When life grants you membership into a club you never chose to be a part of, it can be extremely difficult. Sobering. Devastating. You may want to pretend you’re not a member because you can pass—membership is invisible. You may deny membership for awhile because it’s too painful.
Sometimes you can see someone else’s invisible badge and in turn, you feel seen and comforted (because you know you’re not alone)— Like when someone doesn’t ask you about your own mother on Mother’s Day, when someone doesn’t ask if you’re having a child (or having another child), when a party host asks all invited guests to disclose allergies or food intolerances. There is something soothing and relieving about this type of recognition.
Sometimes you yearn for someone to see the invisible badges you wear even though you might do anything not to have earned them. That’s when a lot of people come to therapy— to be able to speak freely about this involuntary club membership without guilt and shame.
There was a television series that came out last year centering on the connections and relationships that grew among people who lost loved ones in a plane crash— Dear Edward— and came together in a weekly support group to honor each other’s pain. They were the only ones who could truly understand the experience. This is also why I’ve created groups where people who feel alone in their invisible club with an invisible badge can come together in a community of kindred souls to release the burden of this involuntary membership.
One of the biggest challenges to being a holder of an invisible badge is dealing with people who don’t see it. What do you say to them when they ask about something that’s private and tender? It seems innocent enough to ask a newly married couple when they will have children, not knowing they are struggling with infertility. What is one to do then? Lie by omission, brush over it, minimize it, dismiss it, or give a vague answer, maybe even joking about it in some way. Why? Flashing the badge invites unwanted attention, questions and conversation. However, concealing the badge doesn’t yield better results either: while it protects you from being “othered,” it also leads to feeling unseen, ignored, overlooked, disconnected, and endangered in some ways.
Alternatively, if someone discloses a club membership, the responses they receive tend to be prescriptive and solution focused: “you should just…,” or “when I dealt with xyz…,”; or they are met with questions that ask for receipts: “haven’t you tried…,” “why aren’t you…”; and pithy sympathy: “I’m sorry for your loss.” Sadly, there aren’t magic opt-out buttons once you are admitted into the club. It’s complicated, layered, and delicate to decide how you communicate membership (or not) when you are around friends, family, colleagues, acquaintances and strangers. It can feel draining to feel like you have to take care of others when you express your feelings. However, you may be more likely to get what you actually need: someone to listen and just hold the space with you, without offering an opinion, advice, a solution, or an answer.
Jody Earle has published a letter she wrote to her family and friends about her journey with IVF and infertility. She begins, “I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is difficult; there are times when it seems even I don't understand. This struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share my feelings with you. I want you to understand.
You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, helpless, depressed, envious, too serious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.” Her eloquent and insightful letter continues to express and explain in great detail about her experience, feelings, and needs.
There is some recognition of this problem that sociocultural movements have addressed with pronoun pins, rainbow flags, a symbol of a raised fist, safety pins, and semicolons. The criticism of these symbols is that one can wear or display the symbol without doing anything else. It can also make one a target of hate, discrimination, or violence. However, I would argue that displaying the symbol whether one is or is not a member of a certain club provides a sense of validation, solidarity, and understanding in a world where people feel invisible and like their struggle doesn’t matter.
Even more, sometimes people feel that their struggle or pain isn’t bad enough to warrant membership. People may identify as a member but feel that they aren’t entitled to wear the invisible badge. They fall into the trap of comparative suffering, feeling that “other people have it so much worse.” No one benefits from people denying their own pain, their own feelings.
It’s hard to get through life without finding yourself a member of one of these clubs. Some people end up feeling like surviving is a badge of honor versus a scarlet letter as they journey through their pain. It is imperative now more than ever to proceed with sensitivity over apathy, curiosity over assumption, and kindness over criticism and dismissiveness.
“In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”