It was always in the back of my mind

I have an aunt who was infertile. When my periods started, along with the severe pain, my mom told me that Aunty V had also suffered from terrible cramps her whole life. When she was in her 50s, they found stage IV endometriosis; she had a complete hysterectomy and a bowel resection. Whenever I was doubled over with pain from my period, my mom would reflect that Aunty V had suffered the same way. And so, at the tender age of 13, I began to worry that I too would be infertile.

When I was 24, I met the man I wanted to marry. Unfortunately, he didn't want to marry me. He didn't think "we" were ready, but I really thought that meant that he didn't think I was ready. When I finally left him, a week before my 27th birthday, I remember thinking "My time is running out. I might never be able to have a baby."

Growing up with the specter of infertility has proved surprisingly advantageous in coping with actual infertility. I saw how my aunt and uncle lived rich, full lives. They traveled the world; they did all kinds of charity work. Though my extended family is dispersed all over the world, they found time to visit all of the branches of the family at least once a year. Their home is filled with beautiful artwork that they wouldn't have been able to afford if they had children. My aunt and my mom are both amazing cooks, but for my mom, who had to put dinner on the table, cooking was drudgery. For my aunt, who always had the option of going out to eat if she wanted, cooking was a passion. I saw first hand that infertility is not a death sentence. Living child-free can open you to the world.

Like many immigrant parents, my parents always emphasized education. My dad's sister never went to college because my grandfather believed that educating girls was a waste of money. My dad saw how his sister had to marry someone with no interests or social skills, because it was her only way to survive economically. My dad didn't want that for his daughters. He always told us that if we had an education and a career, we wouldn't have to get married unless we wanted to. Even when I was a teenager, I added in my head, "And if I can't have children, I will always have my career."

I've been thinking about this recently because I've been realizing that in many religious sub-cultures, women are supposed to be mothers first and foremost--not only mothers, but mothers of six, eight, ten children. While motherhood can supposedly be understood spiritually, many girls in these communities grow up with dreams of having big families, staying at home to nurture and educate their children, and then enjoying their grandchildren in their later years. For many people, this works out just fine, but for others, including us infertiles, life doesn't go according to plan. With one in six couples struggling with infertility, we need to do a better job of preparing our girls for a Plan B (no, not that one).

Girls need education. They need to be able to envision larger horizons and more creative futures. They need to develop talents and capacities unrelated to motherhood. Most of all, girls need to hear that motherhood is only one of several wonderful possible ways to love and serve one another.