Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…That You Are Not Alone

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By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I’ve been reading John Pavlovitz’s blog for some time now, amazed at how often he nails what I have been feeling but have been unable to fully articulate. This week’s post was no exception. He had me at the title:
For Those Who Hurt on Mother’s Day.

It’s taken me decades to get to the place of peace where I am now, and I’ve forgotten some of the lessons learned along the way. Like “Don’t look at social media in the weeks before and after Mother’s Day”. I made that mistake early this week when I oh-so-innocently logged in to check in with a couple of friends and got bombarded with “The Perfect Gifts for Moms!” and questionnaires asking for “All the Things You Love About Being a Mommy” and throwback photos of babies and toddlers alongside current photos of those same sweet humans who are now graduates and parents themselves.

You know what? This whole week f-ing hurts.

So it felt really good to be understood. To be acknowledged by a man — a dad, no less — who recognizes that this Sunday’s holiday isn’t all flowers and brunches and kisses and cuddles. To hear that at least one other person is aware of my grief and my right to grieve some more.

Pavlovitz offers a line that I often share: “You are not alone.” And today I feel it, from his words and from my being part of this amazing and supportive LWB community. (Thank you.)

He then closes with lines of encouragement that went straight to my heart. It’s what I have felt, what I would like to say to you — and he says it beautifully. I hope you’ll take a few minutes to read his post and let it touch you too.

Be gentle with yourself this weekend.

xoxoKathleen

Please note: Many of Pavlovitz’s messages are political or religious in nature and we at LWB do not necessarily share his views on all topics. Please consider this before clicking beyond the post we have shared here.

Our Stories: Karina

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

When I first read Karina’s story, I was struck by how much of it I could relate to. Then her answer to “What’s the best advice you’ve received?” gave me chills (in a good way). “YES!” I all but yelled at my laptop.

I hope you find some encouragement here.  xoxoKathleen

 

LWB: Briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Karina: Motherhood wasn’t something I really dreamed about. Because I experienced significant trauma as a young child, it made the idea of motherhood actually a little scary for me. I thought about it, yes, many times, especially as my 35th birthday approached. But my thoughts on motherhood were always a bit ambivalent; there was always the fear somewhere in the back of my head. But one day my desire to experience motherhood became stronger than my fear and I just knew I wanted to be one.

LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?

Karina: I am childfree by circumstance. I was almost 40 by the time my husband and I married, so we began trying right away. We spent three heart-breaking years trying to make our baby dreams a reality.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Karina: I’m crawling toward acceptance. I still can’t go to baby showers. It’s still difficult to see pregnant women. I still have seconds-long fantasies that a miracle happens. I still have bad days. But I started therapy about a year ago and I have more good days than bad days now. Sometimes I can even talk about my experience and not get teary-eyed. I know it’ll continue getting easier each day, but I don’t think the pain ever goes away completely. It just becomes a smaller part of who you are.

LWB: What was the turning point for you?

Karina: My turning point started when we lost our three little embryos in our one and only IVF cycle. We were absolutely devasted. After years of trying, countless treatments, an early miscarriage, and a surgery to remove some uterine fibroids, we prayed that IVF would finally be the answer. But it was not to be. I had never in my life felt so hopeless and so completely broken physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I didn’t leave our house for two weeks. Somewhere in all that darkness, though, I found the strength to finally get help and began seeing a therapist. I’ve been in therapy for a year now and having recently celebrated my 43rd birthday, I can say that I’m ready to turn the page and begin this next chapter of my life. I’m ready to discover this new version of myself.

LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?

Karina: Not experiencing pregnancy and the miracle of giving birth. Not knowing what our children would have looked like and which traits they would’ve inherited from each of our families. Knowing our family tree ends with us. Those are the things that I struggle with the most.

LWB: What’s the best part about not having children?

Karina: My nieces and nephew. I spoil them rotten and I enjoy every moment!

LWB: What’s the best advice you’ve received?

Karina: Sometimes you have to let go of the life you that hoped for and trust in the life that is.

LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you?

Karina: I know it hurts so much right now. I know it hurts so much that sometimes you think you won’t ever feel whole again. But you will; you are stronger than you know. It’s going to be very hard, but you will make it through. Because this is not the end for you. It’s only the beginning.

LWB: What is your hope for yourself this coming year?

Karina: To live our best life one day at a time.

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Milestones

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting lately, thinking back to where I was physically and emotionally five, ten, 15 years ago. There have been many turning points and milestones along the way, including the day I knew for (almost) certain I would never have children of my own, to the day I left my family of friends to start fresh in a new city, to the day I said “I do” and married my generous, kind, funny, supportive, and challenging (in good ways) husband.

I’ve also acknowledged some steps in my healing process, and one that feels incredibly significant to me from this past year was decorating a tree for Christmas. Last year I just.couldn’t.do.it. It was too hard, the wounds from my losses felt too deep. I would have no little ones to ooh and ahh over the colored lights, no one to mix fudge and bake Gram’s Coffee Cake with me, only a handful of presents under the tree versus the pile of loot I had always assumed Santa would drop off for my family. I couldn’t see why I should bother, because the only person I was going to create any kind of holiday festiveness for was me.

Ah.

Ah-hah.

It was in those moments that I made the decision “Next year will be different”, and I made good on my promise to myself. My husband and I picked out our tree over Thanksgiving weekend and hauled all of the bins of fake holly and other Christmas stuff up from the basement. It still took me a couple of weeks to get up the courage (yes, courage) to unwrap the mementos and place them around our home, but I did it. And I was okay. It wasn’t all merriment, but I did catch myself taking in the pretty wreath in the kitchen and the fancy dishes on the table and the lights on the tree and actually smiling. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, and I am patting myself on the back for that.

’Tis the season to look back and look forward, and now that I’ve done the former, I’m eager to get started on the forward part. Here comes 2019! May she be filled with moments of joy and grace, with dear friends and new opportunities, with the achievement of new levels of healing and hopefulness.

I wish the same for you. Happy New Year! xo Kathleen

It Got Me Thinking…About Permission

Through the years of being part of our Life Without Baby community, I really thought I’d heard every possible horror story. But recently a friend told me about her nightmare experience at a baby shower, and I am aghast. At that gathering, the hostess introduced a new game: A bag is passed around the room, and each guest pulls out a pregnancy test. (I could not make this up.) When everyone has one, they all look, and the woman holding a positive test announces to the room “I’M PREGNANT!” and wins a prize.

Apparently it’s the hot new trend at baby showers.

It got even worse for my friend. When the bag came to her, she tried to let it pass, but the woman sitting next to her insisted she play. “I’ve taken plenty of pregnancy tests, and they’ve all been negative,” my friend said quietly. “I don’t need to go through this again.” At which point her neighbor took this as an invitation to loudly out my friend as a childless woman and offer advice: “You should try IVF! A friend of a friend had a miracle baby in her late 40s! You could always adopt!”

My friend, who is a much stronger person than I am, managed to laugh it off. Weeks after hearing her tale, my blood is still boiling. I put myself in her shoes and wondered how I would have reacted in that situation. Part of me hopes I would have turned to the intrusive and insensitive stranger and said something like, “F— you and the horse you rode in on,” which would have been inappropriate and rude, but might have made me feel better in the moment.

But the reality is I probably would have just sat there and taken the abuse, while shutting a part of myself down in an attempt to get through the party without dissolving into a sobbing puddle and amplifying an already grotesque public humiliation. Sigh.

Next time—because there will be ladies luncheons, holiday parties, family get-togethers, and other events that will turn sour—what I really hope I will do is stand up and walk out. Period.

And it got me thinking that I could give myself permission to save myself. (This goes for you, too.) I don’t owe anyone any excuses. I don’t even need to say, “Excuse me” as I get up. I suppose I could say, “Where’s the restroom?” to make a graceful exit, but as soon as I am out of range, I could head straight out the door and to my car (and have my meltdown in private).

Would this cause a scene? Perhaps. Would it cause people to talk? Possibly, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe my walking out and calling attention to how horribly hurtful something is would get people to think and have some compassion. And at the very least, I might hang on to a shred of my dignity, and that’s worth a lot.

I hope you’ll keep this in mind the next time you’re caught off guard by someone else’s poor choices. I hope you’ll remember that I have given you permission to take care of and stand up for yourself.

We don’t have to take abuse from anyone.

 

It Got Me Thinking…About (a possible cure for) Loneliness

An acquaintance made a point recently of sharing with me how wonderful her grown son is. “Every holiday,” she said, “he calls to make sure I’m not spending it alone.”

It took me a while to process why I was still stewing over this several days later. For openers, it brought up the wounds of being childless forever, of knowing there will be no grown children or grandchildren to check in on me in my later years, to include me in holiday gatherings. It also bugged me that she was choosing to share this with me, someone she knows has been through the wringer with the whole trying-to-make-peace-with-being-childless journey (i.e., know your audience, lady).

But then it struck me: This woman has been married for decades, has several extended family members nearby, is part of a close community of friends, and she really has no experience of the depths of loneliness I’ve experienced as a long-time single woman and now childless woman. She has never spent a holiday alone—not one—and she never will.

Yet…yet…she still feels lonely.

Loneliness isn’t the domain of single people. You can feel alone in a marriage or in a room full of strangers. You can feel alone when you’re surrounded by gobs of other people who have no idea about your life experience or who don’t make any effort to care. Anyone been at a ladies’ lunch that turned into a mommies’ lunch? Yup, me too.

I think it is very sweet her son is reaching out and trying to help her feel less alone, but I think she would be in better shape if she made the effort to reach out herself. I’ve done this in my own life. When I’ve felt especially sad (and I can throw a world-class self-pity party), I’ve thought about who in my life is in worse shape and I’ve picked up the phone and called. Or sent a text message or email or postcard or handwritten note. Sometimes all I say is “Thinking of you”, and sometimes that’s the extent of the exchange. But other times that friend answers the call and says, “Your timing is perfect. I needed to hear a friendly voice today,” and by the end of the conversation, we’re both lifted up a bit.

I know how hard this journey is, and I know how triggering the holidays are. If you’re in a dark place, take the time you need to grieve and please be gentle with yourself. But, if you feel like you have even an ounce to give, pick up the phone. Tell someone else you’re thinking about them, and maybe they’ll tell you they’ve been thinking about you too. It might be just the message you need to hear to get you through today.

 

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Holiday (Emotional) Prep

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

A couple of years ago, just after enduring a quiet (i.e., “lonely”) Thanksgiving and facing yet another child-less Christmas, I was on the verge of an epic meltdown. I’d given up vacation days to help a client meet a tight deadline, I was too tired and busy to participate in traditional rituals like window shopping and checking out neighbors’ decorations, there would be no feast to bring scattered family together, there were no children to remind me of the magic of the season…waaaaaaaa!

My husband held me as I whined and cried, and as he dried my tears he said, “Why don’t you go read your book?”

“Because…sniff, sniff…I finished the last good book I had and the one I requested from the library isn’t in yet and….”

“No, no,” he said, in his kindest and most patient voice, “your book, the one you wrote, about how to get through the holidays.”

Oh. Right. Why didn’t I think of that?

He was referring to Life Without Baby Holiday Companion, a collection of classic blog posts Lisa and I put together from this site that offer inspiration and encouragement for getting through the season. It was created in response to what we heard so often from readers: that holiday festivities can bring up all sorts of painful emotions when you’re childfree-not-by-choice.

In times of crisis, it’s so easy to forget what is right in front of us, so I would like to take this opportunity to remind myself—as well as you—what we have here on LWB:

  • a wealth of advice in posts, recent and from years past
  • more wisdom in the comments shared by readers
  • inspiration in “Our Stories”
  • support in the Forums

If you’re hurting—when you’re hurting—I hope you’ll look to LWB for comfort. Reach out to other LWBers and share what you’re feeling. Allow us to walk alongside you, to offer understanding in our unique yet similar experiences, and to remind you that you are not alone.

Following my husband’s compassionate advice, I did just that. I brewed myself a pot of tea, placed a few sugar cookies on a pretty plate, and sat down with “my book” to heal myself. I won’t say I made it to “Merry!” that day, but I did start to feel better.

This year, instead of giving into the lure of another meltdown, I’m going to be proactive by re-reading the book and spending some time on our site. I trust I will find ideas for getting through the coming weeks with some grace, compassion, and a healthy dose of perspective. I might even find my way back to seeing the magic and joy that can still be mine this season.

Wishing you happier holidays,

Kathleen

Life Without Baby Holiday Companion is available in an ebook format on Amazon. If it feels like you’re heading for a blue Hanukkah/Christmas/Kwanzaa, I hope you’ll order a copy and find some of the peace you long for.

Our Stories: Angela

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Angela found Life Without Baby when she was researching “living childfree” online. After incredibly painful losses, she is moving forward in her journey toward acceptance, with some rough days along the way. Like those days when you’re caught in awkward situations, when some stranger asks if you have children, and you find yourself falling into an unexpected abyss of grief and loneliness. “I feel like a leper,” Angela wrote to me, “and that should not be the case.”

That’s why I feel these stories, our stories, are so important. We are here to remind each other “You are not alone.”

I hope for better days for Angela and all of us, days when we are heard, accepted, embraced, and appreciated for simply being ourselves.

I hope, after reading her story, you’ll reach out to Angela through the Comments to offer your support and encouragement.

Wishing you better days. — Kathleen

 

LWB: Briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Angela: I always thought I’d get married before I was 30, have three amazing children, and move to a beautiful house in the countryside.

LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?

Angela: I hadn’t been able to conceive naturally, so my partner and I decided to try IVF. It worked the first time. I was elated and couldn’t believe that at last I was going to be a mother. Sadly, it turned out to be an ectopic pregnancy. I was devastated, but managed to pick myself up to do a couple more egg collections before doing a transfer. Again, I was pregnant, and this time it wasn’t ectopic, but sadly, I had a miscarriage. This was followed by an emergency D&C, then another D&C two months later to remove the remaining tissue. Due to the biopsy results of the removed tissue, I needed to see a gynecologic oncologist who performed a colposcopy and found that I had carcinoma in situ of the cervix and had to have a cold knife cone biopsy. It was only after this sorry saga was over that I able to grieve for the loss of my baby whilst simultaneously coming to terms how fortuitous it was that I had had a D&C when I did.

I did step back onto the IVF train four more times, but all four failed. My partner had moved on long before me, and I often felt like I couldn’t talk about my feelings to him without being told to move on, get counseling, therapy, anything.

Nevertheless, I finally decided that enough was enough after depleting much of our savings, being emotionally broken to the point where I couldn’t fall anymore, and making a promise to myself that I was going to live the rest of my life happy and strong, no matter what.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Angela: I have now come to accept that my family of two makes me happy in so many ways. We are more appreciative of each other and what we have. I have even begun to embrace life again and accept that this is the life I was given, even if it wasn’t the one I would have chosen. It took me a very, very long time to get here, and although I still feel pangs of sadness—which I don’t think will ever go away—they don’t sting like they used to.

LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?

Angela: Not being able to experience loving, nurturing, and educating my own children from birth and beyond. The joy of being pregnant, the miracle of giving birth, and experiencing the ups and downs of being a parent and potential grandparent.

LWB: What’s the best part about not having children?

Angela: Being able to do what I want, when I want, and not ever having to burden myself with the financial stress that I see so many parents experience.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Angela: I am stronger and more emotionally resilient than I ever imagined.

LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you?

Angela: Life is tough. There will be dark days, maybe even months, and when you hit rock bottom, you will find the strength to fight back up to the top. It’ll take time, patience, a lot of reflection, and big doses of hard work, but don’t give up, because you have so much to look forward to. Life is waiting for you to embrace it and make it what you will, no matter what. Live authentically, compassionately, and learn to help others when they cannot help themselves.

LWB: What do you look forward to now?

Angela: A life with abundance: travel, getting my masters degree, starting a new career, making new friends, and simply living happy again without being on a rollercoaster of drugs, appointments, and emotional highs and lows that consume my every thought.

It Got Me Thinking…About Holiday TLC

Are you reading this in the bathroom?

Did you make some excuse to sneak back to and barricade yourself in the guest room?

Are you out for a “run”?

No judgment here. I have done my share of escaping and hiding over holiday weekends in attempts to get away from the hurtful comments and unhelpful suggestions (unintentional and otherwise) and try desperately to regain my composure before marching back into the fray.

Those voices say:

“When are you going to start having babies?”

“Am I never going to get grandchildren?!”

“Why don’t you just adopt?”

“Time for the family photo!”

Take a deep breath. Now…I want you to hear my voice:

You are enough.

You are beautiful.

You are loved.

You are not alone.

 

Resources are available for you: Put out a call for support in the Comments here; we’re good at commiserating and encouraging. Read old posts for ideas on how to get through the tough days. Visit the Life Without Baby Facebook page. Reach out to others in Forums and Discussions. (It’s free. Click on the Community link in the menu above to sign up.) Call an understanding friend. Hang in there. xoKathleen

It Got Me Thinking…About Making a Fresh Start

The new pages for my calendar arrived in the mail this week and, I have to confess, when I opened the package, I felt giddy. Clean slate! New beginning! Fresh start!

Even as I write this, I know it sounds silly. It’s not like a fabulous dress for a special event or a face cream that’s guaranteed to erase years of stress off my face or a surprise package from a dear friend. Those are the kinds of deliveries that typically get me excited. But somehow, as I look at the days, weeks, and months ahead, I feel a deeper kind of excitement. Perhaps this is the year I’ll….

Being able to carry on a conversation in French and clearing out the boxes of miscellany under my desk are still on my to-do list. So is “come to terms with being childfree.” The good news about that last item is that I feel closer. It’s taken years—pages and pages of fresh starts—to walk this painful and perilous journey, but as I look ahead, I feel it becoming possible. Perhaps 2019 is when I’ll feel like me again. Perhaps this is the year I’ll find my peace.

As we say “Arrivederchi! Adios! and Adieu!” to this year and prepare to greet the new, I wish you many fresh starts. I wish you peace.

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Trading Places

Early in the morning one holiday, I was walking to the gym when I passed one of my neighbors. She was loading rowdy kids and sundry gear into a minivan.

“Off to the gym?” she asked, grunting as she hoisted a toddler into his car seat.

“Yup.”

“I would give anything to trade places with you.”

For a split second I paused, then replied with the only response that seemed appropriate. “I’m sorry.”

As I continued down the street, it dawned on me that for the first time in years I wasn’t feeling (a) judgmental (she was, after all, dissing her kids) or (b) wistful. So often in the past I would have thought how I would have traded anything to have precious kids of my own to play with on a holiday outing, but now, not so much. I was pretty happy with the prospect of spending my holiday taking care of myself, maybe even reading a book or taking a nap instead of having to read a book to someone else hoping he would settle down for a nap. I didn’t feel sorry for or envious of my neighbor, and I didn’t want to trade my grass for her grass. The grass was perfectly green on my side of the street.

For those of you in the U.S. facing a long weekend, I hope you have something fun planned for yourself—or perhaps you have perfectly nothing planned for yourself. May there at least be one moment during these next several days when you feel okay, if not thankful, that you have a day off all to yourself.

 

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