A baby is not a new year’s resolution
Let’s not treat fertility like self-development
For several years in a row, as January unfurled in its usual grey way, I put ‘have a baby’ right at the top of my list of goals for that year.
By 2018, after three miscarriages, and awaiting various test results, the goal had been revised to ‘have a baby, or at least find out what’s wrong with us’. (This is, word for word, what I wrote down).
By 2019, as Dan and I once again discussed what we hoped and wanted out of the coming year, and the obvious matter of a baby came up, once again, I said: ‘Yes, but I don’t think we should put it on the list.’
My reasoning was it was just too much pressure. Because it was not something that was ultimately within our power to control. Because it was no longer something we could simply try harder to achieve. We had tried so hard already.
A baby, it turns out, is not a new year’s resolution you can keep with willpower alone.
And I didn’t need yet another reminder, when I looked back over the list in 12 months’ time, that it had, once again, not happened for us.
Now listen, you can obviously put whatever you want on your list for 2023. Sometimes, when you’re deep in the cycle of trying to conceive, blind positivity is all you have. But can I tentatively – gently, kindly – suggest that you pause and consider whether ‘have a baby’ should really be considered a ‘goal’ at all?
For my book, I interviewed the anthropologist Dr Susie Kilshaw, who talked to me about how, in Western societies, fertility has become ‘a kind of neo-liberal responsibility’. We see it as our job to manage it, control it, optimise it.
But should we? When the field of what we don’t know about pregnancy, miscarriage, and stillbirth is still so wide, approaching conception like any other self-development project feels to me like setting yourself up for self-recrimination and (more) disappointment.
Look, I am – as I hope you know if you’ve been reading for a while – far from the ‘everything happens for a reason’ girl. I resolutely do not believe we should treat fertility as some big, magical mystery that we mere mortals can never hope to master.
But until we do know more, is it fair on yourself to treat it as a goal that can be worked at?
More to the point, how can we truly be reassured that infertility or pregnancy loss is not our fault, when, as a culture, we act in the exact opposite way when it comes to achieving pregnancy?
This isn’t to say there aren’t things to do or ways to help yourself through, if what you want – more than anything – is a baby. Or that you shouldn’t let trying for a baby be where you direct a significant amount of your energy this year (because, truly, it can take a lot of energy and headspace).
Only, I think the focus needs to be subtly different.
By all means, make plans and aims to support yourself as you try to conceive. But only write down ‘goals’ for yourself that you can actually control the outcome of. Focus on the ways you want to feel this year, with or without a pregnancy or a child (or, indeed, another child). And try to come up with things that will enrich your life - and won’t leave you thinking ‘well, that was a waste of time’ come January 1st 2024. (I’m thinking of painfully restrictive ‘fertility’ diets or giving up stuff that otherwise brings you pleasure in the name of optimising fertility.)
On this subject, Erin –
- has written a great post this week on the specifics of what she’s aiming for this year, beyond ‘have a baby’.I also re-listened to this episode of Maisie Hill’s podcast today on a setting an intention for the year (rather than a goal or resolutions).
And, finally, this new year’s pep talk by anti-diet nutritionist Laura Thomas was a welcome respite from the usual January noise.
It’s 2023, which means it’s officially the year my book is published. There’s just over a month to go. And as much as I am incredibly excited for it to be out there – in bookshops (!) – I have also started having anxiety dreams about it.
If you are able to, please do consider pre-ordering a copy. It makes all the difference when it comes to how many copies of the book are ordered by retailers and placed in bookshops (or not). And I really, really want this book to be able to reach people when they need it (including many people who – sadly – do not yet know that they will need, given how common miscarriage is).
It’s verging on cliché to say you wrote the book you needed to read, but which didn’t exist. However, that is, I think, what I set out to do. There is so much in ‘Life, Almost’ about fertility, miscarriage, and pregnancy that I wish I’d known before I started trying for a family.
You may have noticed that I’ve given this newsletter a bit of a facelift. Do you like it? Apart from the change of name - and a bit of prettifying - the fundamentals of what this newsletter is about are staying the same: Fertility, loss, women’s health, books, and general writings on living a life. It will still arrive in your inboxes on Thursdays.
Paying subscribers will still get the option of audio posts, plus the occasional bonus piece of writing. I have also added a chat thread, for discussions about miscarriage, pregnancy loss, and life after it, between like-minded people. I’m keeping it behind a paywall to protect it from prying eyes, in the hope it means discussion can be a bit more open than on other kinds of social media. However, if you feel the need for this kind of support and conversation, but cannot justify the cost of a subscription, please reply to this email with COMP SUBSCRIPTION in the subject heading and I will gift you one.
Also, if you signed up here because of the parenting after pregnancy loss virtual support group I mentioned over on Instagram before Christmas – stay tuned. I’m hoping to get it up and running after the book comes out.