By Lisa Manterfield
“Are you the adult you dreamed of becoming?”
I laughed when I read this question on Facebook. No! Of course I’m not. The adult I dreamed of was an international engineering consultant, living in a large house with a circular driveway, with a fabulous husband and four beautiful children, including one set of twins.
Aside from the fabulous husband, that adult is almost the polar opposite of the adult I am now. I’m a writer, who works from my very small rented beach cottage, and of course, there are no children in my picture. And yet, once I stop to consider my friend’s question, I realize that I’m a lot happier as this adult than I would have been had my expectations been met. I’ve met the person I’d once dreamed of becoming; she wasn’t a very happy person and she definitely had more grey hairs than me.
Half the battle of coming-to-terms with a life without children is letting go of our expectations—and creating new ones. This is never more true than during the holiday season, one of the most difficult times of the year to be childless.
When I think of my expectations of what Christmas should be like as an adult, those four children are always there, gathered around the tree, gathered around the dinner table, and then gathered around me as the day comes to a close. Even when I realized that children wouldn’t be part of my life, I still strived to make Christmas live up to my expectations. Consequently, Christmastime was very sad time for a number of years. I knew there was no way my expectations could be met, and eventually I stopped making an effort to celebrate.
The worst year was when my husband and I found ourselves sitting at home, with no Christmas tree, no plans, no celebration, and we knew we’d allowed our lack of children to take over our lives. We also realized it was time to set new, more realistic expectations.
When I took a step back and looked at what I really wanted for Christmas, not on the surface of gifts, family, and decorations, but on a deeper emotional level, I discovered that my spiritual wish list included love, peacefulness, companionship, and a good dose of silly fun. I needed to explore new ways to get what I really wanted.
It took a couple of false starts to find a new way to celebrate Christmas, but a couple of years ago we nailed it. Mr. Fab and I rented an apartment for three days in a nearby beach town. We celebrated on Christmas Eve with a lovely dinner at an historic hotel with an enormous Christmas tree, roving carolers, and even an outdoor ice rink (in Southern California!). On Christmas Day, instead of sitting at home feeling sad about a pathetic Christmas for two, we went to the zoo, like a couple of big kids, and had a whale of a time. I even got to feed a rhino and have an ice cream. We both agreed it was the best Christmas we’ve had for a long time, plus there were no tantrums or mountains of dirty dishes to deal with.
It’s hard to let go of our expectations, especially when they’re often so deeply engrained, but if you’re struggling to find your holiday cheer this year, I encourage you to look beneath the obvious losses and examine what’s really missing for you. Even if you can’t meet your tangible expectations of what the holidays should be, you might be surprised to find you can satisfy your true needs in unconventional—and unexpected—ways.
Lisa – I’m a first-time visitor to your blog. Thank you for having the courage and guts to a) make your decision to be happy in your life, and, b) write about it.
Not sure exactly what I’ll be trying to say here, as I vacillate in my home between being a “fabulous husband” and the antichrist. I am extremely frustrated by the fertility treatments process, and I feel that it will ultimately cost me my marriage in addition to all the damage the psychology of infertility has wrought on my wife and our life.
I’m the worst of all worlds – the husband who already had a child. My experience with fatherhood is hardly perfect. Ex and I divorced when son was just 18 months old. Began relationship with A. shortly thereafter. We did the Christmases and the Thanksgivings and the school trips. Well, mostly I did that. Not for lack of inclusion on her side, but lack of participation. Always jealous of the time I spent with my son. Frankly, I have had to work very hard to de-fang some resentments about the way she has treated my son and obstructed my efforts to be a good father.
I had to be fierce in fighting for my relationship with him, and I’m proud to say he is highly accomplished soon to move on to an exciting college life.
But he’s not HERS. And man, she never lets me forget it. The we surprised ourselves by getting pregnant, but a miscarriage ended that at 9 weeks. Ever since, infertility has taken over our lives. It’s reaching the point where I just can’t take it anymore.
I know that “it’s easy for me to say, because I have a child.” I know that “I can’t fully understand how it feels.” But I have come to hate the fertility industry and believe that it is damaging the mental and emotional health of my family and millions of others.
I’m trying – I go to the appointments. I shop for and cook the special diets. I take the supplements. And I endure the torturous cycle of treatments and waiting. Two IUIs and three chemical pregnancies later, I enter Days 21-26 with a completely justified sense of dread.
I know she’s hurting, and it breaks my heart. I want to be comforting, and I really try. But when her anger and viciousness is unleashed, however, and it’s very hard to edge any space out of it. This just all feels unnatural. So much attachment. So much assumption that a baby is what makes life worth living.
I’m ready to end the fertility process. And frankly, I’m ready to end the marriage.
I could never in good faith recommend that a couple enter fertility treatments. I realize that might be an extreme view, but that’s the way I feel. My wife – and I – were devastated at the miscarriage. Now it’s just an ongoing cycle of devastation, and it’s poisoning the rest of our lives.
I could go on, but why? Thanks for providing the space where I could get this off my chest.
Hi StuckInTheMiddle, thank you for sharing this, it’s my first time to read a husband’s point of view in this site. I’m sorry about your marriage. And about the way your wife treated your son, I suddenly had to rewind my thoughts about how I resented my mother-in-law because she obviously adored her other daughters-in-law whom she has grandchildren. I never had her favor. Sometimes I feel like she would always treat me good because of the financial support she gets from us.
My husband do not have an ex wife, so he does not have children, and sadly he could never have any. Sometimes I just wish he had one from other women before he married me, I can’t imagine how a man feels if he truly wanted to experience fatherhood as much as woman desires to become a mother.
It’s been a long while since I asked my husband about this matter. Maybe we are busier with other things, which I’m grateful for. But at this moment, I’m glad I have him to face life’s challenges.
I wish you everything good.
Claire from the Philippines
Hi StuckIntheMiddle,
Thank you for being brave enough to come here and share so openly what you’re going through. Know that you are among people here who totally understand.
As you may know, I am an infertile woman with a husband who has children. It certainly adds an additional dimension to an already impossible situation. Most people here will agree that once you get onto the infertility wheel, logic and rational behavior quickly go out the window. Before you know it, having a baby is THE ONLY thing that matters, and yes, it starts to affect every single aspect of your life. It becomes all-consuming, and eventually it chips away at even the most solid relationship.
This site was created as a place for people to come when they’re done with the infertility craziness but don’t know how to stop, or don’t know how to be “okay” with not having children of their own. (Because, there is always “one more thing” you could try and so no one ever gives you an ending.) The hardest part is acknowledging that you are done and that you need to look for another path. It sounds like you’ve reached that point, but your wife has not.
I know that my husband reached the end of his rope before I did. I know now (although I didn’t see it then) that he kept going through the process because he knew that’s what I wanted. It put a lot of strain on our marriage. But eventually I realized that if we didn’t stop, it had the potential to destroy our marriage, and I didn’t want that. It took a long time for me to get past that yearning for a child, but eventually we were able to pick ourselves up and rebuild our life together. But, I had to get to the point of being ready to stop on my own time. That’s that tricky bit for you.
I hope you’ll use this site for support. Part of the battle is just realizing you’re not alone and that there are people who understand what you’re going through. You might want to check out this post about infertility from a man’s point of view: https://www.lifewithoutbaby.com/2014/10/13/guest-post-infertility-cuts-men/
Also, this post and the podcast hosted by a husband and wife team that’s mentioned at the end. They have an episode on why it’s so hard to give up. https://www.lifewithoutbaby.com/2017/09/22/our-stories-m/
Finally, if it feels right for you, you may want to consider talking to a professional therapist to help you through this.
Hope this helps.
I had a long conversation with my wife last night. I told her that I loved, that I understood her dream of motherhood. Then I told her how frustrated I was, and that I could not and would not live a life with an “absence” being the biggest presence.
I am highly resentful toward the fertility “industry,” and I told her that. I also told her – as we were gobbling down 15 supplements – that I do not consider it coincidental that the farthest along we got with any pregnancy was the first one, where we just being happy and having a good time with each other and with life. It happened, and it ended sadly with a miscarriage, but we’ve gotten nowhere beyond a “chemical” pregnancy since (which ironically we wouldn’t even have known about if it weren’t for the ridiculous fertility monitoring BS).
As for my having a child: Well, he was in her life, too, from the time he was 18 months. Maybe she feels badly for not viewing that as parent time. But frankly – and I know this may be a little impolitic – that’s on her, not me. I begged her to view him as her own. I praised her at the times when she reached out and connected. If she has regrets on that front, I hate to say, she earned them.
I try to be spiritually fit and to actively expand my spiritual program. In my view, we are all already parents. We have children who orbit through our lives, be they nieces and nephews, children of friends, students we teach, whatever. We don’t “own” children. Even the ones born to us are not “ours.” Just ask anyone who’s ever parented a teenager! Our job is to help give children a place to be child-like and a chance to see growing as an opportunity and not a sentence. They are not here for our amusement or to give our lives meaning. If you don’t feel like your life has meaning before you have a child, then you’re putting an awful lot of pressure on the child. What could go wrong?
Love the children in your life, however they got there. Live for the possibilities you have, not under the weight of what you don’t have.
And for God’s sake, whenever possible, stick with the love between you and your partner as the ultimate fertility treatment. We want a “fix” for everything, and that desire invites a lot of pain and, ultimately, destruction.
Lisa, I really love this post, and have noted two issues in it that I want to go on and post about myself.
I particularly loved this – ” … we knew we’d allowed our lack of children to take over our lives.” I think so many of us can relate to that. Recognising it was the key to changing. I’m so glad you did. I think almost all of us do in time.
Hi stuck in the middle. When you said” As for my having a child: Well, he was in her life, too, from the time he was 18 months. Maybe she feels badly for not viewing that as parent time. But frankly – and I know this may be a little impolitic – that’s on her, not me. I begged her to view him as her own. I praised her at the times when she reached out and connected. If she has regrets on that front, I hate to say, she earned them.”
If I was your wife I would find what you said you feel in this paragraph very hurtful, it feels like you blame her for not being able to behave how you expect her too.
I imagine I’d feel inadequate for not being able to to feel what you want her to feel about your son. Then that feeds into the shame and being misunderstood and then the circle of horrible feelings get worse and worse.
She wouldn’t view your son as hers or see it as parent time because he’s not her baby, and her feelings are not going to be rational because feelings are just there, feelings are irrational.
I’m not saying you’ve not got it hard too, you have. But i just wanted to let you know how it feels for her, she cant control what she feels.
It has been quite difficult but I’m trying to reset my expectations of being a mother since it’s never going to happen biologically or through adoption. After tragically losing my friend and coworker this year, I’ve come to the bittersweet realization that we as a society are absolutely starved for “mothering”, which I define as connecting, nurturing, and caring. I’ve gotten a lot out of “mothering” my grieving colleagues as well as caring for my elderly Mom and in-laws this year. It will never be the same as being a bio mom but I’m trying hard to realize that it’s not less than. I’ve been passed over and forgotten by my own family so many times because I’m involuntarily childless it’s hard to not be bitter. I’ve got a lot of difficult work ahead of me but I’ve taken a small step in a new direction.
Thank you, Kath (and Lisa and Claire). This is the kind of feedback I’ve been hoping to receive by sharing my thoughts here.
I’ve spent 16 years working to reconcile the reality of my role as a father with the other reality that A. does not have a child of “her own.” I’ll be the first to admit that I have my own flaws and that I have opinions and views that may at times be unfair or hurtful. But I’m sorry, my first concern will always run to the child who didn’t ask to be here, who was placed in my/our care. Adults have a lot more choice in their matters (the very real and understandably difficult unfairness of not “choosing” to be childless notwithstanding).
Part of becoming an adult is in fact learning to control (to some extent) what we feel. I don’t buy for a minute that we can’t do that. Otherwise, we’re no better than starfish, simply recoiling in reaction to whatever stick life pokes us with. I get it. I’ve held my wife through the miscarriage. Through the chemical pregnancies. Through the tyrannical monthly cycles. And I’ve allowed her to vent to me about my inability to understand, the unfairness that “I” get to know what parenthood feels like, etc. For YEARS. I’ve shed tears and I’ve dried many, many more.
And yes, I would hope that ANYONE who has a child placed in front them – into their lives – could see that experience in a deeper way than “it’s not *really* my child. My son had to hear someone he loved deeply tell him in anger that she couldn’t wait until she had a “real” child.
Yes – I expect an adult and a loving partner to feel – or at the very least, behave –
differently. Now, that said, it’s never too late to reach out, to mend a fence, rebuild a bridge or abandon a misplaced resentment. But to just say, “well, that’s a feeling I have and there’s nothing I can do about feelings” sounds like a cop-out to me.
Thanks for accepting my point of view and input without taking offence, its hard to put such a difficult subject into typing on the phone without it coming across wrong, or unsupportive.
I don’t think it’s a cop out at all though and the reason why I said you can’t control what you feel is because – my friend was beating herself up for not feeling or being able to behave logically while she was grieving losses, her therapist/councillor was the one who helped her very much by making her realise that her feelings were not logical, they were just there and she couldnt control what she felt.
While to some extent you can control your behaviour, but the feelings are there and they are valid.
My infertility emotions (& those emotions my friend felt at the time of her losses) were very overpowering they were so strong we could feel ourselves bubbling over with so much emotion it was so so hard to keep a lid on them all the time, it was like a pressure cooker and we feared how it would take just one more thing to push us over the edge and release all this emotion into the open. These emotions are horrible emotions to feel, they make you feel evil for having them and when you don’t get empathy for having these emotions it just makes you hate yourself more. I really felt like a cauldron of evil emotions bubbling over and i felt I was evil. When I didn’t get met with understanding, support and compassion for feeling this way I got full of self hate which made things worse.
Your wife has to be allowed to really “feel”what she feels. It is the only way to get through it, she has to be allowed to have those feelings be acknowled verbally by you. That may be why she reminds you over and over, i think you said “she won’t let you forget it,” sometimes if we feel like we are not being “heard” we say it over and over again. For instance, my partner would always try to make me happy Or get me to look at the bright side but I felt like he was dismissing what I said I was fèeling and not hearing me. My councillor said to him to repeat what I said back to him. E.g. if i say “I feel so empty”, instead of him saying “we’ve got a lot to fill our lives” it’s better if he says “I know you feel empty” “i know you do, it’s very hard for you when you feel so empty” that acknowleges my pain and that acknowlegement helped me “feel” my pain and eventually get over it. He said how long will you have to talk about this, we talk about it all the time and the councillor said it will take going over and over and over, but after I got acknowlegement and allowed to feel my emotions instead of being chastised & blamed for expressing ugly emotions it got easier for both of us
I have replied to you stuck in the middle but it’s probably stuck in the spam filter and will be freed and sent on soon.
I just wanted to say also that being told your unable to see the child in a deeper way than *Not her child* would just make me feel shallow as a person and even more inadequate and inferior as a woman. Infertility always causes those feelings so to have that said to you enforces that that is true when it isnt.
I’m glad my partner doesn’t have any children from another partner as it would of made it even harder than it already was and added more pressures and a whole other dimension to the pain and of being misunderstood.
Sometimes we *are* shallow. We cannot grow and be of maximum service to those we love until we admit this. Thanks for sharing your reactions to my thoughts, Kath – my wife’s view is obviously very similar to yours.
Life is hard. All of us are missing something we thought we had to have to be happy. I think that’s the basis of this entire website – thank you again, Lisa.
We have to test ourselves, challenge our views and reinvent our ideas of life and how to grow through its challenges so that we can appreciate its beauty and be grateful for its gifts.
All the best to all of you in this Holiday season. You are all perfect in the eyes of the universe, and you all have so much to give. Give it, and watch miracles unfold.
Thanks again.
You are a great writer, Lisa! Keep up the good work.
Interesting that you feel she should be of “service”to you.
This website is also for coming to terms with being without baby and for support when others minimise and dismiss our losses and disapointments and for us to vent when we cannot explain it to others in a way to make them understand without them coming across as critical of us for feeling as we do and patronising and condescending on a subject they think they can advise on but have never experienced themselves, but who think they know better and come from a higher plain of understanding of how the something works that they have been lucky enough to of never been through.
It’s probably best we end our discussion now as it is upsetting me and this is a place I come to for understanding. I’m done explaining myself, that’s the hardest part of infertility, the explaining and justifying emotions to people who just cannot understand. I’m done.
Thanks to all. I am truly sorry if I offended anyone. I do appreciate the conversation – it has helped me better understand this difficult situation. I wish you all only the very, very best.
Kath –
You taught me a lot. Thank you for sharing. I know it wasn’t easy. I hope you will know that your ability to articulate your experience has helped me see a dimension that I was missing. I humbly wish you the very, very best.
I do want you to know that I was in no way referring to my wife being “of service” to me. I was talking all of us as human beings being of maximum service to the people, causes and greater communities we love. The big wheel turning. Just want to clarify that.
Thank you all. Lisa – you’re really doing something good here.
This is a wonderful post, and I enjoyed reading it very much! I’m so glad that you and your hubby found a way to celebrate Christmas and find joy, despite being childless.
This journey is a tough one, but we can find a new path, if only we are willing to look at life with a different perspective…