Can you have it both ways?

Tertia wrote: "Is it easier being in or out the closet [about infertility and loss]?"

The comments feature some really thoughtful commentary on why people choose to tell or not. Some people tell because they want to reduce the stigma attached to infertility — a legitimate medical condition, not an embarrassing moral failing of some kind that should engender shame. Some women, remembering their own feelings of isolation, hope to help others feel less alone. And some are open and blunt in hopes of protecting their own feelings — going on the offense against a million hurtful comments made in ignorance. All of these responses apply to me, and to the reasons I write here.

On the other hand, a lot of women don't tell. Some fear added pressure from family members. Some can't count on people responding in a helpful way. Others keep quiet to protect their husbands' privacy. All of these responses also apply to me, and to the reasons I don't tell many people about our infertility.

Online, I've told anyone who cares to listen about everything we've experienced. On this blog, on others', on message boards, in chat sessions, I've been open to the point of painfulness.

Offline, I've told my immediate family — my parents, my aunt, my grandparents — about seeking treatment, but I don't discuss the day-to-day developments. I told only my parents and my aunt about my first loss; I told only my parents about the second. A few very close friends know bits and pieces; not even my best friend knows it all. Paul's family members know nothing.

I've told no one in my real life about this journal.

It says something revealing about me, I'm sure, that I can discuss my most intimate hopes, fears, and body openings with my friends inside the computer, people I've never met and probably never will, yet feel uncomfortable to the point of nausea at the very idea of telling, say, Paul's sister even something so basic and vague as "We're trying to have a child."

A lot of the time I feel like two separate people — one who communicates enthusiastically, even promiscuously, and the other who lies by omission every minute of the day.

Posted by Julie at 02:31:47 PM in I've learned a lot...but I'm not sure it's worth it.

Comments

Can you have it both ways?

Tertia wrote: "Is it easier being in or out the closet [about infertility and loss]?"

The comments feature some really thoughtful commentary on why people choose to tell or not. Some people tell because they want to reduce the stigma attached to infertility — a legitimate medical condition, not an embarrassing moral failing of some kind that should engender shame. Some women, remembering their own feelings of isolation, hope to help others feel less alone. And some are open and blunt in hopes of protecting their own feelings — going on the offense against a million hurtful comments made in ignorance. All of these responses apply to me, and to the reasons I write here.

On the other hand, a lot of women don't tell. Some fear added pressure from family members. Some can't count on people responding in a helpful way. Others keep quiet to protect their husbands' privacy. All of these responses also apply to me, and to the reasons I don't tell many people about our infertility.

Online, I've told anyone who cares to listen about everything we've experienced. On this blog, on others', on message boards, in chat sessions, I've been open to the point of painfulness.

Offline, I've told my immediate family — my parents, my aunt, my grandparents — about seeking treatment, but I don't discuss the day-to-day developments. I told only my parents and my aunt about my first loss; I told only my parents about the second. A few very close friends know bits and pieces; not even my best friend knows it all. Paul's family members know nothing.

I've told no one in my real life about this journal.

It says something revealing about me, I'm sure, that I can discuss my most intimate hopes, fears, and body openings with my friends inside the computer, people I've never met and probably never will, yet feel uncomfortable to the point of nausea at the very idea of telling, say, Paul's sister even something so basic and vague as "We're trying to have a child."

A lot of the time I feel like two separate people — one who communicates enthusiastically, even promiscuously, and the other who lies by omission every minute of the day.