereaved, and I know that many I will be working with over the next few weeks will also be struggling in this season of ‘goodwill to men,’ and ‘peace on earth.’

Yet, I don’t want to be someone who drags others down. I know so many people love this time of year, love decorating and all the excitement, they love making traditions with their families and I don’t want to take that away – it reminds me of the Gungor song ‘Let Church Bells ring (listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgcwOtxaS-A). I know I feel a loneliness that is intensified at this time of year – all the way through to Easter really, although the summer also has it’s challenges! I get so frustrated with myself, why can’t I find the happy person I used to be, the one who, even when things are hard had joy deep inside and would bounce back. Every time I think I am getting close to coming off my meds, something happens to push me back again. The doctors will not consider taking me off my meds in the dark months anyway, but I had hoped to have been off them earlier this year. Sometimes it feels like I will never be free from them, that this will be life from now on, I have held so much hope for so much over so long, for things which I have not seen, that this feels too much to hope for. I know that there is no shame, and nothing wrong with being on them, but any meds going into your 5th year on them feels a long time – and frankly, I am fed up with the sadness and the tears (though they are much less now).

I guess I am writing this blog to ask you to look out for your friends who may also be struggling this season – I am sure I am not alone. Many times we will put a smiling face on over the pain, sorrow and emptiness that we are feeling, please don’t be fooled. It is hard to tell you how to support us as we are all different, I know I need hugs for example, of which I don’t get many, living in a house with non-huggers and not having family near me, but equally I know that would make others run a mile! Please just try to work out what makes your friend and those around you feel loved and not alone this season, and try to do what will help them.

 

hope deferred

I was in London at the weekend, down in the underground I spotted a poster for a new film (don’t ask me what it was called!!) which had the tag line;

‘it takes courage to hope’

Spot on, I thought, spot on. Had there not been so many people around, I would have taken a picture of it.

I have been wanting to write a blog on hope for a while now, wanting to get back into blogging. Trouble is, I wasn’t sure how to frame it – so – be gentle with me as you read this, I am not sure how it will pan out!

When I first moved to Brum, I realised I still needed quite a bit of help in sorting myself out, and as such was referred to a counsellor at my GP surgery. I remember once saying to her, ‘to be honest, I try not to hope, it’s just too painful,’ to which the response which came was, ‘well, let me know how you get on with that, hope is an intrinsic human activity.’

Hope is something that is important in our role as chaplains to offer to patients and families, though we are always wrestling with what ‘appropriate’ hope is (and we know that that is a loaded thing in itself!) I have also heard so many, many sermons on hope over so many years, but I usually hear a scripture like this quoted:

‘May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him’

Romans 15:13

I never hear

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

Proverbs 13:12

And I find myself wondering why this is. I am not sure a truer phrase has ever been written, and I do believe that part of what I have been wrestling with over the last few years is a sick heart as so many dreams I had hoped for have not been fulfilled.

When I went to South Sudan, I was SO expectant to see this wonderful country continue to develop, so excited to have a generation of children who had never experienced war, and I prayed so much over them in my early days especially that they would never see it. Then December 2013 came, and another generation found themselves fleeing to the bush, many others making that tough journey to refugee camps. When my organisation was struggling so badly and so many people were getting hurt, I kept having hope that things would improve. I returned in January 2014, thinking that things could only improve – how wrong I was. My hope, once again dashed to smithereens.

There is of course the obvious one of not having found anyone mad enough to want to love me forever, or bear his children and attempt to live the crazy family life – the other day someone said to me, ‘you said you are 43? That’s so young to me, there is time for everything yet…’ I wanted to scream and say no, not really, would you want to be a mother to a 16 year old when you are 60? – but it’s so hard for people who have not had to walk this path to understand – and very easy to offer hope, often without realising how painful or exhausting this is!

I remember receiving a birthday card in Tanzania in 2001 which read something along the lines of, ‘may this be the year all your dreams come true.’ I remember getting that, and feeling SO excited that I would meet someone that year, and that life would become more challenging, but also so wonderful learning to be loved. I was 26 on that birthday! Since then, pretty much every birthday since, people have written the same sentiment in my cards, and I have come to hate it. I know that the intention is so good, and mostly it IS a real desire that person holds for me, but I struggle with it, it feels like false hope. This time of year is also hard, so much that is a little tough, Birthday, Christmas, New Year, all times of new beginnings and hopes for new things, and all within 9 days of each other with other hard days coming soon afterwards. I so desperately try not to hope now – I have held hope for other things too, which I know affected my heart, I won’t go into everything, but yes, I know the truth in that proverb and I know the pain that offering hope may bring, I know the truth of the heart getting sick.

Yet, my counsellor was right. Hope IS an intrinsic Human activity. I was talking to a good friend who has walked a different path to me, but still with some very difficult moments where hope has indeed been painful. She wrote in her text, ‘I don’t want to hope too much…..’ to which I responded I totally understood that. Her response was interesting:

‘I was kind of smiling as I wrote that, I thought, Ruth is able to relate to this. But once in a while I also have been thinking it’s a pity I can’t have all the joy beforehand. The joy of hoping. That stage can be nice.’

The problem is, that sometimes I do sense that hope beginning to swell in me, and I push it right down, I know the negative of what it can do. But I also know the joy that I am missing out on in doing so. Yet I also know that this is a necessity at the moment to continue to allow my heart to heal from the battering of the last few years.

There are times that I struggle to offer hope to others, because I also know the intense pain that hope deferred – or totally destroyed – can bring, there are times when I wince at what I hear said to others, all with the right heart. Yet, I also know the importance of offering hope at the right time. Perhaps this awareness is something that is also somehow healthy, because there IS truth in that proverb written so many hundreds of years ago. Who knows! But I keep on pondering and wondering!