1/13/2019 0 Comments SufferingSocial media is a double-edged sword in these fertility focused days. There’s the possibility of connecting with others who are on a similar journey and not feeling quite so alone, and there’s the possibility of being triggered over and over again. Pregnancy and birth announcements are hard, but one of my biggest triggers is the complaints of parents. Since many in my cohort are in the life stage of parenting young children, my newsfeed is often filled with accounts of sleep deprivation, never-ending laundry, tantruming children, and all manner of chaos. This week’s trigger was an article that was making the rounds about stay-at-home-mom-depression. Since I want nothing more than to be a stay-at-home mom, I felt a certain bitterness toward those who aren’t grateful to have what I so desperately desire. We are in an era where women are breaking the silence about aspects of their experience that have previously been taboo and remained hidden. Pressure to portray the perfectly polished portrait of success or being able to handle it all – the fulfilling career and the beautiful family – has had devastating consequences for many women. But I’ve also noticed the growing phenomenon of suffering as a status symbol. When I saw the triggering article this week I noticed my own impulse to elevate the pain of my infertility over the depression of the stay-at-home mom: I know that parenting is hard, but at least you have healthy children. I’m the one with empty arms and a broken heart. After a brief pity-party I began to shift my perspective. The reality is that in the comparison game there are no winners. If I compare up I feel desolation and if I compare down I only feel better for a while, because comparison does not cultivate genuine connection which is what we as human beings require in order to survive and thrive. The comparison game also requires me to make assumptions about other people’s stories. I actually don’t know what someone else’s fertility journey may have been when they share their pregnancy announcement or whether the young mom with the perfect newborn is grieving the self that she feels she’s lost. When I suspend my judgment long enough to become curious about someone else’s story, I feel less resentment. Because the truth is, suffering is universal. Within each and every one of our stories is a struggle of some kind. It’s rarely the exact same struggle, but the more life I live the more I’ve come to understand that none of us are immune. Struggle is a factor in our search for meaning. When I remember that I’m not the only one, when I open myself to connection with others and to hearing their stories, I am able to tap into a deeper well of compassion, not only for others but also for myself. And then we hear something born of suffering and adversity and we’re moved because it’s honest. It’s real. It means something. It’s the art of the ache. The ache is universal. The ache reminds us that things aren’t how they’re supposed to be. The ache cuts through all the static, all of the ways we avoid having to actually feel things. The ache reassures us that we’re not the only ones who feel this way. …suffering unites. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor or black or white or right or left of young or old – if you have the same disease as someone else or if you both have a daughter with an eating disorder or have a brother in jail or had a spouse die or recently were fired… you have a bond that transcends whatever differences you have. That’s what suffering does. - Rob Bell, Drops Like Stars, p. 52, 68 Hard is not relative. Hard is hard. ...we need to just commiserate on the fact that we all have hard.
- from the TEDx video by Ash Beckham, "We're all hiding something. Lets find the courage to open up" -
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