"The Messy Middle": Unmet Expectations and Heartbreak

There are a lot of quotes about expectations and disappointment.

Sylvia Plath said, “If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.” Shakespeare said, “Expectation is the root of all heartbreak.” Alexander Pope said, “Blessed is the one who expects nothing, for they shall never be disappointed.” And Brene Brown said, “Disappointment is unmet expectations, and the more significant the expectations, the more significant the disappointment.”

All these great thinkers agree: without expectation there is no disappointment.

Some expectations are put on us from others, but the most devastating disappointments are from expectations we have of ourselves.

This sermon is about family-building and infertility. This may be a topic close to your heart. Please protect your mental health and step out as necessary.

Family-building and infertility are subjects which affect many people who want children. I want to acknowledge that not everyone wants children. While this sermon specifically discusses disappointments from the expectation of having children, I hope it can also be taken as a metaphor for any disappointment borne from unmet expectations.

I’d like to talk about today’s Haftarah portion. In it we have a story which begins with deep disappointment, a recurrent theme in our holy texts: a woman who is unable to conceive.

We read of Hannah, wife of Elkanah, who has no children. Worse yet, her husband’s other wife Peninah has multiple sons and daughters. Knowing that Elkanah favors Hannah’s company, Peninah sees Hannah’s pain and taunts her. Every year as Elkanah spends the day offering sacrifices to God on behalf of his two wives and Peninah’s many children, Hannah spends the day crying.

For what it’s worth, Elkanah puts no pressure on Hannah to have children: quite the opposite. He loves Hannah so much, he gives Adonai a double sacrifice on her behalf. He doesn’t understand her pain. He says to her, “Am I not better to you than ten sons?”

Interestingly, Elkanah’s unwavering love for Hannah is also a theme within our sacred texts. Sarah, Rebecca, and Rachel all had trouble conceiving, and they were all deeply and utterly loved by their husbands. In a world where women were expected to be mothers, our forefathers showed us that a woman’s value goes far beyond her ability to bear children.

Although we don’t see any external expectations in our text, I know it’s there lurking in the background. I know because I have experienced it myself, as I’m sure most people have.

“When will you have children?” “The clock is ticking.” “You may not want kids now, but you’ll regret not having them sooner.”

When internal expectations are compounded by external ones, the disappointment can be devastating.

Ze’evi and I talked about our desire to be parents on our second date. That conversation was almost nine years ago.

In connecting with other LGBTQ+ individuals going through fertility journeys, we learned a new term: social infertility. Most queer people are unable to have children “naturally,” and the procedures we have to go through as a result often mirror medical infertility even if there is no medical issue.

We had paperwork to sign, medical and genetic testing to go through, psychological evaluation to pass, and lawyer contracts to write up and notarize. It took a year before we could even start trying.

We found solace in talking with others going through what we were going through. We were frustrated with the system that made us jump through hoops. We felt envious of those who could build a family without doctors or lawyers.

One day someone else on this journey said, “I knew I had social infertility; I didn’t expect I would have medical infertility as well.” After several months and multiple procedures, she still isn’t pregnant, and each cycle is more disappointing.

There's not just the struggle of getting pregnant, but also staying pregnant. “We got pregnant and felt over the moon” one couple said, “but then we lost it shortly after. Our doctors said it’s actually a good thing, as it shows that we can get pregnant. But it doesn't feel like a good thing right now. We’re heartbroken, and we need some time before we try again.”

The struggle of growing your family doesn’t only affect those trying to have biological children. A gay couple in NYC was on the adoption wait list for almost a decade. Whether it was homophobia, classism, antisemitism, or some combination of reasons, they were never approved.

In Hannah’s story, many people focus on the ending: Hannah prays from her heart, her lips move without a sound, and her tears fall freely. God hears her cries and grants her wish: she conceives and gives birth.

Everyone loves a happy ending, but to me it feels like a tacky add-on in attempt to turn a story of heartbreak into a feel-good tale. We don’t see the years of despair Hannah lives through. We don’t see every smile she forces as those around her have babies and she has none.

When I read Hannah’s story, I imagine a story full of unspoken human experiences. Jealousy as others receive what you most long for. Self-blame as it seems like you are the only one struggling, because we don’t readily share our pain with others.

We also don’t see Hannah’s experience with pregnancy. Going through it myself, I can imagine her anxiety. Not knowing what is normal, fearing every day that something could go wrong. Her growing belly more of a hope than a promise.

Regardless of whether we can relate to Hannah’s experiences, we all know her pain: the disappointment that comes from an expectation for our future that does not come true.

Brene Brown says there’s a difference between feeling disappointed and living disappointed. If we don’t let our feelings out, the disappointment will seep into every part of our lives. Grief is a natural and healthy response when our expectations are not met.

Singer-songwriter Sarah Bareilles recently released an album entitled Good Grief which chronicles her experiences with infertility, a two plus year journey which did not have a happy ending. In interviews she laments that most people only talk about infertility once they are “on the other side.” Very few people discuss what she calls the “messy middle” – when you’re in the thick of it and don’t yet know if your expectations will be met.

When you’re in the messy middle, it’s hard to grieve. You’re still holding onto hope. With each disappointment a part of you says, “Don’t be sad – it’s not over yet.” But it’s normal to feel sad even if you haven’t given up.

I wish we could see Hannah’s messy middle. I wish we could see her every month holding back tears as her body told her it was not yet her time. And although I’m happy she got her wish, I know that is not the case for everyone. Sarah Bareilles is still figuring out her next steps, as she has come to the understanding that biological children are not in her future.

Part of me wishes Hannah had adopted a child. Or became like a mother to all the neighborhood children. Or learned to love her life without fulfilling a parent-like role. Not because childbirth after infertility is not a great story, but because it’s told over and over again in our tradition, and we don’t see the alternatives.

Life is not so neat. I wish we had more stories of people living in the messy middle, feeling lost and unsure of what the future holds for them. Stories of people realizing they have to pivot and create new goals and expectations. Stories of people wailing out in their grief and there is no answer from above, but rather, and answer from within.

Even six months pregnant, I still feel like I’m in a messy middle. I have expectations that are not guaranteed: the expectation that this pregnancy will result in a live birth. The expectation that the baby will survive its first week, its first month, its first year. The expectation that my children will outlive me.

Expectation may be the root of all heartache, but we cannot live as nihilists without hope or desire. We need expectations to give us a roadmap of where we want to go in life, but we cannot let our expectations hold us back if life has other plans.

Let us learn from Hannah. Not the part that suggests every disappointment has a happy ending if we want it badly enough. But the part where she opens herself to grief and weeps when she experiences soul-crushing disappointment as a result of unmet expectations. Her example to allow yourself to be human.

Everyone either is in or has been in a messy middle of sorts. Regardless of what the expectation is, we all have encountered disappointments from life not going our way. And sometimes the lesson isn’t to keep trying until we get our way, but how to carry on knowing we won’t.