Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About the Slights We Endure

Last fall, my husband and I spent our hard-earned vacation time at a couple of popular amusement parks, taking in shows, attractions, foods and beverages not on our usual healthy meal plans, and rides. Due to an old injury (I’m fine), I couldn’t go on any of the tossing and twisting, dropping and diving, violently fun thrill rides, and I was okay with that. I enjoyed people-watching and reading a good book while my husband took advantage of my pass to experience all those rides twice then come back and give me a play-by-play.

After one such ride, he all but sprinted back to me. “I’ve found a ride for you!”

As he led me across the park to the place he had spotted, he gushed, “It looks perfect for you! It’s like riding a giant swing. It sways slowly as you ride over the park and take in all the amazing views, and I know you are going to love it!”

My anticipation and excitement grew as we waited patiently in the long line alongside families with young children. And then it all came to a screeching, sickening halt. For at the boarding site there was a huge sign that proclaimed:

I’m sorry: What?!

“I HATE this fudging place!” (Um, okay, I didn’t say fudging. It was not my finest moment.)

My husband trailed behind me as I stomped off. “Maybe you could borrow a kid?” he suggested, his own disappointment on my behalf evident in his tone. I gave him a glare that could melt a glacier, and I swear some of those parents in line pulled their children closer.

Even as I write this, months after it happened, my blood continues to boil. Why wasn’t I allowed on this ride? Why couldn’t I have had just a few minutes of childlike glee? Why must so many fun things be the exclusive right of kids and their parents? Why me?!?

I don’t have answers—or I don’t have answers that fully satisfy me. I am certain that the slights we childless women endure are not all intentional, while I am also certain that they feel like they come in wave after crashing wave.

I want to give you a happy or encouraging ending, or some wise insight, but I don’t have it in me. I still had a good vacation. I enjoyed the playtime with my husband, I enjoyed many of the other experiences the parks had to offer. But the slight still hurts, and it makes me want to hit someone, specifically the doofus who came up with the “must be accompanied by a child” rule.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is occasionally not at all at peace with her childlessness.

Being a Second Wife: It’s Complicated

Good morning! This is a bonus post for today as I wanted to share a story with you.

Our own Kathleen Guthrie Woods has just had her essay “Rebecca” published in Full Grown People, an online magazine for “The Other Awkward Age.” It’s a beautiful piece about stepping with grace and dignity into the shoes of a beloved—and deceased—first wife. It’s particular poignant in the way it deals with the shared heartbreak of infertility. I encourage you to hop over and give it a read.

Kathleen has been the backbone of Life Without Baby since it’s earliest days, and I am so grateful to her for helping to keep this site running for going on eight years! Please help me support her amazing work by checking out her beautiful story and giving it a share on your social media sites.

In the meantime, enjoy reading “Rebecca.”

It Got Me Thinking…About Being Understood (Post-Holiday Edition)

My family serves the same breakfast every Christmas morning: a sausage and cheese casserole (also fondly referred to as “heart attack on a plate”), grapefruit cut in half with each segment carefully carved out with that cool little bent grapefruit knife, and Gram’s Coffee Cake. It isn’t Christmas without Gram’s Coffee Cake. You can hang lights and stockings, place treasured ornaments on a tree, and crank up the volume to sing along with Bing Crosby and friends, but it isn’t until that sweet and cinnamony batter is in the oven that home smells and feels like Christmas.

On this past Christmas Eve, as photos rolled into my phone from various households showing off their cakes fresh from the oven or wrapped in foil to keep for the morning, I chimed in to the stream of text messages with, “This is the first year in my life I didn’t make one.”

“There’s still time!” one relative chimed in.

“It’s no fun when there’s no one to make it for,” I tried to explain, wondering if I should elaborate on how for years I’ve baked the whole big thing, eaten one slice myself, then given the rest as hostess gifts or to my husband’s office staff.

“So make it for yourself!” another relative suggested.

And oh, how I wanted to respond with, “You’re not childless-not-by-choice! You wouldn’t understand!”

Sound familiar? How many times have we been smacked in the face with “You’re not a parent—you wouldn’t understand.” Once, just once, I wish my family members could try to understand how difficult the holiday season has been and continues to be for me. How spirit-draining it is to even imagine going through the effort to drag out the ladder, hammer the nails, and untangle the string of lights, without some wee darling there to be thrilled by the twinkling beauty. Or the futility of putting out milk ’n’ cookies and a note for Santa without a little believer in the house. Or…I know. I could go on ad nauseam, and this is hardly news to you.

I shared the above exchange with a friend who is also childless-not-by-choice, knowing she would commiserate. “Should I try to explain how I feel?” I asked. “Should I talk to them so they understand how—I know, unintentionally—painful their unhelpful comments are?”

She responded with the very best advice for this scenario: “Let it go.”

“But, but….”

“Just let it go.”

She’s right. They can’t ever fully understand because they are parents, because they do get to share all our wonderful family holiday traditions with new generations, and they will never understand why something as “small” as making Gram’s Coffee Cake is so emotionally charged for me.

However, as I reflected upon this in the days that followed, I reminded myself that I do have people in my life who understand. Right here, at Life Without Baby. If I need sympathy, support, or just a place the vent, I can come to this safe space and feel welcomed on “Whiny Wednesday”, in comments on blog posts, discussions in Forums, or by reading and relating to your stories in the “Our Stories”* column.

As we move into this new year, whenever we feel alone or lost or generally misunderstood, let’s remember to check in with each other here. Because even if we can’t find seem to find it anywhere else, here we are understood.

 

*We make it really easy for you to share your story. Go to this link and answer the questions in your own words. No writing experience needed. I hear again and again what a healing experience this is for the contributor, and I know I, as well as our many readers, will be there to support you.

 

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

It Got Me Thinking…About the Gift of Kindness

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“So…why are you going?”

My sweet friend, let’s call her Ashley, had just told me about how much she was dreading Christmas. She and her husband are traveling halfway across the country to be with extended family, a family of loud, funny, sarcastic, in-your-face, mostly well-intentioned people who she knows will be needling her about why they don’t have kids yet.

“I can hear your clock ticking!”

“Your cousin got pregnant on her honeymoon—and you two have been married how long?”

“I swear I’m going to croak before this one gives me a grandchild!”

What they don’t know is that Ashley had another miscarriage last month. So she is going to suffer through all the questions and smart-ass comments in silence, with a half-smile on her face and a crack that is growing deeper in her heart.

But she is going because family gatherings are fewer and farther between as busy lives take over. And the older generations aren’t getting any younger, so she feels like she’s on borrowed time with them. And her favorite aunt was widowed earlier this year, and Ashley doesn’t want her to feel alone over the holidays. All valid reasons, but oh how my heart aches for her as I anticipate and imagine what she’s facing this coming week.

I asked her to put me on speed dial, so that if things get really rough, she can step outside or lock herself in the bathroom and call me for emotional support. Even though she and her husband are still trying, still hopeful (and I’m hopeful for them too), I sent her some classic LWB posts about dealing with social landmines and getting through the holidays when you’re childless-not-by-choice. I hope I helped her, and I hope I can continue to help her get through this season with some dignity and grace.

After our chat, I started thinking more about how no one in her family knows what she’s been going through. I know better than to encourage anyone to break a silence on something so emotionally devastating as multiple miscarriages, especially in a large and rowdy gathering, but her sharing her confidences made me think about the fact that all of us are dealing with things that aren’t fit for announcing to the general public—or sometimes to our immediate and extended family members.

So, while I’ll be dealing quietly with my own hurts, as I gather with loved ones over the holidays, I’ll be approaching them with a new awareness. I might give slightly longer hugs, I might reach across a room with a smile, I might keep an eye out for someone who is left out of the conversation or looks a little more isolated than usual. Whether or not they choose to give me their confidence, I can give them something: the gift of kindness, the gift of compassion. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get that gift in return.

 

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Our Safe Haven

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods 

A few years back, Lisa and I first released Life Without Baby Holiday Companion, a collection of LWB posts designed to support our readers through this dicey season. Since I was heading into a whirlwind of social events—with family, friends, coworkers, and total strangers—I armed myself for the questions and comments I knew were coming.

Q: What’s your book about? A: Deep breath… “It’s inspiration and encouragement for women who wanted to have children, but didn’t get to, to help them get through the holidays” …please be nice to me.

Q: Are there really women who need this? A: Deep breath, this is a teaching opportunity, don’t be a bitch… “Let me tell you a few stories I’ve heard from women who are childfree-not-by-choice about how challenging the holidays are for them. For example, one woman just had her third miscarriage and is devastated. She’ll be with her in-laws, and she knows they’ll bombard her with questions about why, for Pete’s sake, she’s waiting so long to give them grandchildren.”

Q: You have a book out? How exciting to see your labors rewarded with the birth of your book! I imagine it’s like the anticipation of all those months of pregnancy and you finally get to welcome and celebrate the arrival of your precious child! A: Uh…I got nothing.

As exhausting as some of these exchanges are (and sometimes they are, eventually, funny to me), I feel deeply humbled when someone hears what I write about, then leans in and whispers, “That’s my story.” I have been privileged to be able to truly listen as women, and a few men, share their very personal stories with me about loves and losses, heartbreaks, dreams, and hopes. I have offered sympathy, bits of gentle advice, and most of all, understanding.

You may have been at the receiving end of some insensitive questions and comments this month, and it’s my hope that you have had someone near you to soften the blows. Meanwhile, I encourage you to use this website: share your stories in Comments, join discussions in the Forums, draw strength and courage from other LWBers, and allow yourself this safe haven. For here, we get it. We get you.

 

Life Without Baby Holiday Companion, a collection of classic blog posts that offer inspiration and encouragement for getting through the season when you’re childfree-not-by-choice, is available here on our site and on Amazon.

It Got Me Thinking…About Surviving Today’s Meltdown

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I really thought I was healed, or at least was very close. I had mostly released what I felt I’d been cheated out of and was actively embracing a Plan B. I felt like a trailblazer, a role model, a success story.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

It was late on a gloomy, wintry afternoon when I came across a photo on Facebook of a dear friend, her wonderful husband, and their two beautiful children decorating their Christmas tree together. Something I will never get to do. One look at that image of perfection—my idea of perfection—and I lost it.

We’re talking throwing-family-heirloom-ornaments-in-the-trash kind of lost it. All the anger, bitterness, hurt, shame, heartaches, sadness, unfairness, why-not-me-ness I thought I’d worked out of my system came down upon me like a devastating avalanche. It was epic. It was ugly.

Fortunately, I got talked back out of my hell-hole by an understanding husband and compassionate friend. The tossed ornaments were retrieved, my body was hugged, my spirit was soothed. (But, no, I was not able to bring myself to decorate my home for merriment I could not fake.)

Humbled, and more than a little embarrassed, I took a fresh look at myself and again was reminded that the whole grieving-to-healing journey is not as straightforward as traveling from A to B. It’s crooked, jagged, with obstacles, speed bumps, and small triumphs followed cruel “family” holidays. Recovery is a process.

My friends who have battled alcohol addiction know quite a bit about what it means to be in recovery, and I think we can benefit from their wisdom and experience. When the temptation to slide back down into the deep, dark holes of depression and despair grows strong, when our resolve is weakened, when recovery seems like too much work or unachievable, we can borrow some of their slogans and tell ourselves:

Keep it simple.

Easy does it.

First things first.

Just for today.

How important is it?

Keep an open mind.

Live and let live.

Let go and let God.

One day at a time.

I now keep these reminders on my desktop, within reach for when I need a boost or in case I feel a new meltdown coming on. Perhaps one of them will help you today.

 

During the holiday season, Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a little less at peace with her child-less status.

It Got Me Thinking…About My Very Own Holiday

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

If you’re in the U.S., you just got through or are in the midst of one of our biggest “family” holidays of the year. Feeling thankful? Yeah, me neither.

We’ve officially kicked off the holiday season—yes, a whole miserable season—that often feels like a series of slaps across the face for those of us who are childless-not-by-choice: the pageants with the impossibly adorable miniature angels, the onslaught of family photo cards and newsy letters, those awfully festive reunions that bring together multiple generations (and unwanted questions), the traditions we’ll never get to share, every little slight and hurt that reminds us of what we wanted and didn’t get to have. I’m all wrung out just from the anticipation!

But this year I have a plan for how I can get through the next several weeks with a bit of calm and brightness. In my schedule, between the shoulds and the musts, I am going to book out some time for myself. I am going to prepare now to welcome a most special guest into my home for the holidays: Me.

Think about it. If your dearest friend was coming to stay, how would you treat her? I might:

  • Fluff up the pillows on the bed and add a cozy throw blanket.
  • Arrange fresh flowers on the nightstand.
  • Pull out the “nice” towels, then pour out some of those fancy bath salts I’ve been saving for a long, soothing soak.
  • Place a couple of chocolates on her pillow at bedtime, and warm her PJs in the dryer just before she slips them on.
  • Serve her breakfast in bed—it can be as simple as tea and a muffin served on the special occasion china and presented on a tray.

How might you treat your most honored guest? Share your ideas in the Comments, then let’s commit to creating a true bit of holiday for ourselves.

 

If you’re struggling this holiday season, I encourage you to explore the Life Without Baby site for resources. Check out the Forums and Groups, reach out to others through Comments, or pick up some of the recommended Books. We may not be able to guarantee merriment, but we can offer compassion. 

 

It Got Me Thinking…(Again) About Feeling Cheated

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

We are heading into the unrelenting holiday season, when families get together, old friends reunite, and our losses seem to smack us in the face. It sometimes feels as though all the stages of grief are coursing through our bodies and souls all at once! As I try to prepare myself for another not-so-merry-go-round, I find myself revisiting an older post, a “classic” that has resonated with LWBers over the past few years. I offer it with a reminder to be true to what you’re feeling and to be gentle with yourself.

My long-time friend, Teri*, and I had spent the morning reminiscing about our college days, catching up on work and vacation plans, and updating each other on sorority sisters we’d friended on Facebook. I was in my kitchen, putting together a salad for lunch, when she finally acknowledged the elephant in the room: The fact that we’re both childfree. She knew I was working toward accepting a childfree life, and I was aware she’d endured several unsuccessful fertility procedures, but we’d managed to talk around it until…

“Do you ever feel…?” and she paused for a moment, seeking the right word.

“…cheated.” I’d never articulated this before, but it was exactly what I felt, and the admission surprised us both.

She looked straight into my eyes with full recognition, then burst into heart-wrenching sobs.

I sought words of comfort as I held her, but nothing could compensate for the emptiness we both were experiencing. Teri would have been an amazing mother. She and her husband are a wonderful couple, part of a loving community of family and friends that would have embraced a child. But you know the story: She and her husband have run through their savings and battered their hearts in attempts to get pregnant, in the process depleting the stores that might have helped them adopt. There will be no children for them.

Even though I’ve made great strides in my journey, there are moments when I have a few choice cuss words for God—or whoever it is who makes the big decisions about our fates. I think about the man who beheaded his teenage daughter because he didn’t approve of her lifestyle, the foster parents who starved and neglected the children in their care, and the woman who left her toddler alone in a filthy apartment so she could go clubbing. These people get to have children but not me? Not Teri?! You bet I feel cheated!

“Life isn’t fair,” my mother once told me, and I continue to wrestle with how to make peace with this. Sometimes I force myself into positive thinking, the whole “acting as-if” process. Instead of focusing on the lack, I focus on the gifts, such as my health, my friends, my dogs. Even reading that now, I scoff at the triteness, but I persist. I have to start somewhere to point my heart in the direction of healing, and I suppose I can count myself lucky that I have these blessings when others have been cheated out of good health, supportive relationships, and loyal companions.

Still, I ache for my dear, sweet friend and the unfairness she’s been dealt in life. I don’t want to trivialize her pain, I don’t want to deliver some callous platitude. As we quieted our hearts and wiped away tears, what I said to her was, simply, “I am so sorry.”

*Her name and details have been changed to protect her privacy.

 

Kathleen is mostly at peace with her family of two + dog.

It Got Me Thinking…About My (Empty) Branch of the Family Tree

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

When I was 12 years old, I was assigned the task of creating a family tree. I loved this project, as I was able to trace my father’s family back to their arrival in the U.S. from Ireland in 1762 and learn the names of my grandfather’s 16 (that’s not a typo) siblings. It was thrilling to uncover some long-buried family history.

Relatives on both sides continue to dig into our past, and not long ago a cousin forwarded an updated chart that includes my generation and our children. By “our” children, I mean the children of my siblings and cousins, because, as you know, I don’t have and will never have children. What happens to people like me? I flipped back through the pages and was stopped cold with a line that pruned branches in previous generations: “No issue.”

That’s it. End of the line. You either added to the tree or you became insignificant. No mention of creative writing talents, beautiful singing voices, athletic prowess, or successful careers in politics, all attributes that appear in living relatives. There’s no link to my great-grandmother’s wildly popular donut recipe or my great-aunts’ and great-uncles’ great acts of faith. Nothing to indicate which of my ancestors was funny like my dad, compassionate like my aunt, or courageous like my nieces.

As I think about the tree and my place in it, I’m saddened. No, I think “crushed” might be a better description. My siblings are both listed along with their spouses, and their children appear in a fresh new column. My space for the moment is blank, and I wonder how long it will be before a draft appears that includes my very own “No issue” notation.

I refuse to accept that a life can be measured solely by the producing of heirs. I would like to believe I am making worthy contributions to both my extended family and the world at large. Meanwhile, I’m thinking the printout of all the branches will serve as great kindling for a roaring fire.

It Got Me Thinking…About Accepting Good Intentions

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“Congratulations!”

I cocked my head in the universal gesture for Huh?

“I see you’re here for your first prenatal visit!”

“Um…no. Pretty sure I’m not.”

“Yes, it says so in the computer.”

“Pretty sure your computer is wrong.”

I’ve joked for years that my life is like a sit-com, and this vignette was a prime example. What started out as a routine annual physical (weight, blood pressure, checking my heart and lungs) had turned into a farce because someone at a call center had checked a wrong box and the receptionist felt compelled to announce it to every living soul in the packed waiting room.

I easily could have turned this into a melodrama. I could have dashed into the ladies room, dissolved into a puddle of self-pity, and called my sister to wail about the unfairness of life, the cruelties of the universe. But there was no need to over-react. The receptionist wasn’t trying to hurt me; she was misinformed (not her fault) and she thought I had something wonderful to celebrate. Her intentions were kind, she was reaching out to me, and I’m sure she was gearing up to share her experience of her first prenatal visit when she was pregnant with the first of her three now-grown kids.

Under other circumstances, it could have been a lovely moment. Or it could have been an awful moment. I chose to make it an absurdly funny moment. Once we cleared up the reason for my appointment, I stepped outside and called a girlfriend who is also childless-not-by-choice. “You are not going to believe this…my life is a freakshow!” I told her what happened, and together we howled with laughter. Then we talked about how far we both have come on our journeys from heartbroken mama-wanna-bes to mostly-okay childfree women.

We’ve all heard our share of insensitive comments, and we know well-intentioned but ill-timed comments can be even more hurtful. I’d like to suggest that we humans generally have the best intentions to be kind to one another, and it’s my intention to try to see this good in others as often as possible.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods believes laughter truly is the best medicine.