Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Childless Men on Father’s Day


Mother’s Day is pretty much the worst day of the year for those of us who didn’t get to be moms. But what about Father’s Day and the men in our lives? Do they feel the loss of fatherhood in the same way we feel it for motherhood?

Some of you have expressed frustration with partners who don’t want to talk about the loss and grief we women go through, or who seem to have accepted a life without children much quicker than we have. I know I saw a difference in the way Mr. Fab and I dealt with grief (or appeared to not deal with it at all) so I thought I’d do a little research on the topic of men and grief to see what I could learn.

Turns out that, when it comes to grief, men really are from Mars, as opposed to our home planet of Venus. They’ve often been taught to keep their emotions in check and brush grief under the rug in the hopes that it will just go away (which, of course, it doesn’t.) As a result, we tend to interpret their reluctance to grieve openly as a lack of feeling. But that doesn’t mean they don’t feel the loss just as keenly as we do.

Here’s what I learned about how men grieve:

  • Men often prefer to grieve alone, rather than openly, in a support group setting, or even with a partner.
  • Men are more likely to withdraw and to be introspective than to do “grief work.”
  • Men are more likely to express grief physically with actions or activities.
  • Men sometimes deal with grief by planning for the future rather than dealing with the present situation or looking back at the past.
  • Men sometimes let grief out in the form of irritability or anger.

In other words, just because your partner isn’t hanging out with other men in online support groups, sharing stories, and lending an empathetic ear to other men, it doesn’t mean he isn’t grieving the loss of fatherhood in his own way.

I’d be interested to hear how your partner has dealt with his grief. And if you’re a grieving man reading this, we’d love to hear your point-of-view.

Trusting the Path When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen

Do ever feel as if you’re in a constant battle with yourself? So often I make a decision and forge ahead on the path of my choice, only to catch myself looking longingly at another paths and wondering if I ought to have taken them instead. As soon as I make a decision I lose sight of all the things I’ll gain from choosing that path and can only see all that I’ll be losing from walking away from the other paths.

I certainly did that when I chose the “life without children” path.  I knew what I would gain by opting to stop treatments and I knew what I would gain by walking away from the adoption route we were on. I knew that my sanity and my marriage would benefit from that decision, and that I’d claim back the life that was passing me by. But I could also see clearly everything I would lose from walking away from the possibility of motherhood.

I know I made the right choice, and I’m glad I kept walking on my chosen path, but it doesn’t stop me looking back once in a while to see where I might have been.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who was making some difficult life decisions. She talked about the idea of trusting that the path you’re on will take you where you’re supposed to be.

At first glance, this reeks of “everything happens for a reason,” a philosophy that makes me bristle. Personally, I do not believe that I was denied children so that I could take a bigger, more important path instead, or that I wasn’t granted motherhood because it was more than I could handle.  I have an untreatable medical condition; I cannot reproduce; end of story; $#it happens.

And yet I’m intrigued by the idea of trusting the path.

There is no doubt that not having children will take me on a very different path than motherhood; it already has. But what if I stopped fighting that? What if I stopped looking over my shoulder at all that I’ve lost and trusted that the path I’m on will take me where I’m supposed to go? Granted, I might not have much to blog about with my new peaceful self, but perhaps I could just enjoy the journey and see where it takes me.

What do you think about the idea of trusting the path?

Whiny Wednesday: An Explanation


Whiny Wednesday has become such a favorite on the blog and I know that many of you look forward to the chance to have a good rant about what’s on your mind.

For those of you who are new to Life Without Baby or maybe not sure what this Whiny Wednesday thing is all about, I thought an brief explanation might be in order.

Whiny Wednesday came about because many of us felt we were going through our respective journeys alone and that our friends and family often didn’t understand how much we were hurting. Many readers said felt they felt they had to put on a brave face around other people and that the things they wanted to talk about sometimes felt like “whining.”

So, Whiny Wednesday was created as the place where, once a week, you can come and vent about whatever’s on your mind, especially the things you feel you can’t say in-person around others. Most weeks I post a topic for discussion, but the comments are always open for griping about whatever happens to be on your mind.

So, now you know what it’s all about, feel free the have a really good whine this week.

You’re Not Crazy; That’s Your Grief Acting Out

I was so honored to be invited to speak at last year’s We Are Worthy Summit. What an incredible event Nicci, Andrew, and Brandi put together. Over the course of the week, they hosted more than thirty panels, webinars, and discussions, and access to all events was completely free.

If you missed it, you can see the full line-up and replays of all the events on the We Are Worthy Summit Events Page. You’ll see the events listed for each day and if you click on a day, you’ll find all the recordings there.

I taught a webinar on grief and how to create space for dealing with loss. You can see the replay of “You’re Not Crazy; That’s Your Grief Acting Out” below.

Life Without Baby: Best Infertility Blogs 2019

I’m so pleased and honored that Life Without Baby made Healthline’s list of Best Infertility Blogs 2019.

What’s even more satisfying than this recognition is that the list contains so many brand new blogs. More and more of us are stepping out of the shadows and talking about this topic, and that can can only help lift the stigma so many of us experience.

You see the full list of Best Infertility Blogs here.

Thank you for helping make this community something of which I am deeply proud. -x-

Whiny Wednesday: Missing Out on Parenting Milestones

Graduation season is upon us and social media has been abuzz with snapshots of proud parents and their offspring. So it seems like a good time for this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

Feeling left out when friends and relatives celebrate parenting milestones.

As always, your other whines are always welcome.

The Intangible Losses of Infertility

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

This simple phrase is the one thing I wish someone had said to me. It would have meant that someone—one person—acknowledged that my inability to have a child was an enormous loss for me and that I needed to grieve that loss, as if my children had existed.

Where Western Culture Gets It Wrong

In Western culture in particular, most people don’t know how to behave when someone loses a loved one. They follow accepted protocols such as sending cards or flowers. Some may call to offer help or just show up on the doorstep with the ubiquitous tuna casserole. A few will know to give people space when they’re mourning, expect unexpected behavior, and be ready for tears or anger. Still, most people struggle with how to handle those in pain.

Our society also has an unwritten hierarchy of loss. Someone who’s lost a spouse, a child, or a parent is given different allowances to someone who’s lost a boyfriend/girlfriend, a friend, or an elderly relative. Further down the ranking come pets, coworkers, and ex-lovers. Even people who’ve lost houses, jobs, and limbs are allowed a degree of understanding, sympathy, and mourning. But most people have no idea how to react when they can’t see the thing that was lost—in this case, motherhood and all that it encompassed. Many people won’t understand—or even acknowledge—your need to mourn at all.

Intangible Loss

In her 2010 memoir, Spoken from the Heart, former first lady Laura Bush writes about her experience with infertility. “The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence,” she writes. “…For someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like slant, ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?”

The fact is that your children and your idea of motherhood did exist for you. If you had planned on having children, you undoubtedly made room in your life for them. This might have included creating life plans around the assumption that someday kids would be part of that plan. In some cases, making room for children in your life might have included making physical room, perhaps dedicating and even decorating a room in your home that would one day become a nursery, or it may have involved moving to a bigger house or a more family-friendly neighborhood. Did you pick out names for your children? Did you imagine which family members they might take after? Did you fantasize about your daughter winning a Nobel Prize for her research or your son bringing home a gold medal from the Olympics? You probably thought about the kind of mother you wanted to be. You collected data as you went through life, putting check marks through things you observed that you’d do better when you became a mother and striking red lines through the things you’d never do with your children. And you undoubtedly imagined what it would feel like to hold a child that was yours.

Here are some other losses you might be feeling:

  • your identity as a woman
  • the loss of your dream
  • the babies you’ll never get to see and touch
  • the vision of your future that you’d painted so clearly
  • experiences you could only share with your own children
  • the legacy of family traditions and heirlooms
  • the rite of passage into adulthood
  • being treated like a “real adult” by your family
  • making your parents proud grandparents
  • fitting in with friends or peers
  • your place in society

Your children and your identity as a mother existed and were very real to you. You have experienced a great loss, and the only way to begin coming to terms with that loss is to acknowledge it and mourn it.

This post is excerpted from Lisa’s book, Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen.

Whiny Wednesday: Mother’s Day Aftermath

I hope you made it through the past weekend relatively unscathed. So, do tell:

How did Mother’s Day go for you?

How did you handle it? How did it go? What went well? What didn’t? Let us know the good, the bad, and the flat-out ugly.

Kate Kaufmann on Life as a Non-Mom

Kate Kaufmann embarked on her life as a non-mom when she abandoned fertility treatments, quit her corporate job, and moved from the suburbs to a rural community to raise sheep. Since then, she has talked intimately about the topic of childlessness with hundreds of women and men, and hopes to spark 2 million conversations to dispel stubborn stereotypes and stigmas about the childfree and childless.

I spoke to Kate about her work and about her new book, Do You Have Kids? Life When the Answer is No.

Life Without Baby: Can you tell us a bit about your journey from wanting children to where you are now?

Kate Kaufmann: In my mid-thirties I went through several years of infertility treatments and never got pregnant. I was a wreck from the drugs and monthly emotional rollercoaster, and we decided to stop treatments. I was about forty-two, my then-husband eight years older. We reconsidered our life plans and made a radical change—we quit our corporate jobs and moved to a rural area. I rarely met other women who didn’t have kids, which instigated my quest for sources of information and guidance that proved difficult to find and challenging to approach. It took quite a long time, but I gradually found women willing to talk. Those conversations lead to more comprehensive interviews that form the spine of my book, Do You Have Kids? Life When the Answer is No.

Thanks to my project, I now have a growing network of women and men with whom I can explore unique aspects of life as a non-parent—from careers, friendships, and family to aging and the legacies we leave. I now recognize and celebrate the broad-reaching value we offer our communities as a result of not having kids of our own.  What’s the hardest part for you about not having children

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

KK: Over the years certain holidays, especially Mother’s Day and Christmas, have been challenging. Once I faced that reality myself and with select loved ones, it got a little better. Then the challenge was figuring out what to do about it. Traveling somewhere in December helped, especially to places where there was less hoopla surrounding holidays. Asking for acknowledgement from friends and family also helped. So has recognizing that holidays are just like other days, and I have choices about how and with whom to celebrate.

I may always wonder what the kids I’d hoped to have would be like, but now I realize it’s much more fruitful to notice and appreciate the many wonderful people of all ages who are now present in my life, those who graced my past, and those I’ll meet over the rest of my days. 

LWB: How do you answer the question, “Do you have kids?

KK: I used to say, “I tried but it didn’t work,” but that either stopped conversation cold or elicited a sorrowful “aw” and what felt like a pitying pat on the arm. Now I often try to engage the other person about the topic. Sometimes I’ll say, “No. Who else do you know who doesn’t have kids? Do you ever talk about how their lives differ from yours?” If I want to change the topic immediately, I say something like, “No. Other than kids, what’s getting your time and attention these days?” Of course, since starting my book project, I relish talking about what it’s like not having kids. 

Since we who aren’t parents already know the answer to the question, I think it makes sense to approach social and work situations prepared with several responses. We’re going to get the question for the rest of our lives and can take advantage of the opportunity to lead conversations in a direction that suits our current circumstances, emotional readiness, and states of mind. 

LWB: How have your relationships with family and friends changed because you did not have children?

KK: I’m the eldest of 4 girls, the only one without kids, and most of my friends have historically been parents. Once I noticed the imbalance, I started to consciously seek out non-parent friends. I still love my parent friends and family members, of course, but because our interactions so often focus on their kids, I often feel like I know them better than they know me. I try to shift the conversation to other topics that matter to everyone present, but that only works when others are willing to engage. Sometimes that seems impossible. 

LWB: Many of us worry about aging without children. What advice would you give?

KK: Consciously increase and deepen friendships with women and men who don’t have kids, and don’t limit yourself to people your own age. One of the greatest gifts I’ve received from writing Do You Have Kids? is the discovery that childless and childfree people of all ages have so many shared experiences, joys, and concerns. I’ve developed what I hope are lifelong connections with non-moms and dads by taking initiative to open up about this rich topic with sensitivity and respect.

I’m a big believer in pooling resources, which includes brainstorming how and where to live and who we can ask to play important roles in our futures. Parents can be blindsided when their kids can’t or don’t engage (due to geographic distance, competing priorities, or other issues). In some ways we’re at an advantage, because we know for sure our kids won’t be there to help us and can explore options and put plans in place that fit our vision for our elder years. 

LWB: Your goal is to kickstart 2 million conversations about childlessness. What do you want people to know? Do you have suggestions for anyone wanting to start their own conversations, but nervous about the reactions they’ll receive?

I want people to know that those of us who don’t have kids are not better or worse than parents; our lives simply differ significantly, which can be really interesting to explore. We have a lot to offer each other when we approach the topic with open hearts, curiosity, and lack of judgment. If those elements are missing, the conversation is bound to be rocky, so go slowly and pay attention. Take care of your needs in the moment, even if that means excusing yourself from the conversation. In Do You Have Kids? I offer specific suggestions for how both parents and non-parents can broach the topic constructively and with respect.

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

I’ve been entrusted with true stories about how life can unfold when kids of our own are not in the mix. Using my book as a tool to broach the topic, my mission is to address the stigmas and stereotypes people hold about us, which haven’t changed in decades. Those who wanted kids and didn’t have them most often elicit pity; those who chose not to have kids a mixture of envy and disdain. Pity, envy, disdain—none of those put us on equal footing, rather we’re often seen as lesser “others.” Truth is, there will always be people who aren’t parents, and we fill crucial roles in our culture that warrant interest, care, and respect. 

Do You Have Kids? Life When the Answer is No is available from Amazon and wherever books are sold. Learn more about Kate and her work at KateKaufmann.com.