My friend Paula turned 50 this year. It’s been more than a decade since she and her husband realized it was time to accept that they wouldn’t have children. For ten years she’s been working through the mess—the grief, the anger, the sadness, the despair, the big, big question of “what am I am going to do now that I won’t be a mother?” And because her older brother was a confirmed bachelor, Paula also felt pressure from her parents to produce a grandchild, even though they never said it out loud.
But that was a long time ago. If you ask Paula now, she’ll tell you she’s “cured.” She’ll tell you that, most days, she doesn’t think about the fact that she’s childless. She and her husband travel, they have a broad circle of friends, she’s been able to hop on career opportunities that would have been difficult with small children. She enjoys her friends’ children and she enjoys handing them back to their parents. In her candid moments, she’ll say her life worked out better than she’d expected and might not have been so great if she’d had the children she once so desperately desired.
Life is pretty good for Paula.
And then her brother fell in love, married, and shortly thereafter announced he would become a father. Paula called me in tears. She was utterly blindsided by her tearful reaction.
“I thought I was over this,” she said. “I wouldn’t swap places with my brother for anything. A newborn at 53? Nightmare.”
She told me her parents were over the moon, that her mother was telling everyone that she was going to be a grandma. “At last,” she told people, giving Paula a meaningful look.
“At last?” Paula said to her father. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
And that’s when her dad opened up. He admitted how “difficult” all this waiting and longing had been for them. He’d felt left out too, he told her.
She understood, but his confession found its way deep inside Paula, to that one small dark spot that had yet to heal, and poured salt into all those old—and now reopened—wounds. The guilt and shame that consumed her in that moment was overwhelming, and the tremendous weight of that was part of what took her by surprise. Her brother had made her aging parents happy, had given them the thing she couldn’t. The family torch had been passed and it wouldn’t be to Paula.
When I talked to Paula again a couple of weeks later, she assured me that she was going to be okay. She said a part of her was looking forward to being an aunt and that her big grown-up self was happy for her brother and her parents.
“But,” she added, “people always ask how long it takes to get over not being a mother. I always thought seven or eight years was about right, but now I think maybe the answer is ‘never.’”
I have always thought that the answer was never. It’s funny to read this post, because I have been struggling more lately. It started several months back. A friend announced that she was pregnant with #4, an “unplanned surprise”, and ever since then the baby bump posts from various people have caused so much pain. Was just talking to another childless not by choice woman that I met at a party this weekend. She said she feels the same, the pain is never totally gone.
I agree. I feel mostly ok, but then suddenly something happens or someone says something and I feel the grief, the loss pretty intensely again. The difference has been that I don’t linger as long as I used to (years) in that state of loss and depression. The “unplanned” “surprise” pregnancy announcements, and the “got pregnant on the first try” by people who never wanted kids before, really do hit me hardest.
Wow. I have often thought about my parents and inlaws and how they will feel if it ends up for sure that we will remain childless. Thankfully, my husband has four younger siblings who will probably eventually have spouses and kids, so they can “make up for it.” On my side though, my older sister has struggled with infertility for a long time, and they are hoping to foster/adopt in future, just nothing has worked out. I wonder if my parents will “only” have adoptive grandkids, and if they will be okay with it. I feel the pressure from both sets of parents, even though neither has been very pushy about it. However, I recently revealed our struggles to my mom, and the possibility of us just accepting the inevitable, and she did NOT take well to that… as if this wasn’t hard enough.
I’m 61 with a great life, very happily married, but the pain will never go away, ever!
My answer is NEVER. I will NEVER get over losing my children. I am learning how to live with the fact that I will never be a mother. I think Jody Day – founder of Gateway Women has said “It’s not the flu… It’s nothing to get over.” With support of websites like this one and many others, I have found that each day I grieve a little less (of course I am writing this after about 4 years of deep, deep, heart-wrenching grief). But with support, time, many tears for my children I am living with that fact that I lost them and I will never be a mother to the “outside” world.
I am 64 and I am also good with it…My friends are now becoming Grandparents…I lost my husband and I grieved for him…being childless is also a Grief, a death of a dream…just like my Grief over my husband, you go thorugh it but you never get over it…Being childless is also like that…You go through it but you are never over it…
We are all human and the longing, the grief is all normal.
That is why I invest my time in my abilities, my talents, the things I can do, not the things I cannot do.
I meet grandmas all the time and I look at their pictures and hear their stories…I adopt neighborhood kids and tell my own stories…they just are not legally mine…Everyone looks at me and tells me “It takes a village to raise a child” I smile because I am a part of that Village
I agree. I feel mostly ok, but then suddenly something happens or someone says something and I feel the grief, the loss pretty intensely again. The difference has been that I don’t linger as long as I used to (years) in that state of loss and depression. The “unplanned” “surprise” pregnancy announcements, and the “got pregnant on the first try” by people who never wanted kids before, really do hit me hardest.
sorry, this reposted accidentally.
I concur with Lenita that “you go through it but never get over it.” At 68 I am enjoying my life because I’ve learned to give myself permission to do so. Many of my friends and family members who are grandparents take on a lot of childcare responsibilities and frankly it’s not easy for them. I enjoy the freedom that I have without those responsibilities. i’ve learned to accept that everyone has some life challenges, this just happens to be mine and I’ve learned it is possible to be happy in spite of the pain caused by infertility and pregnancy loss. It just takes lots of time and the support of others who understand.
The loss of a dream I think sums it up. We had adopted a baby and the birth mom changed her mind. My husband and I agreed we were not going to fight it. It was devastAting more for me I think than my husband. And because it was Avery deep wound, the scab has healed but occasionally it is pulled off, at times. I occasionally still feel sad, about this, or feel tripped up. But these sites help and and the grief is nothing like it was almost 8 years ago. One of the books that really helped me was when bad things happen to good people. That helped,e look at things differently.much love , and hugs to all. ❤️
I actually redefined “getting over it.” I wrote this back in May 2015 –
“In my mind, “getting over it” actually means something different; it means learning to live with something, absorbing the experience as part of us, remembering but no longer reliving, no longer hurting every minute or even every day. I think it means that we learn from our experiences, and move on with our lives – changed forever, never forgetting, but happy again, stronger, wiser, more compassionate.”
Okay, I think you’re going to prompt another post!
It’s been 10 years since the infertility diagnosis. It seems to go ok most of the time, but last night it hit so hard and I am very sad today. Had a get together with friends last night to celebrate a birthday. The Birthday girl brought her 9 month old twins, her friend brought her 20 month old twins, and another mutual acquaintance didn’t make it because she brought home her 11 month old foster son (that looks like adoption is imminent). It just broke me. It was all about the babies. Hoping to crawl out of this sorrow soon. I was mentally prepared for the twins but was surprised about the foster baby. That just caught me off guard.