. . . . on a certain kind of pressure
THE OTHER NIGHT I met a woman who is feeling under pressure. Not financially, although she is working hard running her own business. Not in terms of her relationship either. She has been married for several years to a man who brings what she calls “balance and lightness” to her life. Not emotionally. She is relentlessly self-aware, liable to quote everyone from Nietzsche to Isaac Newton in an attempt to understand herself and the people around her. This pressure, the kind that can grind a person down, does not come from within. It comes from without.
It might happen this way. She will be talking to a client who has young children and he will start to tell her about them. He describes the intensity of parenthood, the sleep deprivation, the way it changes your life. Then he worries that he is complaining about his situation too much. Wants to clarify things. Talks about how the joy makes all the challenging parts fade into insignificance. He uses the word profound a couple of times. They always do, she thinks. The woman knows what is coming next. Tries to anchor herself.
Breathes. He asks whether she has children herself. She shakes her head, steers the conversation gently around to her nieces and nephews. She hopes that will be the end of the conversation. The man studies her face for a moment. And then as he leaves, in a raucous mess of buggies and screams and left-behind toys, he says the thing that sits on her shoulders all day. Follows her like a shadow as she walks home from work. He says: “Don’t leave it too late now.”
Or it can happen this way. Drinking wine with a group of girlfriends. They are talking about babies. Those who have them and those who don’t and even those who aren’t in relationships at the moment.
This woman has exactly nothing to say on the subject. Well she does but not here. Not now. And she knows that her silence has been interpreted as sadness. One of the group reaches out and subtly places a hand on her arm. There is a squeeze. The squeeze says, “You’ve been married for how many years and no sign of children? God love you. This will be your year. I can feel it.” The squeeze sits on her shoulders all the way home in the taxi. Follows her into bed. It’s still there when she wakes in the morning, sipping coffee, consumed with a quiet anger that doesn’t suit her.
The woman is not yet 35. She has not fully decided whether becoming a parent is something she wants to pursue. She looks ahead and sees a fork in the road that is her life. Down one path, possibly, children with all the “profound” joy that may entail. Down the other path, possibly, a child-free existence with her husband made richer by virtue of them being unshackled. She sees happiness on both of these paths. She sees adventure either way. But she also sees that she is going to have to find a way to deal with the world and his wife trying to intercede with a squeeze or a look or a direct question. They mean well, they are coming from a good place, she reminds herself. But this knowledge doesn’t make dealing with it any easier.
Her parents having watched their daughter fielding all manner of insensitive questions and are admirably restrained. They limit their comments but are unable to hide their hope, their concern. Her siblings ask her straight out and when she displays ambivalence, inform her that they know it’s just an act. She is not, they say, fooling anyone. The only person who hasn’t added to the weight on her shoulders is her doctor who laughs when she mentions the pressure and says “And you are how old again? Relax.”
The woman thinks they should teach more practical skills in school. Instead of theorems most people will never use they should pass on basic life lessons like how, when it comes to matters of human reproduction, it’s better to hold your whist. She thinks about how men are luckier.
Nobody, especially not a stranger, would dream of asking a man whether he was considering having a vasectomy. They don’t get pestered with child-related innuendo. But once she reaches a certain age a woman’s babymaking potential is viewed as fair game. “Any news for us?” “Should we start knitting?” “Planning them yourself?” “Don’t leave it too late now.”
She knows that it is all simple and straightforward for a lot of people. But they should teach people in school that for others, it’s far more complex. There are too many unknowables. When you warn a person about leaving it too late you could be talking to someone who has just had an abortion, or is going through IVF or has had multiple miscarriages or a person who sees a road diverging ahead. A person who thinks both paths look good but excuse her if she doesn’t feel like telling you.
Maybe one day she will want to talk about it. To her friends, parents or maybe even her clients. But she thinks she should be allowed to keep it to herself and her husband forever if she wants.
Every day she finds her inner anchor. Breathes. And hearing the voice of her doctor, she tries to relax.
In other news . . . The first national Sexual Health Awareness Week begins this Monday, May 28th, with a public meeting called ‘Sexual Health is Everyone’s Affair’. Speakers include broadcaster Orla Barry and the meeting will be chaired by Miriam O’Callaghan. The event begins at 6.30pm at the Royal College of Physicians of Ireland, 6 Kildare Street, Dublin 2. To register for this, or any of the other free events, visit rcpi.ie