When Time Hits Differently: Milestones, Miscarriages, and a Mirror

In our online community, I chose a rather cheeky photo of myself for my profile picture. I don’t tend to take myself too seriously; I’ve always felt that’s a healthy way to be.

The problem is, that photo is over 12 years old. In it, my hair is dark, my skin is clearer, and there are fewer lines. Back then, I felt resilient and had boundless energy. That was the guy who rode close to a thousand kilometers on a bicycle for charity five times with his mates. He was happier, lighter, and excited by the world.

It is such a pity we don’t have that cup anymore. It used to make me laugh every time I made a cuppa. Vickie had the matching "Her Ladyship" mug, and the sheer fact that we were so far removed from a real Lord and Lady is what made it funny. Well, to us anyway.

Then, reality catches up. I get up in the morning and look into the 90s-style mirrored wardrobe next to our bed, and I just don't see that person anymore. I feel like I completely missed the transition from the cheeky guy holding the mug to the man I see now.

But here is the kicker: I’ve always prided myself on trying to be as authentic a person as possible. So why am I presenting a version of myself to my community that is, essentially, fake news?

The man in the mirror today has grey hair. He’s overweight, dealing with a dodgy hip, an ankle that is a mess, and wears five different types of glasses. He’s currently navigating Squamous Cell skin cancer and finding it a bit harder to find the joy in life.

How did I miss this transition? How did I sleep through my own aging?

Part of that answer, I’ve realised, lies in the quiet, heavy reality of our childlessness. 

A childless life hits differently.

We all share the commonality of our foundational years. When we are young, our birthdays and our changing shoe sizes are how we establish the passing of time. As we grow, most of us want to fall in love and share our lives with a special person. For some, this happens; sadly, for others, it doesn’t. But finding a partner is one of life's major milestones—a significant marker. And for many, it is the beginning of how a different life unfolds.

While the joy of love typically morphs into marriage or a solid relationship, for many around us, it then evolves into having children. As parents observe, mentor, and guide their children, their timelines become intertwined. They see their own aging reflected naturally in the joyous growth of their kids. They measure life by first words, first steps, and the first day of school.

Contrast that with our reality. Our timeline didn’t move forward with those joyous milestones; it was violently disrupted.

When your milestones are marked by an IVF confirmation on a birthday and a devastating miscarriage on Father’s Day, time doesn’t feel like your friend.

Our life was put on hold for close to 25 years—15 of those spent aggressively trying to have children. And then, because there is an absolute absence of an instruction book for this path, we stumbled through life for 10 more years just trying to figure out "what’s next" through a heavy haze of grief.

Our markers were not joyous ones. Now, year after year, we are forced to deal with a deep grief while the rest of the world deals in joy. To survive, we simply learned to ignore the calendar. We learned to ignore the passage of time.

Because we froze our internal clock to survive the trauma, did I freeze my image, too. Is that why I kept that younger picture of me up for so long? Because it was safer to stay frozen?

Authenticity isn’t about clinging to the dark-haired guy who rode bikes for hundreds of kilometers. True authenticity is looking directly at that grey-haired bloke in the wardrobe mirror—with the dodgy hip, the messy ankle, the scars, and the cancer—and developing a new mantra:

"This is the man who survived. He is heavy, he is tired, but he is real."

So, I’m finally changing that profile photo to something more recent. It’s nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of. I should wear this present reflection like a badge of honor.

Have you found that your own childless journey caused you to "freeze" yourself in time as a survival mechanism against missing traditional milestones?

Do you find it hard to look in the mirror and reconcile who you are today with the person you were before the grief took hold?