Reasons I hate Mothering Sunday

It’s Mothering Sunday soon and I hate it.

I hate it cos I don’t have kids and its one of many Sundays of the year this is pointed out to me.

I hate that I hate it too, cos I love my mother, mother-in-law, and my grandmothers, my Godmothers and the other women (and non-women) who mother me.

I hate it cos when I say I hate it someone will undoubtedly tell me that I mother people in my own way and I don’t need kids, either biological or adopted to mother and that I’m such a nurturing character.

I hate it cos someone will undoubtedly tell me their miracle story of how they became a mother.

I hate it cos it means I hate flowers and every other day of the year I love being given flowers by people who love me, but these ones are look-you-don’t-have-children-daffs.

I hate it cos the church somehow thinks its important to have female preachers that day.

I hate it cos there are so many other reasons people struggle with it as well as childlessness and its rough on most of us one way or another.

This Sunday, thankfully I don’t have to go to church, but that is probably the last time I can get away with that. So I'll look after myself at home. 

Argh at Advent

 I’ve got a confession. I hate advent.

I hate advent cos its busy and it is all about a baby. Cos everywhere you go its images of happy children, pregnant women and just all the pressure of getting the right gifts and the best time with your perfect family. Now I don’t know about yours but my family ain’t perfect.

I hate advent cos there isn’t a day when I’m not reminded of my childlessness, this week we even celebrated the conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary – who I’ve learnt may also have been a virgin birth cos that is how she had no sin, who knew potential parents having sex was such a sinful thing – Augustine I believe, most things about the shame of sex are his fault! Or maybe its whoever invented original sin, oh wait, that’s Augustine too!

I hate the busyness and stress of advent, I have absolutely no idea what to get my husband as a present, mostly cos room is tight, cos we have the disposable income to buy what we want and need throughout the year and this year just like last buying experiences seems like they might be a waste – we still haven’t yet seen Rachel Parris from my Christmas present in 2019! (fingers crossed for attempt 4 and March 2022!)

I say all this knowing that I love Christmas, I love babies and I love Jesus. But argh the waiting and preparing is just a lot, don’t worry I’m going back to my essays now.

For my other blog about being childless at this time of year check out this link.

The jealousy and other emotions of non-motherhood.

I'm yet again in a place where I'm around pregnant women, and stories of motherhood is a common topic at college through my peers, staff going on parental leave and even the liturgy and worship.

I'm pretty certain it's the pregnancy announcement that is the worst part, cos pregnant friends are still my friends, just as friends with kids, though they have different priorities are still noticeably who they have always been. And I do love other people's babies, one of the real losses of the pandemic is not getting to know my friends babies born in 2020 as well as I'd want to.

And all the things in this blog are still true, I am incredibly grateful for having time to process a pregnancy announcement. And I'm learning trigger warnings in worship are such a good thing for all sorts of things.

But worship on motherhood, or a pregnancy announcement still knock me. Make me feel jealous, and then guilty for that jealousy. And just sad in my whole being. And grumpy oh so grumpy. It is sad that my first response is never the joy that a new baby to people I love (or just happen to journey near in life) should bring. I do get there, to the joy of this new life it just takes me a bit of time.
The initial ooft catches me unaware every time, though it really shouldn't by now, but you can't have a trigger warning for a pregnancy announcement.

I also know by being in full time training (And looking younger than I am - someone said I looked too young to be a wife last Sunday...) protects me from some of the "when will you have kids questions?" That I will need to find a concise, careful answer that doesn't bring my hurt to the fore every time.

What I haven't blogged about and don't plan to is why I've not got children,

1 that's personal,

2 it's complicated,

3 I don't think it matters for the rest of the content.

Right now not being a mother is more of a choice than its felt previously but if I could change all that I would. So all you need to know is one of my greatest longings is to be a mother.
Therefore I can't speak for those who actively choose not to be a mother, that's not my story.

Someone did ask if I had kids the other day, (after we'd talked about theirs so it felt a natural next question) to which I replied a simple "no" and they then moved the conversation on, that is how is should be.

I'm writing this because every time I say something I get someone (usually a mum) who will come to me and say, wow, I needed to be reminded of this and someone else who says I feel like that too, thanks for articulating it. And if you are either of those people and you want to talk more I'm here.
Some of you will share you I felt like that and "we got our miracle", I know you are trying to give me hope but it doesn't always come across like that.

And a bit of shameless self promotion my other blogs on this topic include:

The Child(less) of Christmas.
To my pregnant friends
What a week to be a woman
People who can ask if one hopes to be a mother

People who can ask if one hopes to be a mother...

• A person who believes (with good reason) that they would parent alongside you.
• Medical professional while discussing specific medical interventions.  
• No one else

PS - aren't you lucky this is a short blog and not the full on rant that it could be. I'm fed-up of people asking the "Do you want to be a mother?" question. It hurts, there isn't an easy answer and do they not realise they are actually asking about a couple's sex life, their reproductive organs and body in general, their hopes and dreams, their fears, their financial situation, their lifestyle choices. One more piece of advice - if a statement starts with "at least" it probably isn't helpful. 

What a week to be a woman

We are coming up to Mothers day so I’m raw about that already and then the rest of this week has happened!

Monday was international women's day, and I heard a woman when wished a happy IWD say “I don’t know why we need that” and I don’t know what you say to that.

Wednesday evening I was inexplicably drawn to twitter, the heartbreaking allure of women sharing what feels like it should be horror stories, but are actually just the day to day life of women. It seems strange to want to share the stories twitter reminded me of; the person who kissed me on the cheek to say goodbye at a workplace, the awkward moments I’ve had at train stations, on trains, in cities I don’t know. When I have had to quickly work out who I can trust for a lift home and whether someone when asking me where I live is just passing time or might want to stalk me. Some of it feels like particularly sexual harassment, some of it just harassment and some of it gets put down to unfortunately sitting next to someone high on drugs on a train. All of it wrong and not the world we would want to create. And that is just the stories I’ve remembered from the top of my head and am willing to share.

The solidarity of women sharing stories, knowing we aren’t alone in our fear was really powerful but incredibly sad. I’m also reminded how grateful I am for the people I can call when I’m walking so I don’t have to experience the fear of walking in the dark alone.

It’s Thursday night and I’m working with a group of my peers on a Mothers day runaways service. Tonight I’ve shared my why I hate mother’s day testimony. This is the story I’ve told this evening.

“This is the dress I was wearing when a church member came up to me to ask if I had any news. I’d nearly been married for 5 years so it was about time really. That question hurts because how do you say, no, that’s the one piece of news I’ve longed for for years, that I fear everyone is expecting me to share when I ring up people to tell them anything else. When I go to a baby shower and someone says “it’ll be you next” without knowing the truth that probably it won’t be, maybe it never will be. So you joke about the great roast dinner you’ve just eaten, try to tell them that wasn’t an appropriate question in the first place, and remember not to wear this dress again. But you are the God who sees me”

As a group we’ve discussed what makes it difficult the different sides we all come from, I talked of how much I hate flowers on Mothering Sunday, the let me give you something to remind you you aren’t a mother – cos all women have to have them. I am incredibly grateful for this group (of mostly but not exclusively women) sharing their pain and stories just like the night before. The creative response was to put food colouring in the water for some flower and leave white flowers in it, knowing that our lives colour the world as we see it and in a very small way redeeming those flowers for me.

Thursday afternoon I was in a lecture and we had to share our favourite hymn as the ice breaker I was reminded of For everyone born which I have sung often with Methodist Women in Britain and the chorus goes - 

God will delight, when we are creators of justice and joy.

What a week to be a woman, where women are celebrated and murdered, in danger yet loved.

We have to keep going, not just by walking in the dark to not let the criminals keep us in our homes but keeping being the caring nurturing types to create a world of justice and joy and share our stories.

To my pregnant friends,

To my pregnant (and recently pregnant) friends,

Thank you
For how you've told me you are pregnant via message or in a 1-2-1 chat before you announced your happy news to a group of our friends.
For being honest about the fertility journey you have been on too. It's great to talk periods, contraception, struggles, hormones and how no one told you about the folic acid you could have been taking for months already.
For asking how I am.
For not making everything about babies but also not being afraid to talk to me about them either.
For inviting me to your baby shower and not being offended if I don't come (I've been, it's not fun)
For letting me be part of your baby's life, for letting me cuddle and feed them. I do love babies.

To my non-pregnant friends,

I see you.

Thank you
For sharing your stories with me, I'm honoured.
For being a safe place to go to with jealous thoughts and in my sad moments.



To all my friends,

Thank you
For journeying on this thing we call life with me.

Rach

The Child(less) of Christmas

Christmas is all about children.
Or so it seems as a childless adult.

Both in church, where it’s nativity season telling the story of the holy baby, and even in my sign choir where during “silent night” again and again I’ve signed holding the holy child, representing that special mother.
And in the rest of the world, adverts, facebook, the latest exploits of that naughty elf on the shelf that my many parent friends are sharing.

The season is all about children.

Also many of my closest friends have given birth this year, including to my beautiful God Daughter, so this Christmas more than ever before I seem to be surrounded by babies.

Now I’m childless for a myriad of reasons, most of which are completely out of my control, and I’m not going to go into right now, it's not the why that is important but just that I am childless not by choice, you need for the context. I also have a number of close friends facing fertility issues this year, and I’m sure I have in previous years but maybe without knowing it.

The thing that struck me most was deciding which Christmas card to send to which of our friends. “unto us a child is born” feels like a mockery to those not holding a child this Christmas, so if you got one of those you have probably had a baby recently, and we do hope for you that this is a very special first family Christmas with your own special baby to celebrate.

I’m preaching tomorrow on the other baby of Christmas, the one born to an old barren mother, the one who’s father was so shocked his wife could get pregnant he was totally speechless. The Bible is full of miracle babies, but then it wouldn’t tell the story of baby-less women as there was no child to grow into someone remarkable.

Maybe it’s because I just turned 30, maybe it’s everything 2018 has held (ups and downs, lots of change, death and parties) and maybe every Christmas has always had a baby to its centre. But this year, like when I was aged 7 and upset I didn’t get to be Mary in the nativity, this year I’m very aware there is no child in my Christmas.

I don't want this to turn into a, "it will all be ok cos Jesus" blog. Because right now I'm sad and jealous, and my Christmas feels a bit empty.

However, there is of course a baby in my Christmas, Jesus, and tomorrow I will preach about joy in all things. The deep seated God given happiness, looking on the bright side of life's journey, and I do truly believe that, as I hold on to that baby, that most important baby of Christmas that all will be well. That doesn't mean life will be easy, that tomorrow I will wake up and all my dreams will come true, and that joy is not coloured by the sadness, anger, fear and disgust that life also carries. (Can you tell I found the Inside Out film very helpful in understanding emotions?)

So this Christmas I seek joy through sadness, in the children and adults I get to journey through life with and in the Saviour I seek to serve who came to earth and dealt with being a human with all our complex emotions.