When I told my best friend I was happy for her because she was pregnant, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. The truth was that her announcement ruined my day, my week and my self-esteem. It added pressure to my already pressurized mid-30s brain and kept me awake at night with images of celebrating birthdays, alone and bitter, while everyone else basked in the warmth and love of their self-made families.
A few years later, when I was pregnant, I felt too guilty to announce it to my single friends. One night, as I finally plucked up the courage to pick up the phone and share the news, I said to my husband, “Watch, as I ruin someone’s day.”
He looked at me in utter confusion. “What are you talking about?” he said. “They’re your friends. They’ll be happy for you.”
“There’s no such thing as being happy for somebody else,” I shrugged, and he looked at me like I had just announced that I was a psychopathic flesh-eating robot. Keep reading »