Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About Pity vs Empathy

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I was in a really good place. That particular day, I had been feeling optimistic about my future, about my Plan B, about my life without babies. Then someone asked me “Do you have kids?”, and I said “No,” and I got The Pity Face.

You know what I’m talking about. That look that says, “Oh you poor, pathetic loser of a lesser human.” And it really pissed me off.

Certainly I want people to understand my pain and losses, and I want to feel supported, but not at the cost of condensation and humiliation. So when I received a note from LWBer Jane about the difference between sympathy and empathy, it struck a deep chord.

“I was surprised to read the real difference and found it helped me understand why I became isolated and distanced from friends and family,” she wrote. She shared with me this powerful article, “Sympathy and Empathy—Do You Know the Difference?” on Harley Therapy’s Counselling Blog.

The authors look at historical meanings as well as contemporary usage. I hope you’ll take the time to read it through. For now, I’ll summarize it with “empathy is empowering.”

Although intended to be compassionate, “sympathy too often comes in its lower form—thinly disguised as pity,” says the authors. “Empathy, on the other hand, involves trying with great sincerity to understand what the other person is going through.”

That sounds like what I want. I don’t yet know how to ask for it, or how to educate people on this (without coming across as a crazy woman), but what I can do is practice it. (There are tips in the article.) For there is a possible hidden gift for offering empathy, for really listening to another person who is going through a tough time, says the authors. “We…might even end up being in awe of their personal strength.”

 

Whiny Wednesday: Making Friends When You Don’t Have Children


This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic comes from a reader and is ripe for a rant and perhaps some ideas.

She writes:

“I still haven’t figured out how to make friends with people my own age (40s) who have children. I often feel disposable, or okay to invite to things when it suits them. I’m a thoughtful, caring person who deserves better.”

What do you think about this? It’s Whiny Wednesday, so let it all out.

How Infertility Stole My Confidence

By Lisa Manterfield

I was always a pretty confident person, even as a child. I could be quite shy, and still am at times, but I was never fearful. I firmly believed that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to and I wasn’t afraid to try anything. I backpacked around South America, jumped out of airplanes, and tried all kinds of strange foods. If anyone told me it couldn’t be done, I took it as a cue to prove her wrong.

But infertility changed that.

Suddenly, I was more timid about getting out there and going for what I wanted. I became a nervous flyer, popping Rescue Remedy and gripping the seat arms on flights. I even caught myself assessing flight times and potential for disaster when considering a trip. I couldn’t seem to make a decision without asking for opinions from everyone and then second-guessing myself.

After a friend commented on the change, I took a long hard look at what had happened to me, and the thing that popped to the forefront of my mind is infertility.

I hate to pin everything that’s wrong in my life on infertility, but in this case, I think I was right. Infertility taught me that I can’t always get what I want just by trying hard. It taught me that bad things do happen to good people, and they could even happen to me. And it taught me that I am not invincible, and that created a giant fissure in my confidence.

It was very disturbing to realize what had happened, because that wasn’t who I was. I wasn’t a timid mouse. I didn’t want to be afraid of life, but that was who I had become. Maybe you’ve seen similar changes in yourself.

So, how to undo the damage?

Self-awareness was the first step. Once I recognized the change, I made sure to check in with myself whenever I felt my courage waver. It was very helpful to step away from myself and look at what I was really afraid of, instead of just pulling the blankets over my head and giving into it.

I also began looking for the old Lisa in some of the places she used to be most confident. I took up orienteering again, which used to be a sport I was pretty good at. Even though I wasn’t as in shape as I’d once been, the old skills were still there and reawakening them helped my confidence grow again. I tried to recognize fear and treat it accordingly.

Finally I looked for ways to gently push myself out of my comfort zone (and drag poor Mr. Fab out of his, too.) We learned to sail, something we’d never done together before. It was just a small step, but it was definitely an area in which neither of us was an expert, and so we built our confidence together.

Infertility taught me that I am not invincible, but slowly, I found my confidence again. No matter what happened in my past, I don’t want to spend my future afraid of what might, or might not, happen.

For ideas on how to gently step out of your own comfort zone, please check out the interview I did with Kathleen Guthrie Woods last week. Her 52 Nudges might be the perfect way to start finding your confidence again.

It Got Me Thinking…About a Social Media Holiday

A few weeks ago, I ran a little experiment: I took a break from social media. Six full days, in fact. That meant no checking Twitter or Instagram, no liking the comments posted on Facebook by “friends”, no suffering pangs of envy while viewing recent photos of impossibly cute royal toddlers, no keeping up with the Kardashians or anyone else of questionable famousness. I also mostly avoided online news venues, so bypassed updates about local stabbings, weather-related catastrophes, political mud-slinging, scathing diatribes disguised as opinion pieces, and the many bleeding tragedies that lead in the headlines.

It was not easy. I felt out of the loop, uninformed, and maybe even a little bored.

I also did not feel overly stressed or depressed. I sensed my blood pressure drop a couple of points. I swear I slept a bit better.

We usually talk about taking a break from social media around the big triggering holidays, like Mother’s Day and the winter holiday season, when family gatherings are promoted in advertisements and shared by friends and relatives in private missives. So often these postings are not heartwarming for those of us in this community; they’re more likely heart-wrenching. They remind us of all we’ve lost and what we’ll never have, and, dangit, it hurts.

So why do we can continue to subject ourselves to this onslaught? Good question. I supposed I could come up with a number of reasons, from wanting to keep in touch, wanting to be supportive, wanting to live vicariously through my friends’ good fortunes.

But this week I’d like to suggest we shift our perspectives from what supports other people’s happiness to what will allow us to heal and find our own happiness.

I’d like to suggest we try, every so often, to take a holiday from social media. Is this the week you can do it? Will you try it with me?

Oh, but one exception: This site and any of the others you visit for support on your journey don’t count. Stay connected to any community that offers you encouragement, love, and acceptance.

Let me know how it goes. And please be gentle with yourself.

 

Whiny Wednesday: Feeling “Less Than” Because You Don’t Have Kids

This week’s topic is another tender subject:

The constant struggle of feeling “less than” and that your life is imperfect because of not having children.


How do you feel about this? Has that feeling changed with the passing of time?

As always, the floor is open for any other whines and rants you need to get off your chest.

Nudging Yourself to Find Joy Again: Kathleen Guthrie Woods

One of the biggest challenges I encountered on the road to making peace with my childlessness was how to find joy in my life again. For a long time, everything seemed meaningless if children weren’t part of my equation. I didn’t want to have fun; I didn’t want to pick up childhood interests; I didn’t want to face the seemingly epic task of building a life I hadn’t planned on leading. Where to even start?

Today, my dear friend and fellow Life Without Babyeditor, Kathleen Guthrie Woods, talks about her new project, 52 Nudges. What started off as an idea designed to nudge herself out of a rut has turned into an adventure of self-discovery.

If you’re struggling with what’s next or don’t know how to even begin piecing your life back together, I urge you to watch this interview with Kathleen and join her on 52 Nudges.

Our Stories Update: Karin

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Karin first shared her story with us in 2014. At first glance, she seemed to be in a good place with accepting a life without babies. Then we read the parts about the fears that plague so many of us: growing old alone, facing more isolation as our friends become grandparents. I was right there with her, yet I took strength from her example.

Has time healed her wounds? You’ll find out when you read the update below her original story.

•   •   •

Although she came from a very close extended family, Karin didn’t really think about motherhood until she experienced infertility in her early 30s. Then it became a “dream.” Now 41, she and her husband of 19 years find themselves in a place of mostly acceptance, but she feels somewhat alone in her concerns about the future. If you can relate, please reach out to her—to all of us—in the Comments.

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

Karin: We were first childfree by chance and now it’s by circumstance. After years of unexplained infertility, various drug treatments, one horrific miscarriage, and lots of ovulation kits, my husband and I decided to stop trying for children. At that point, I began a very intense hatred of my body. My [menstrual] cycles were very long and painful, and as I grew older, they got worse and worse. This only intensified the self-loathing I was carrying around. It got so bad that the only option I had left was a hysterectomy. Knowing that I was not going to be able to conceive without massive medical intervention, and knowing that path was not for us, I decided to go through with the hysterectomy. It was the best decision I have ever made. I feel like I got my life back! Thanks to mindfulness training, yoga, and that surgery, I’ve been able to accept my body again and, more important, regain peace.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Karin: I’ve been in the acceptance phase for quite some time. I have a wonderful husband and a very fulfilling job. But the residual feelings of isolation and fear of the future are what dominates my infertility issues now.

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

Karin: The fear of who will take care of me when I am old. My grandparents were in wonderful assisted living facilities toward the ends of their lives, but they were still attended to by my mom and my aunts—everything from shopping for basic needs to handling the finances. I cannot think of anyone in my life now who I could rely on to help us in our old age. My husband is an only child, and my sister has only one daughter. I do not have the nieces and nephews that many others have and will hopefully rely on when the time comes. And this truly terrifies me. This is, by far, the most difficult issue for me now. I feel quite alone in this. I don’t think many other people who are childfree have this worry, or, if they do, it is not as intense as mine. Also, I am the only person in my immediate social circle who does not have children. I feel like all the feelings of loss and isolation will resurface when my friends become grandparents.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Karin: That I’m stronger than I thought I could ever be. You read that going through infertility will make you a stronger person, but until you actually feel it, it’s hard to believe. I’ve also learned to live life as consciously as I can with as much compassion as I can muster. Living a life with as little harm as possible toward others, including the environment around me, is rewarding and purposeful. I didn’t feel it this intensely prior to trying for children.

LWB: How do you answer “Do you have kids?”

Karin: I say “NOPE!” And if they ask why not, I simply say “We tried and it didn’t work out.” That usually stops people. Occasionally, people will ask why we didn’t adopt, and I say adopting does not cure infertility and we believe adoption is a calling that we just didn’t have.

LWB: How has LWB helped you on your journey?

Karin: It was the first community that got it!! Besides Pamela Mahoney Tsigdinos’ book Silent Sorority, what else did we have? LWB has been so incredibly integral in my journey that it’s hard to put into words. I would, however, like to see more information or discussion by others about being childfree in old age and the new dynamics that will come into play when we are not just non-moms but non-grandmothers!

•  •  • 

LWB: Where are you on your journey today?

Karin: I never would have guessed 10 years ago, or even five years ago, that there would come a time where I do not think about my childlessness daily. As much as it consumed me years go, it is now just a small piece of me. I think about so much more than childlessness these days. As cliched as it sounds, time really is the ultimately healer. But I do believe that there is more to it than that. I guess my childlessness is part of who I am. It is a part that makes up my whole, and this is not a bad thing at all. I think this comes from deep acceptance. At some point, I accepted my life situation, stopped fighting against it, and once that truly happened, childlessness ceased to be that all-consuming problem in my life.

LWB: What would you like to say to the you of 2014?

Karin: Well, I still think about the same issues involving who will take care of me in my old age. But reading over the post I wrote at that time, I used the word “terrified” to described it. I kind of chuckled when I read this, because that is exactly how I remember feeling. But that feeling is much less raw and emotional than it was then. Now I think about my old age with the feeling of privilege. It would be a privilege to live into old age. And I have feeling that I will be able to take care of myself much more than I gave myself credit for.

 

We’d love to hear your story! Go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.

Whiny Wednesday: Fearing the Quiet of a Childless Life

This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic was suggested by a reader:

Fearing the quiet we will have for years.

She was concerned that not having children would leave her life and house too quiet and empty. How do you feel about this? Is it something you worry about? If not, what is on your mind this week?

How Not to Say the Wrong Thing to Someone in Crisis

By Lisa Manterfield

Recently, Jane P reminded of this article by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman that I posted some time ago. It’s a good reminder about how not to say the wrong thing to someone in crisis. I wish it was mandatory reading for everyone, and I especially wish it came with a note explaining that it applies when talking to infertiles and the childless-not-by-choice.

The gist of their Ring Theory is that the person in crisis is at the center of the ring and those next closest to the person occupy subsequent rings. In the case of someone coming to terms with not having children, she would be at the center, her spouse or partner on the next ring, perhaps closest family and friends on the next, and more distant family, coworkers, and acquaintances beyond that.

The rule is that that if people have something mean or insensitive or opinionated to say, they say it to someone on a bigger ring. When speaking to someone on a smaller ring, they can only listen or—if they must say something—offer help, support, or comfort. No advice, no miracle stories, no blame or shame. No offering of their kids, no suggestions to adopt. “I’m sorry” is all that needs to be said. If they want to dump, dump outwards, not inwards.

I wish people would understand that someone who has just acknowledged she won’t ever have children is in crisis, and what she needs more than judgment and unhelpful help is for people to say to the right thing.

It Got Me Thinking…About Getting Knocked Up

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“If you’d really wanted to be a mother, you could have….”

OMG, how I hate sentences that start out like this. The advice the friend/parent/coworker/stranger then offers is well-intentioned (I hope), but so often feels shaming. It might be meant to be encouraging, but instead it comes down to “Clearly you didn’t want it badly enough.”

Well, f*&% that!

As a long-time single woman who ran out of time, one of the pieces of advice I frequently received was “You could have just knocked yourself up”—meaning I could have seduced some guy, “accidentally” neglected to use birth control, and duped him into being an unwitting sperm donor. Even writing this now, I find that so offensive. Morally, that does not align with who I am. Thinking about the deceit involved—whether the guy chose to marry me to make our child “legitimate” or whether I kept the pregnancy to myself and raised the child alone—makes my flesh crawl.

I guess the people who suggested this avenue thought it would be easy and victim-less, but I know better. My friend Paul (not his real name) was a very successful model. Early in his career, while he was in his late teens, he fell in love with a woman who was several years older, also a model. Their relationship was fiery, and ultimately heartbreaking for him when she broke it off after six months with no explanation. She disappeared from his life, and he assumed she had traveled to another country for work, as he frequently did.

Six years later he was in New York when he ran into her on the street. Holding her hand was a beautiful little girl who clearly was Paul’s daughter. When confronted, his former girlfriend coldly explained that she had chosen him for his genes, that she had never cared for him as a potential mate, that “her” daughter knew nothing about him, and that she wanted no part of him in their lives. When he shared this story with me years later, he was still devastated. My heart broke for him and for the girl who may never know the kind man who is her father.

It’s true that I wanted to be a mother desperately, and I pursued different options for having a child of my own. But when faced with the option of using and hurting other human beings, I realized a hard truth: I didn’t want it badly enough. And I do not regret my choice.