My Two Obsessions, My Heavy Truth

When I turned three, my mom bought me my first real doll - a cabbage patch girl with flaming red pigtails. She came with a birth certificate. Born: April 4th, 2004. Named: Dolly. 

I loved her, she was my best friend, and she went everywhere I went. Daycare. The park. My grandparents' house.

I took care of Dolly like she was my own daughter. When my sister Zella was born, I watched intently how my mom took care of her. I copied what she did with Dolly. When she changed Zella's diaper, I changed Dolly's. When she fed Zella, I fed Dolly. When she rocked Zella to sleep in her arms, I did the same with Dolly. 

My mom bought me a pink playhouse that stood as tall as I did for my fourth birthday, fully equipped with a little bed and table. It stayed in the backyard, and during the summer, I spent every day taking care of Dolly inside the playhouse. When my mom would call me in for dinner, as the sun was setting, I'd make up silly excuses to continue playing: "Mommy, Dolly is feeling sick, she needs me to read her a bedtime story," or "Mommy, Dolly spilled her milk, I need to clean it." My mom and I both knew these were silly excuses; I didn't know how to read or even how to clean a mess properly. She'd let me continue playing anyway. 

My daytime activity of being a mom took over my life as an obsession. On the first day of kindergarten, I cried. I was heartbroken and grief-struck. "Dolly needs me Mommy, I need to take care of her. She'll miss me too much."

My mom finally convinced me that Dolly would be looked after while I was at school and that I could continue playing with her when I got home. 

At four years old, I knew that my dream was to be a mother. 

… 

"Ellie, cmon, we're gonna be late for class," said my friend, Sam.

"Ugh," I moaned, grabbing my backpack off the cafeteria floor. Grade 9 geography. Bo-oring. 

"Good afternoon everyone! Quick, quick come in and take your seats. We've got an exciting lesson today, folks." Mr. Henderson greeted us each individually as we entered the classroom. He was a very eccentric man. 

I took my assigned seat next to the two most lame kids at our school and busied myself with the world map on the front wall. Much more interesting than Bob and Joe, or whatever their names were. 

"Alright folks, let's quiet down now and pull out our notebooks. I am so excited for today's lesson because you are the first group of kids I'll be teaching this to." Mr. Henderson flipped open his laptop and turned on the projector to present his PowerPoint. In black text, surrounded by a blue background, were the words CLIMATE CHANGE.

I turned to Bob, or was it Joe, next to me. "Do you know what that is?" I whispered. 

He responded with a shy shrug. 

"Hands up if you've heard this term before? Yes, John, hit me with your answer."

"Isn't that just like, you know, like the rain cycle. Like water evaporating or something?" John is the freshman football star. More brawn than brain.

"Not quite, but good guess John." Mr. Henderson flipped the slide and began his lecture. "The world's climate is changing folks, in ways that we've never before seen before in all of human history."

What was he talking about?

"Our activity in the past century has drastically increased the level of greenhouse gases in our planet's atmosphere. Greenhouse gases, folks, include carbon dioxide which comes from our cars and methane which is cow farts." The class let out a simultaneous giggle about the cow farts. "I know, it sounds funny, but these gases can also come from factories, agriculture, travel, mining and construction. Now, the science is fairly new and climate change is only just starting to be talked about, but essentially what is being said is that these greenhouse gases are causing the planet's temperature to rise at unhealthy levels. Are there any guesses as to what this global warming might cause as a result?" Mr. Henderson was met with silent, thinking minds.

I raised a hand tentatively. "Yes, Ellie, go ahead!"

"Well, this might be really obvious, but wouldn't this warming mean that hot and cold places will both get hotter. Maybe countries near the equator will be uninhabitable."

"That's exactly right Ellie, good answer." Nice, I'd already contributed my participation for this class. I itched to put my headphones in and tune Mr. Henderson out, but he didn't allow music. The slide flipped again, and a picture of emperor penguins was the main attraction.

"If the planet continues to warm the way it has, these penguins will cease to have a home. Scientists are already seeing evidence of melting ice caps during the summer. This means that this region will become, as Ellie said, uninhabitable, but so will surrounding countries. If the ice caps melt serious flooding could occur." Again he flipped the slide, which now showed a family struggling to hold their belongings above their heads as they waded through two feet of water. 

"This, folks, is Bangladesh. A country that is already experiencing severe flooding. In the next 35 years, a fifth of Bangladesh could be underwater if we don't take action to stop climate change now." 

How could people live like this? How could we let them live like this while we were sitting here, learning, warm and comfortable? I was hooked on climate change. 

The next three years of high school, I focused every project I could on climate change. I did well. Most teachers were impressed with my originality to choose a subject that barely anyone was talking about. 

At home, I shared what I'd been learning with my parents. We invested in getting a green bin, recycling more often, buying less plastic-wrapped foods and gardening our own vegetables during warmer weather.

On family vacations, I soaked in every inch of natural beauty I could. I started posting pictures of trees and flowers on my Instagram instead of narcissistic images of myself. I didn't want to show off that I was going on vacation; I wanted to show my friends how pretty the world was. My mission was to spread awareness by educating those around me.   

Climate change became my second obsession. 

It wasn't until my first year of university that I realized the problem was bigger than me. I couldn't solve this by using less plastic and composting. I was crushed, and in my anger, I sent an email to the Canadian government demanding policy change. Three weeks later, they sent me a response:

Dear Ellie Christiensen,

While we appreciate your concern for climate change, we do not see this as a current threat to public security. Thank you for taking the time to write us a letter. We hope to hear from you again, we want to know your thoughts on more serious issues. 

Sincerely, 

Henry Reader

I was infuriated, after the extensive research I'd done over the years. I knew climate change was one of the biggest, if not the biggest threat, to public security. I looked Henry up, and google confirmed my theory. He was old and therefore didn't have to care about our dying planet. He was selfish.

I wrote, repeatedly, each time being met with the same response: climate change is not a threat. 

… 

"I can't stop thinking about the future and I feel like I'm in the dark, like I can't escape." Karin jots down extensive notes before asking another question.

"What is it about the future that's making you feel this way, Ellie?"

"Everything. I… there's so much that I could be living for right now, looking forward too, but I can't stop thinking about how my future is hopeless." More extensive note-taking. 

"How so? Why do you feel hopeless?"

"I'm in debt, student loans are piling up like crazy. I have serious doubts about being able to get a job after university and being able to provide for myself. Every day, there's a new headline on the news about a natural disaster and I can't help thinking I'll be caught in the next one. But mostly, I'm worried about the planet. It's dying." I break down crying, snot running from my nose. Karin walks across her office and brings me a box of tissues. I continue. "When I was little my dream was to become a mom. I can't bring a child into this world and I feel heartbroken. It's not fair of me to give birth to a son or daughter that will grow up on a dead planet." The tears continue streaming down my face. 

"I hear you Ellie," says my therapist. "I do. It's a scary place, the world right now, and I'm frustrated that more is not being done. Have you thought about adoption?"

"I have, yes. But.."

"But? This is a safe place Ellie, everything you say is confidential, you can trust me."  

"But… I'm jealous."

"Of who?"

"My parents, I guess, and everyone who's ever lived before me. I'm jealous that I'm not going to be able to live the same type of life and give birth like every other mother. And don't get me wrong, adoptive parents are still parents, and those kids deserve to live normal lives. I'm just jealous. And angry. I want to carry a baby. I want to adopt. I just want a child of my own. And what makes all this worse is that even if climate change went away, I might never be able to afford to raise a child. Everything keeps getting so expensive. I feel like no one cares about me, the people my age, the people that are coming. All anyone seems to care about is making money no matter what the cost. My future and the planet have been sacrificed for the sake of economic prosperity. Does it make me selfish to have these thoughts?"

"Of course not, it makes you normal, Ellie. Your thoughts and feelings are valid." 

I was hoping she would say that I was wrong, that things would work out fine for me in the end. My reality fully set in as a heavy truth. "I can't have kids.”