The internet told me that this week is Infertility Awareness Week. The internet told me that 1 in 8 couples experience infertility. I guess, David and I are one of those couples. (I guess?) I really hesitate to put that sentence in writing. Notice I said experience infertility and not suffer from infertility. I’ve never for a moment felt like I was suffering from anything. But there are people who do. The people who put together Infertility Awareness Week are probably the kind of people who have chat boards, private Facebook groups, and online resources for people who are really going through a rough time and who would desperately like to have a baby. Many people long to have a child, but for some reason struggle to conceive. Many of them struggle and struggle only to deal with the heartbreak of miscarriage, or still birth, or the challenges of raising a child with cerebral palsy. In the age of modern medicine, I think the miracle of life has lost its’ wonder. We take for granted that everyone will follow the same path in life. Childhood, School, College, Dating, Marriage, Children, Grandchildren, Retirement, lather-rinse-repeat. But Holy Cow! That doesn’t happen for so many people. None of those things are a given. Because of that, I’d like to take some time today to speak on behalf of those who do suffer from the pain of infertility.

I post this with full knowledge that the confessions written below might make me seem like a Bitter Betty. I’m writing this without any angst, I promise. My main purpose is to stand up for people who don’t have the emotional energy to stand up for themselves and tell you how they feel.

It’s very ironic to me that this week is Infertility Awareness Week, because for the first time in years this baby question is a question I’ve faced 4 times in a single week. Four different people have asked me this week why I don’t have children. Every time that question is asked it really jars me. It feels invasive. It feels inappropriate. It might as well be “how much do you weigh these days, Marah?” or “how much money did you make last year, Marah?” These questions were asked in broad daylight. In full hearing of others. At restaurants, at parties, not over one-on-one coffee with a close friend. Just… bald, naked, unexpected questions. The question always feels like a surprise ambush. I’m sure I blushed each time. I’m never prepared for the question. I understand it though. I know that I’m an obvious target for curiosity. David and I have been married for 13 years and we don’t have children. People think it’s weird. We’re outliers. Even weirder… we’re happy. We’re content. We don’t talk about wanting kids. People don’t know what to do with that. Their curiosity gets the better of them and it bursts out of them. Usually when I least expect it.

Every time I hear the question. Why don’t you have kids? Do you not want kids? It is delivered with a weight. It seems like there are implications. Implications that I’m incomplete. Implications that I’m selfish. Implications that I have no idea what I’m missing out on. Implications that there’s something wrong with me either physically or emotionally. Implications that I might be some kind of freak. Even if the question is asked in total innocence… that’s what I hear. I hear judgement, I hear that people are threatened by my difference, or I even hear an implied “I have kids and you don’t… so we probably can’t be friends, huh?”

The question has been extra surprising lately, because I thought it had died off years ago. I haven’t heard it in a while. Once you’ve been married a certain amount of time without children people just start assuming. Around year 9 or 10 I stopped getting questions about when I was going to have kids (always WHEN never IF, with an extra helping of you-better-hurry-up eyes) and started getting the pity looks, or that horrible “I’m praying fervently for your infertility, Marah.” (Yes, people have literally said that to me.) Which was always hard for me to not answer sarcastically with: uh…. why? I’m not! There’s something really cringy and icky about “It’s such a shame that you’re not a parent, you’d be SUCH a good one!!” I hear that one a lot. I think that’s supposed to be a really sweet compliment. The underlying tone is almost as if the speaker is trying to talk me into something. Whether or not I desire parenthood, I may not be able to physically control it. Why would you want to try and talk me into an idea that could potentially be impossible for me? I’ve been spared a disappointment that so many others anguish over. I know I’d be a kick-ass parent. My husband would be even better. But we’re not parents. We’d be good at hosting a travel show on the Discovery channel, but we’re not. I’d be good at wedding planning, but I don’t. He’d be an amazing studio guitar player, but he’s not. I’d be good at being a music teacher, but I’m not a music teacher anymore. Just because you would probably be good at something doesn’t mean you definitely should do it. So, thanks for telling me I’d be a good parent. I’m not a parent.

So here’s my deal. I’m going to publish it on the internet so that I can hopefully put it to rest and not have to talk about it at awkward times anymore…

I’m probably infertile. I don’t know. I don’t care.

Here’s what I do know. I’ve been married for 13 years. I used birth control pills for only 3 years of those 13. I have Hashimoto’s. I have even been hospitalized because of menstrual issues so scary that I thought I might be dying. I’ve never been tested for fertility issues. I’ve never pursued pregnancy. I hardly ever think about it unless someone else brings it up. It’s not that I hate the idea. I just am indifferent. Always have been. Maybe not always, there was a very very short time when David and I were really struggling that I thought a baby would fix our marriage. Band-aid babies are a terrible idea and that phase passed very quickly. Our marriage is great though, in case you were wondering.

For some reason, I’ve never felt like I’m missing out. I personally have never had a desire to be a mother. Even when I was a kid, I played adventurously. My imagination was wild. I didn’t play house. I cared very little for dolls. I played let’s go to the moon, or let’s be in the NBA, or let’s have horse races, or let’s build a bridge. Play house??? SNORE! That was too predictable. (I’m not calling parents predictable. 8 year old Marah is.) I might be missing the “mom gene”, but who cares? I’m ok with who I am and where I am. I have the freedom to travel. I have the ability to shoot weddings without finding a nanny or sitter. I’m able to get the extra rest I need because of my autoimmune condition. I like my life.

Let me repeat, so you can stop giving me unsolicited pity and unrequested fertility prayers… I have never for a moment felt like I was missing out. I’ve never felt like there was a puzzle piece missing from my life.

Don’t get me wrong. Parents. are. awesome. David and I have been blessed with amazing parents that we love very much. I understand why people who have children feel like I’m missing out. I understand how much you love your children. I understand that they have completely wrecked your heart and rearranged your priorities. I understand that you love them more than you ever imagined that you could. I understand all the sacrifices you’ve made for them and how much you are a better person because of them. I understand that parenting is HARD and oh-so-humbling. I understand all of those things. Just like some people will never get married, some people will never be parents. Some people will never eat meat. Some people will never do a pull-up. Some people will never join the military. Some people will never see the Grand Canyon. So far in my life, I’m a non-parent. I’m also a married, non pull-upper, who gave up meat for a while, and really enjoyed seeing the Grand Canyon.

But, forget me for a second. I’m the exception.
There are SO many couples who are missing that piece of their lives. 1 in 8.
Those couples feel ambushed by invasive curiosity. Those couples want to throw a punch when reminded of their heartbreak in the middle of a public place. Those couples are suffering enough and they don’t need idle small talk about babies. Those couples are probably out and about trying to forget the agony of waiting to see if this is the month that it finally happens for them. Those questions are picking scabs, ripping off band aids, and dumping salt on wounds. On behalf of those couples, please hear me out and know that your questions are just as inappropriate as asking a new acquaintance “what’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” or “have you ever been cheated on?” or “do you think your mother really loved you?” You might as well be pantsing someone in the middle of their Middle School lunch room. So, please think about the consequences of your words.

In my very humble but rather loud opinion, infertility should never be a subject that is brought up by the fertile.
I’d encourage you to think of fertility questions the same way you think of this…

Just like you should never ask a woman if she’s pregnant. Don’t bring up fertility. Just don’t. Fertility should be added to the list with sex, religion, and politics. All things you should never bring up in casual conversation. Keep it light! Keep it fun! Keep it party appropriate!

Here’s something that I find interesting about “the question”. The question has never been asked of us by our parents. None of my siblings have ever asked us. I have about 8 women that I consider to be my personal inner circle. None of them have ever asked me. I assume it’s because they don’t really care. It’s not a big deal to them. They don’t need to categorize me or figure me out. I am the same to them if I’m a parent or otherwise. I’m just me and they aren’t trying to fit me into a socially acceptable box. So I think what bewilders me is… If my closest friends don’t need to know, why do people I just met need to know?

A wise person once told me that when someone asks about my fertility I should always reply with “Why do you ask?” The question in return to a question is designed to make the asker realize that maybe they’re asking for selfish reasons and that perhaps they’re being a little too invasive, but… I’ve found it ineffective and disappointing. I tried that one out a few times for my own amusement and you’d be surprised how people just plow ahead and tell you all the reasons your business is their concern. I’m considering switching over to saying “none of your damn business” but I haven’t worked up the courage yet to curse in public. Mostly because “the question” is almost always asked by a churchy person. Churchy people seem to frown on the use of the word damn.

One of the biggest reasons the questions are so awkward for me is that there’s no easy way to answer them. Why don’t you have kids, Marah? Should I just shrug and say “I don’t know!” Should I launch into an explanation about the complex and varied symptoms of Hashimotos? Should I shrug and say “I don’t want kids!” and have them assume I hate children? I don’t! (See my instagram feed for proof that there are a lot of children in my life that I love very much) Should I say “being fun Aunt Marah is enough for me!” Or “I have dogs and free time, who needs kids?” I have NO IDEA how to answer that question. The answer isn’t short or neat. It doesn’t come in a little box with a pretty bow. It’s not something I feel like I can adequately answer in a quick exchange. I mean… as you can see I’ve already rambled for 15 paragraphs here!

To help you to be less offensive to the 1 in 8 couples that you speak to, I’d like to make a list here of offensive things you should avoid saying to them. I think it’ll be helpful. Each of these are things that I’ve heard, so they’ll each come with a fun little back story. Feel free to use these as part of a what-not-to-say list, but please know this is not a complete list. There are many more inflammatory and upsetting things you could potentially say if you use enough creativity and imagination. (The sarcasm in the previous sentence is best read with a Price is Right announcer voice, if you’d like to you can go back and try it again.) Use discretion as you apply these principles to your every day conversations.

-The first thing you should never say is “I don’t think people should be allowed to vote until they’ve had kids.” (Have I made you gasp out loud yet?) Let me explain where I heard this one. I was listening to a podcast this morning and Anna Sale was interviewing W. Kamau Bell He’s a comedian. I know he was kidding, but he actually said that he doesn’t think that people should be able to vote unless they have kids. He also doesn’t think billionaires should be able to vote. He was, of course, saying that you learn so much as a parent that you didn’t know before that it informs the decisions you make in the rest of your life. Buuuuuuut, yeah. Something else that also makes you more mature? Life.

I laughed at W. Kamau Bell’s joke. His delivery worked. Then I stopped because I knew I’d be writing this post and thought… what if someone who was struggling to conceive heard that joke? It wouldn’t be funny. I could just as easily say that I don’t think people should be able to parent without classes and certification, but I won’t. It’s rude. We’re all growing. We’re all learning. We’re all maturing. It happens little by little. Maturity happens differently for each person. Not all parents make the same disciplinary decisions. Not all voters are passionate about the same issues. There’s no magic to being a parent that makes you smarter. Someone who adopts is no less prepared to vote than a person who had a biological child. It’s life experience that teaches you… Not properly functioning reproductive organs!

-The second thing that I hear all the time is usually repeated to me second hand by my husband. It’s a two-parter.

As he works at conferences for Destiny Rescue he often hears this:
“It’s so so awful what happens to those girls.”
He wholeheartedly nods in agreement.
“Do you have kids?”
He says no
“Oh, not yet?” (first part: implication that parenthood does eventually happen for everyone)
“Well, when you have kids you’ll REALLY understand what those girls are going through!” (second part: an implication that they somehow know more about the suffering of the trafficking victims because they have children, than he understands even though he has personally been in brothels to rescue girls.)

There’s so much face palming that I could do right now, but I’m going to spare my face… and my palm.

When you ask someone if they’re married, or in college, or a parent… never respond with “not yet?” It’s offensive.
When you ask someone if they have kids and they say no, never say “You’ve never understood love until you’ve looked into the eyes of your own flesh and blood.” That’s ignorant. I’ve known love. Lots and lots and lots of love. But you know what? Life is not a contest to see who can know the most love!! Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t experienced!

By all means, feel free to tell me about how much you have experienced love through having children. That’s totally cool. Just don’t assume that I’m so emotionally immature that I’m incapable of empathy or love or getting the idea of how parenting works because I haven’t personally experienced it. I’ve never personally been skydiving. I can understand it’s a rush. I’ve never personally earned a doctorate, I can empathize with the feeling of accomplishment.

When you resist saying the phrases above it’ll make it easier for me to resist the urge to compare your love for your child to the love I have for my dog (always amusing) because you and I both know it’s not the same thing. Maybe similar. But, we don’t all have to experience love and sacrifice and devotion in the exact same way. And that’s ok.

Oh, and while I’m up on my high horse… for Pete’s sake!!!! STOP, just STOP ALREADY with telling my husband… a nationally sought after expert and keynote speaker on the topic of human trafficking, a man who has traveled around the world seeing, experiencing, and researching the topic… that you somehow know more about the consequences and heartbreak of trafficking than he does because you and your partner both have functioning reproductive organs. That’s completely idiotic.

-Third, if you learn that a couple is infertile. Avoid questions like, “So, who’s fault is it?” As if someone is even at fault for how their organs are performing. It’s sad that I even had to write that down.

-Fourth, do not offer to be a surrogate for a couple. I have had this happen to me a few times. Stop snickering, I’m not kidding. I personally would never pursue any heroic medical methods to have children. I hold ZERO judgement for couples who choose to pursue IVF or other fertility treatments. I mean… you’ve seen how pretty my husband is, right? Those genes should maybe get the chance to be shared. However,

“in the U.S. 397,122 children are living without permanent families in the foster care system. 101,666 of these children are eligible for adoption, but nearly 32% of these children will wait over three years in foster care before being adopted.”

IF I were to wake up one day with a strong urge to become a parent, it just makes more sense with my limited financial means that I would spend money to help with that crisis. IF I wanted to be a parent, adoption would be the only way I’d care to make that happen.

So to bring this rabbit trail back to the path: IF someone is seeking a surrogate, let them ask you. Not the other way around. That’s just really weird. It’s really really really really sweet, but in a slightly creepy way.
It’s also kinda braggy. We get it! Your plumbing works!

-Fifth, don’t tell the couple to “relax” or “stop trying so hard” or “it’ll happen when the time is right”
Platitudes are annoying and meaningless when you’re in the trenches. Don’t be that guy!

-Sixth, in a heteronormative relationship it’s not safe or fair to assume that the female is heartbroken by fertility issues and that the male is indifferent. My personal experience has been the opposite. I am indifferent about motherhood, but my husband always planned on being a dad. He’s completely happy with where we are right now, but there have been times he’s really wanted to experience fatherhood. Don’t stereotype couples or make assumptions about their emotional reactions that might be hurtful. Gendered emotional roles are sooooooooooo 1950.

I’m going to wrap up my list with that. I could ramble on, but this post has already gotten completely out of hand.

Let me sum up with one last piece of advice. Let’s assume you’ve put in the time to build a relationship with a couple, and they have decided on their own to speak to you about their fertility. Instead of talking, assuming, offering advice, or being invasive, I would recommend one thing. Listen. Just be present. Show your friendship with your ears and your hugs.

Until then, I’d encourage you to mull over these four little words, “Why do you ask?”

Thanks for listening and reading. I hope that you are maybe a little more aware of infertility frustrations and struggles now than you were before.

*If you are one of the people who has asked me about my childless life, please know I harbor NO ill feelings toward you. We’re cool. I promise. Don’t worry that I’m mad at you. I’m not.
*If you’ve offered to be a surrogate, thanks for your sweet gesture. Please don’t be offended that we have no intention of taking you up on that offer. I’m amazed that you would even consider showing us love in that way. That’s beyond incredible.
*If I’ve offended anyone today, I’m sorry. I’ve worried a lot over hitting “post” on this one. I hope we’re all copacetic. Let me know if we’re not and I’ll do everything in my power to make it right.