middle age

Failure to Bloom: Childless at 49

It would be more technically correct to say failure to reproduce, or to flower, but failure to bloom is the phrase that keeps coming to me. At age 49 my periods are still hanging in short term memory buds, and my womb aches from time to time, teasing my body, pulling toward the next phase. My cycles have become unpredictable, and my body feels like uncharted land where there are caves, stone walls, storms, and expanses of desert inviting me to listen longer. Feeling my existence somewhere in the balance between being more discerning and more carefree.


I feel my final eggs drying up inside my womb. Reminding me of my failure to reproduce, my failure to bloom. The one biological imperative I have not, and will not manifest this lifetime.  It’s specific and finite. There will be no babies born from my body. There will be no labour pain. There will be no further continuation of life with my genetic code. I will bear no grandchildren for my mother to hold.


Defective. That’s the other word that comes to mind as I contemplate my existence as a childless middle aged woman in this world. The earth of my body like clay, rolling water and sunshine. Mud awaiting a lotus that never appears, and never will. I can be specific in this case. There’s no maybe here, there’s no power of prayer possible, or hard work that will change this fact. There will be no baby born from my body. There can be no dispute. This one thing I know for sure.


What is my value? And in what currency? Looking to the past I see evidence of my ancestors crimes. The crimes of my spirit ancestors. Looking to the future I see a vast open space like a view from a cliff over the ocean at night. The sound of the moon and water moving that I cannot see. Air in pockets deep in my lungs, called forth by the wind. Star light holding still behind shifting clouds.


In the 49th year I find myself working very hard at the seemingly never ending internal investigation of crime scenes. Tracing figures, calculating distances, time frames, sorting through images and drawing connections in my mind body, body mind. If x, then y. Why? Why this quest? Why this constant internal audit?


I believe the answer has something to do with the barrage of information flooding my system since birth. The sensory experiences known and unknown, the accumulation of currencies and contingencies. Taking in all that can be absorbed to build the case, connect the dots, render the problem solved, rest my case. Simply rest.


So is that the next step? Rest? Rest in the present moment? Trust all is as it is destined to be? See the past as a series of present moments, many of which were focused on the future or past, now with the option to stay in the present. Tune in. Deeply in.


Be clear with my yes’s and no’s. Even if it means leaving a group of people because my senses say go, when social graces would say stay. Trust my own knowing even when it’s not convenient for others. I won’t keep people in false relationships, just because I’m afraid I might hurt their feelings. I commit to that now. Better to be true to me first and invest my energy, my currency, my attention, my most valuable commodity, where the blend results in a higher frequency, greater currency mass, expanding the power of us as individuals and emanating to the field around us for the greatest good. The image that comes to mind is a bow touching down on violin strings, vibrating sound that hits the ear of the cello player who then places bow on cello strings, both previously recorded and now playing through speakers in a car I drive at 60 miles per hour up a curving mountain climb and through a tunnel. Breathing it all in. Present to the unknown magic of being alive in a 49 year old body, present. Here.