Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Our Stories: Wendy

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

As soon as I finished reading Wendy’s story, I sent her an email: “I understand.” Oh, how I understand. I’ve felt all the anger and bitterness, I’ve raged at how unfair Life has been, and I’ve experienced that same glimmer of hope when I finally realized I was not alone and found the courage to reach out for help.

I hope you’ll share some words of encouragement and compassion to Wendy in the Comments, and please take a moment to acknowledge that the Comments written by other LWBers are meant for you too.

Sending out extra love to all of you today. ♥Kathleen

 

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

Wendy: Circumstance. Married at 24, tried three rounds of AIH [artificial insemination by husband] at 27 (what was recommended before you consider trying IVF), found out I had Hodgkin lymphoma at 30. Decided to try adoption, but was told after a few steps in that, because I was in remission from cancer, I couldn’t adopt for seven years. We sold our house and went travelling around Australia for a couple of years. When we came back home, I was feeling unwell, so I went to doctors who thought I might be pregnant. I got excited, then had a test to discover I had fibroid so big I had to have a hysterectomy at 37. I had the hysterectomy and recovered in the maternity ward. (There were no other beds available, even with a request from me.) It was pretty gut-wrenching seeing mothers with babies! I asked the hospital for my womb so I could bury it myself, and they agreed, but my husband was not happy with my decision. From there my marriage broke up, and we divorced when I was 40.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Wendy: I moved interstate at 40, and I am remarried to a man with four teenage children who I feel I keep at arm’s length. I am at a point now, at 53, where I realise I had no counselling or grief support during the whole process for over 25 years. My personality has changed. I get angry and depressed. I get annoyed when people say “You have four stepchildren, you should be happy.” They just don’t get it. Yes, my stepchildren are loving, but they are not mine. They have a mother, and I will never have a mini me. I have come to a point where I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I need to actually grieve and have someone understand. So, thank you for reading this.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Wendy: I thought I could be strong and cope on my own and keep it inside, but I can’t. I am a strong woman, but I was too stubborn. I should have asked for support a long time ago, which makes me wonder how much better I would have felt earlier/now.

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

Wendy: I still haven’t worked that one out. It depends on the person asking. If they seem genuine, then I am more genuine with my answer.

LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you? (or What advice would you like to give to your younger self?)

Wendy: Get help and support asap. Talk to someone who understands. Don’t wait 25 to 30 years and become bitter, angry, or depressed.

LWB: Who is your personal chero (a heroine who happens to be childfree)?

Wendy: Xena, Princess Warrior.

LWB: How has LWB helped you on your journey?

Wendy: I have been able to express my feelings to others who have been through similar.

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

Wendy: I am finally seeking out help to grieve.

 

I hear again and again from contributors what a healing experience it is to answer these questions and share their stories with other readers who truly get what they’re going through—and who rise up to offer support and encouragement. Won’t you consider sharing your story? Visit the Our Stories page for more information and to download the questionnaire. I hope to hear from you soon.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is so grateful to be part of this community of wise, loving, and brave women.

 

 

Whiny Wednesday: Childless People Have Money to Burn


A TIME magazine cover story awhile ago, “The Childfree Life,” came with an image of an attractive (and color-coordinated) couple lounging on a tropical, white sand beach, seemingly without a care in the world, resplendent in their designer sunglasses. That image prompted this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

The assumption that if you don’t have kids you have money to burn

 Whine away, my friends.

When Spring Cleaning Unearths Memories

By Lisa Manterfield

Spring has sprung and, as usual, I find myself in a cleaning and decluttering frenzy.

I’ve made trips to the thrift store with bags of clothes that are too big, too small, or just plain ugly. I’ve purged my kitchen of all those “good idea” gadgets, rusted cake pans, and broken plates that I’ll get around to gluing “someday.” I’ve even parted with a box full of books, which is a big give-up for me. And I’ve been eyeing the curtains in my living room and thinking about throwing them in the washer.

I go through this every year and find it very therapeutic. But in the past, it’s also been a dangerous pursuit, fraught with emotional landmines.

One year, while rummaging through a rarely used cupboard, I came across some baby-related stuff. I’d been getting rid of all those things bit-by-bit, and I was fairly sure they were all gone. So it was a deflating moment when I unearthed some items that had slipped through the net.

This find was particularly difficult, as it was the glossy information packet we received from our first fertility clinic. It had a picture of a beautiful glowing baby on the front and was filled with encouraging stories, happy family photos, and explanations as to how the expert team would help us build the family of our dreams. Inside I found test results, ovulation charts, and notes written in my own handwriting, reminding me of where I’d been. The whole thing reeked of hope and it stirred up some of those old emotions.

To my credit, I ditched the whole thing without getting upset. I didn’t keep one scrap of paper. There was another, similar item in the cupboard, too, but now I can’t even remember what it was, because I tossed that out as well.

After that, I went to my bookshelves and pulled out the Knitting for Two book I’d been keeping. In addition to the maternity cardigan I started (that was still somewhere in the house) I’d actually used the book to knit a sweater for a friend’s baby. I only did it once, because it was so painful, and I realized that it was part of the hair shirt I chose to wear for a while, when I was forcing myself to be around other people’s babies, and to be “genuinely happy” about pregnancy announcements. This was long before I figured out my need to grieve and heal, so that I could genuinely be happy for someone else’s news. At that time, I had opted to torture myself by knitting from my baby’s book. So out it went.

My purging of baby stuff was a gradual process. At first, I couldn’t get rid of anything. After a while I threw out the assorted test kits, and the doctor info, moving slowly towards throwing out baby clothes (and even a maternity top a friend had given me.) The fertility and pregnancy books went next, and so it continued.

I’ve no doubt that there will be other landmines scattered around my house, even now, and that they’ll come to the surface some day, but now I know I can handle them. And I know I can throw them away with no (or little) love lost.

***

Just a reminder that the ebook versions of both I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No to Motherhood and Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen are only $2.99 for the month of March. Available on most online retailers.

It Got Me Thinking…About How Hope Springs Eternal

Spring is springing this week, and I am filled with optimism. I’m ready for flowers to bloom, ducklings to hatch, and sunny days to warm my feet. I can’t help myself; this is how I’m wired. I am a hope-full person, one who looks for the best in people and wants the best for people.

I feel this way despite several years of experience to the contrary. We who are part of the LWB community are well aware of the dark side of hope, the promises that kept us pursuing the Plan A lives we wanted for longer, perhaps, than was healthy. We’ve seen the cold, harsh reality as good people were not gifted with good outcomes, and vice versa. We’ve seen the fallout of crushed dreams and expectations.

And yet…

And yet…

In a few weeks, a beautiful young woman from Los Angeles is going to marry a real-live prince. I don’t know Meghan Markle personally, but I’m as excited and hopeful for her as if she were a dear friend. I hope her dress is so perfect it brings me to tears. I’m eager to see her groom beam with pride and joy when he first sees her coming down the aisle to him. I desperately want them to live happily ever after.

I’ve invited a few girlfriends to join me in pajamas and plastic tiaras to watch the festivities in the wee hours of May 19th. As we watch the glamorous and notable guests arrive, maybe we’ll paint our nails pale pink, in keeping with royal tradition. We’re sure to ooh and ahh and giggle over the fashions and fascinators. I am planning to serve scones and champagne, so after the vows are exchanged, we’ll offer a toast to the newlyweds.

I wish for Ms. Markle and Prince Henry that they have a long and happy life together. If they face challenges, may they face them together. If they want children, may they have them without struggles.

Because even if I didn’t quite get my fairy tale ending, I still hope others get theirs. That’s right, I’m still optimistic, even after everything I’ve endured, and I think that’s something to celebrate.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with being childless.

Whiny Wednesday: Fertility Clinic Storage Failures

In the news, two fertility clinics suffered storage tank failure this week, resulting in the loss of thousands of frozen eggs and embryos.

What irked me were the quotes from one of the clinics:

“A large number of the patients who have stored embryos in the clinic have let them stay there unused for around eight to 10 years.” Implying that the embryos had no value and therefore it was no big deal.

And this quote:

“We’ve created many, many babies for women over the years.” Again, suggesting a “you win some, you lose some” attitude and total disregard for the impact on the patients who lost on this occasion.

A quote from a woman who is suing the facility after she and her husband were informed their frozen embryos were no longer viable sums up what was really lost in this catastrophe. “The medical community calls it tissue. I like to think of it as my children.”

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What got under your skin this week?

Trusting the Path When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen

By Lisa Manterfield
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?

It Got Me Thinking…About The Brighter Side

Last week I wrote about “The Dark Side,” so it seems only right that this week I flip the coin. Doesn’t that always seem to be the case? The good comes with the bad, the happy with the sad, the dark with the light. But frequently during the past several years I’ve caught myself thinking that I’ve had more than my share of the dark, often brought on by the not-nice-people (NNPs) who have crossed my rocky path:

  • the client who just decided not to pay me after I sacrificed my Christmas to help her with a big project
  • the “friend” who kept sharing posts about how you can’t understand “real” love until you’re a mom
  • the doctor who continued to ask (year after year) if I have children (Read the damn file!)

Recently I’ve become better about practicing a way to flip this. In the midst of the hating and wishing them ill (I’m being honest here), I stop myself, take a deep breath, release the NNP, and focus my attention the 99.9% of people who are doing good in the world, who are generous, thoughtful, helpful, and kind. Some of the recent bright lights in my life include:

  • the former work colleagues I bumped into at a restaurant who surprised me by paying for my lunch
  • the angel who fed my parking meter seconds before I would have gotten a pricey ticket
  • the longtime friend who called out of the blue just to say “Hi” then really listened when she asked how I was doing

You know who else falls into this camp? The men and women of LWB. The people who candidly share their stories of loss and healing. The commenters who support, commiserate, and encourage. The members of the forums and groups. The many quiet readers who see themselves in the stories on our pages and offer up prayers for healing and peace.

For a few moments this week, I hope you’ll think about who has lifted you up lately, who has held, helped, comforted, or sustained you. If you’re facing hard times, stop, take a deep breath, and hold one of those angels close in your heart. For, yes, there is darkness in our world, and it comes in many forms. But, oh, the joy of finding the light!

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with her childfree status.

Whiny Wednesday: Mother’s Day Part I

A big thank you to Jane for reminding me that this Sunday is Mother’s Day in the UK.

I always do a Mother’s Day post in May in preparation for the event here in the U.S., but of course, that’s too little too late for UK readers.

So, this week’s topic Mother’s Day, Part I. If you’re getting ready for the coming weekend’s challenges, feel free to reach out here. What are you dreading? How are planning to deal with the day?

If you need some tips, here are a couple of posts that might be useful:

Preparing for Mother’s Day

Bah Humbug to Mother’s Day, but Not to Mother

The Mother’s Day Card I Wish Existed

For everyone else, it’s open forum today.

“Celebrating” Nine Years of Childlessness

By Lisa Manterfield

This month marks eight years since I wrote the first post for Life Without Baby. It will be nine years since I acknowledged that I would not be a mother by any means.

Nine years sounds like a really long time, doesn’t it? But I have passed so many milestones on the way to getting where I am now.

First there was the decision to get off the fertility crazy train. I passed that milestone several times, each time hopping back onboard for one more try. Eventually, I passed it for the last time. I cancelled my next doctor appointment and never went back.

I passed another milestone when I stopped envying/hating/coveting every pregnant belly I saw. I have since held other people’s babies, made it through Mother’s Days without tears, and gone shopping for baby shower gifts. Each was a significant milestone.

Eventually, after a number of years, I stopped being so sad about all I’d missed out on. I started building a new life and taking advantage of the benefits of not having children.

Nine years ago, I could never have imagined I’d look at my life, see how completely different it would have been with children, and feel satisfied that things worked out well after all. I hadn’t even known that milestone would be there until I passed it one day about a year ago.

None of this came easily. I went through dark periods of grief, of feeling angry and resentful. I’ve felt horribly lonely and alienated from people with “normal” lives. I’ve been in turns bitter, embarrassed, defiant, even vengeful about being infertile and childless. I’ve also felt relief and even slightly smug.

And after these nine years, I feel acceptance of my life that way it is, an understanding that when the motherhood door closed for me, others opened (although I sometimes didn’t see them at first.) I like my life just the way it is.

Maybe you can see yourself at one of these milestones. Maybe you’re making peace with the hand you’ve been dealt, maybe you’re moving on with a different kind of life, too.

If you see yourself all the way at the beginning of this post, wondering how on earth you’re ever going to be okay again, hang in there. You’re not alone. I, and many other readers on this site, are here to tell you that it does get better in time. Most likely, it will take longer than you ever imagined, but from my experience, the end result will also be better than you could have possibly foreseen.

***

Now for the Celebration

The other surprise outcome of my infertility is that I have written books about it. That was never part of my plan either. (I had always hoped to write fiction someday, which I have, but writing about infertility was an unexpected and rewarding detour.)

I wrote about my infertility journey and my decision to stop trying to be a mother in my first book, I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No the Motherhood.  Then, after blogging my way through coming-to-terms with that decision and dealing with the loss, I wrote a guidebook to help other navigate their way. That book is Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen.

To celebrate this blog-i-versary, both books are on sale in ebook format for only $2.99 (and a comparable price in other currencies) for the entire month of March.

AmazonKobo
Add to Goodreads

 

AmazonKobo
Add to Goodreads

 

And now I’d like to ask a small favor. If you’ve read either of these books and found them helpful, would you take a minute and leave a review on your bookseller site of choice? It need only be a couple of sentences about what you liked (or what you didn’t, if that’s the case), but it will really help others looking for this sort of book, and of course, it would be a huge help to me. You can click on the links above and they’ll take you where you need to go.

It Got Me Thinking…About the Dark Side

 

“I’m pregnant!” my friend gleefully announces.

And I think, Well, f*ck me six ways to Sunday, but I instead I jump up and embrace her and say, “Congratulations!!! I am so happy for you!”

Yup, another one has gone over to the Dark Side. My playmate, my buddy, my date for tea and chick-flicks will soon switch discussion topics from the last great novel she read to the merits of cloth versus disposable diapers and the challenges of getting into the “right” preschool/private school/ballet studio. While I bravely continue to pursue political movements, investing options, and the hottest new tapas restaurant this side of the Bay, she’ll be focusing on PTA politics, college funds, and how to get her kid to eat green vegetables.

Before long, the excuses for missing lunch dates (sick baby, sick kid, soccer games) will grow tiresome. She’ll kindly include me in the first few get-togethers with her new friends from the mommies group. I’ll make polite conversation when I’m invited to baby showers and first birthday parties. But eventually I’ll get lost in the mist as she gets sucked into more and more “family” events and senses how much more she has in common with the other reproducers. “Whatever happened to your friend Kathy?” they might ask. “Oh, she never had kids.” “Ohhh,” they will say knowingly. Or so I imagine. This is worse than being the last kid picked for teams. This is being told you can’t even play the game, but if you want, you can watch from the bleachers.

And I’m pissed. But mostly I’m lonely. It’s really, really hard to make new friends when you’re over the age of 40 (and don’t have kids who make making those regular interactions easier). You have to make a determined effort to get out, try new classes, start new groups, and hope to find a connection. It’s not unlike dating, and it can be really exciting, but mostly scary and discouraging. But you carry on, remembering the closeness you once shared with old friends who, over time, could read your thoughts and finish your sentences.

Within the first three years after I moved to my current home city, several of the women who I thought could become part of my new posse became first-time mothers. I didn’t know they were trying; we hadn’t known each other that long, so the topic never came up. A couple had been trying for years, and became pregnant shortly after meeting me. Lisa (our LWB Lisa) found this hilarious and suggested I offer myself out as a fertility icon: Become friends with me, and you’ll be knocked up within 3 months—guaranteed!

After the fourth announcement, I broke down and told my husband how crushed I was, how broken-hearted, how devastating this was to my developing social life. He laughed at me, pointing out how ridiculous I sounded for getting so overly dramatic and self-pitying. And he’s right. Because, really, I was happy for my friends.

But for a short while, I need to lose my perspective and my sense of humor, wallow in self-pity, mourn the loss of my friend, and spend some time on my own Dark Side. Because underneath my happiness for her, I still hurt for myself.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods recently signed up for a 6:00 am Pilates class. She’s hoping to meet other working non-moms there.