The Land of the F*cked

A recent series of posts at Airing the Chapel stirred up quite a bit of controversy. Airing observed a pattern in the replies: fertile women who never question Catholic leaders versus infertile women who do. I'm not at all interested in rehashing any of the debates over on ATC's blog (though I would be happy to discuss Augustine anytime), but I was struck by this division. On infertility blogs, I'll often hear people described as fertile and infertile. For example, "My fertile best friend came over yesterday," or "There's another infertile who works with me who...."

Infertile women seem to live in a different reality from everyone else. Our bodies don't work the way they should. Sex does not lead to pregnancy. For some of us, the normal process of menstruation is excruciating. For others, our cycles are completely unpredictable; our bodies are beyond our control. (The other day, I walked past the condoms at CVS and marveled that there is all this stuff designed to prevent pregnancy. I can't imagine ever again being in a position where I would fear getting pregnant. I barely remember what that was like, to feel like sex was this awesome thing that could actually bring a new person into the world.) 

So I can see why some of us feel like humanity is divided into fertiles and infertiles. But upon reflection, I think there is a division, but it's not between fertiles and infertiles. There are the folks who marry the love of their lives in their 20s, avoid pregnancy when they need to, get pregnant when they want to, and have healthy children. They live, or seem to live, in a land of sunshine and rainbows.

And then there are the rest of us, the inhabitants of what Anne Lamott calls "the land of the fucked." Those of us who wander for years longing for romantic connection, wondering why there seems to be a partner for every other woman, but not for us. Those of us who are stricken with cancer. Those of us who find ourselves married to abusive, alcoholic partners and who must choose between our most sacred vows and our safety. Those of us who get married, get pregnant, and find ourselves parenting children with developmental disabilities, or far worse. And of course, those of us who planned to have children, only to find it's not as easy as we were always led to believe. 

We, the inhabitants of the land of the fucked, ask the hard questions. We live at the margins of normalcy, in the grey areas. We make tragic choices. We hunger for compassion, only to find that the sunshine and rainbows crowd recoils from us. 

We frighten them because we know the truth: the separation between the two lands is a mere line in the sand, not a fortified wall. Anyone at any time could end up in the land of the fucked. Healthy living, prayer, good choices: these things offer no protection. Rather than face this reality, it's much easier to turn away, to take turns as Job's comforters, or to offer empty advice, "Just relax and it will happen."

No, it won't. But it would be better for you, emissary from the Land of Sunshine and Rainbows, to believe that it will.