Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About Family Holidays & Limoncello Days

We’ve got another holiday coming up in the U.S. this weekend. Oh, excuse me, another family holiday. You know, when generations get together to pass along traditions, share celebrations, take group photos that will later appear on family holiday cards. You know, those days that can totally suck! for those of us who feel so horribly left out because we don’t have kids who might gift us with handmade works of art, treat us to a nutritionally questionable breakfast in bed, or turn the kitchen into a sticky swamp from mixing good ol’ time lemonade on a hot summer afternoon.

Which makes me think about the old adage: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

Or as I like to say: When life hits you upside the head then kicks you when you’re down, make limoncello.

I’m not an advocate of drowning my sorrows in booze, but I do think there are healing benefits to stepping away from my challenging routine, finding someplace quiet to sit, taking a few deep breaths, calming my heart, and sipping something lovely.

If you’d like to stock up for the long, hot limoncello days to come, here’s a simple recipe from Giada De Laurentiis (find the full recipe, reviews, and tips here on foodnetwork.com):

Ingredients:

10 lemons

1 (750 ml) bottle of vodka

3-1/2 cups water

2-1/2 cups sugar

Directions:

  1. Using a vegetable peeler, remove the peel from the lemons in long strips (reserve the lemons for another use). Using a small sharp knife, trim away the white pith from the lemon peels; discard the pith.
  2. Place the lemon peels in a 2-quart pitcher. Pour the vodka over the peels and cover with plastic wrap. Steep the lemon peels in the vodka for 4 days at room temperature.
  3. Stir the water and sugar in a large saucepan over medium heat until the sugar dissolves, about 5 minutes. Cool completely.
  4. Pour the sugar syrup over the vodka mixture. Cover and let stand at room temperature overnight.
  5. Strain the limoncello through a mesh strainer. Discard the peels. Transfer the limoncello to bottles. Seal the bottles and refrigerate until cold, at least 4 hours and up to 1 month.

Cin cin!

Kathleen Guthrie Woods also likes to occasionally drown her sorrows in dark chocolate.

Our Stories Update: Amber

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I am so glad I followed up with Amber*, who first shared her story with us in the summer of 2014. She is completely candid about the “dark days” that followed, the hard work it took to begin healing, and the bright spots she’s now able to enjoy in a life without children. Wherever you are on your journey, I hope you’ll find some encouragement in her story.

•   •   •

When Amber is asked, “Do you have kids?” she answers, “We have dogs, which are much easier than children.” There’s a lightness and humor to her answer that puts people at ease, but it doesn’t reflect the challenging journey she’s been on and her amazing strength and perspective. I was struck by the depth and wisdom in her answers to our other questions, and I think you, too, will be moved by her insight. Maybe some of it will strike a chord with you and help you in your healing.

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

Amber: I actually was never sure I wanted kids, but after some health problems, we were told “Now or never….” I had several surgeries to remove fibroids, and after each surgery I developed Asherman’s Syndrome. Several corrective surgeries, tons of scar tissue reforming, several dangerous ectopic pregnancies later, and then being told our only hope was a surrogate, well…I was fresh out of $75,000. You have to draw the line somewhere.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Amber: I have moved on to live my life and be happy. I still have a wonderful husband and two dogs, and we will always have a wonderful life as long as we are together. I refuse to throw it all away just because we cannot have children. Sometimes people lose sight of what they have while trying to reach another goal. It’s like what Alexander Graham Bell says in my favorite quote:

When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.

LWB: What was the turning point for you?

Amber: Plan A was ruining my life and I was constantly devastated and sad. We were living in limbo between procedures and surgeries hoping for a miracle. As soon as we made the decision to move on, things started getting better and we starting enjoying our life again. We were back in control, and the most important thing was that we had each other. Thank God we had not lost each other in the whole mess. Lord knows I have lost multitudes of friends and family over our journey of infertility.

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

Amber: I worry about whom we will spend time with as we age, who will pick us up from the nursing home at Christmas. But, then again, some people’s children do not do that. I have to focus on the fact that we will have each other and a wonderful network of family and friends.

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

Amber: I get to spend all day, every day, with my best friend, and we can do whatever we want together at any given time. We get to take our dogs to the beach two to three times a year, sleep in on Saturdays, buy extravagant things, take naps whenever, hang out at the bar and watch a game, and, most of all, love each other more than anything on this earth.

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

Amber: This was from my friend Penny, who died way too young: “Life isn’t what it should be, life is what it is. However, we get to choose what to make of it.”

•   •   •

LWB: How are you doing today?

Amber: I am living my life, but do not get me wrong, I had some dark days after 2014.  It was a lot to work through, and I would have probably benefited from counseling, which I did not do. I will say I carry the guilt of our inability to have children, but my husband has never blamed me. At times I feel that I robbed him of a family life, but we have so many things to be thankful for, and our life is so full. 

I might sound all “Pollyanna”, like life is all rainbows and unicorns. I promise you that is not the case, as we took a long break for my mental health. I am just an it-is-what-it-is type of person. Quite frankly, I am glad that infertility has been the biggest tragedy in my adult life. I have lived longer than my own mother, who died of cancer in her 30s. I see people all around me losing their health, their spouses, their jobs, or their homes. Worst of all, I have seen people lose their happiness, which encompasses countless things, because they are holding onto anger and resentment. 

The best advice I can give is: Do not lose what is sitting in front of you, do not take what you do have for granted. Get rid of the resentment and anger however you must, and live your life. My life is not bad without children. As a matter of fact, many people envy us for our lifestyle. I am so sorry for everyone reading this, as I would not wish infertility on my worst enemy. Just know that you can pick up the pieces after some healing and have a happy life. We have countless friends who are our parents’ age, and we all enjoy kid-free activities.  We have also reconnected with our childhood friends now that their children are older. None of them even know what we went through. (When you tell people, you must be prepared for their well-meant but stupid responses.) We have our dogs, tennis, work, we know every bartender in a ten-mile radius, extra money, and so many other things. To sum it all up, we are living a happy life.

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

Amber: Ahh…this is a loaded question. First and foremost: Go talk to a counselor! Perhaps even join a grief group if your reproductive endocrinologist offers one. Talking to people who are going through what you are would be way more helpful than becoming resentful of all the stupid things family and friends say trying to help you. Trust me, nothing they say will help you unless it is “Oh, I have $75,000 to give you” or “Oh, I can carry your baby for free.”

Do not feel guilty—it is not your fault. Only time will help you heal and, unfortunately, you are going to have to suffer through it to get to the other side, but the other side is better! While you drown in your grief, make a list of all the things you should be thankful for. It is a much longer list when you start writing it down. Help your spouse through their grief too. You are not the only one suffering. 

You have a purpose in life, and that purpose was not just to have children. You must find your purpose, your passion, and your happiness. Time is the only thing in this world that you cannot get more of no matter what you do. What you do with your time is the most precious thing you have on earth. Choose what to do with it wisely.

This (see photo below) is what kept me going, part of my passion and my purpose.

 

*Not her real name. We allow each respondent to use a fictitious name for her profile, if she chooses.

Won’t you share your story with us? Go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods got goosebumps when she saw the above photo of Amber and her dog. How wonderful and inspiring to see Amber embracing and enjoying her Plan B life!

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.

Our Stories Updates: Kay

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I’ve been catching up with some of our early contributors to this column because I’ve wanted to hear how they’re doing. Naturally, I’m hoping for good—if not great—news about new-found passions, successful Plans B and C, adventures on roads that might not have been taken.

But this is real life. Each of our journeys toward healing goes at its own pace, over its own terrain. Kay’s* road has been full of hard bumps, and when I asked her if she would update us on her life today, she initially replied, “I’m not sure that my story is one that will be of any benefit to anyone.” I’m saddened to hear this—and I disagree. For sometimes the benefit we can give each other is saying, “You are not alone.”

After you’ve read Kay’s original story (first posted in 2014) and update below, I hope you’ll add a Comment. Then I hope you’ll consider sharing your own story. Visit the Our Stories page for information and the questionnaire.

•   •   •

After a first marriage to a man who was “never stable enough for us to have kids,” Kay met her current husband when she was almost 42. They got busy trying to create their family, but three pregnancies were lost early, and adoption didn’t work (they weren’t against it, but the reasons it didn’t work were “complicated”). Now 52, Kay still struggles with being childfree by chance and circumstance. After reading her story below, I hope you’ll take a moment to offer her some encouragement in the Comments.

LWB: Please briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Kay: Oh, the Waltons. I wanted a big family with lots of children, maybe with foster kids as well.

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

Kay: My parents didn’t have a clue how to show love and fought a lot, and we children felt truly unloved and unwanted. From a very young age, all I wanted in life was to be a mama. That I will never have that is crushing. We are not close to any of our nieces and nephews. We have tried, but we live too far away from them to be very involved.

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

Kay: I don’t have to discover that I am just like my parents in parenting, in spite of my best intentions.

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

Kay: I really, really struggle with this because I so want/wanted to be a mama, and I want to relate to other people. Trying to explain, however, becomes complicated. I frequently get, “You could always just adopt,” which is a more complicated conversation. I’ve found it best to just answer, “No.”

LWB: What’s your Plan B?

Kay: I still very much want children in my life, and it doesn’t matter to me now that they won’t be my own. We unofficially mentored a family for a while. We called them our “Rent-a-Kids” and they liked that. But they moved away, so now I’m looking for something similar. I would like to find a way to connect “aged out” foster kids with people who would be family for them, to give them someone to care about them and a place to go for holidays and other momentous occasions. I don’t quite know how to get this started, but I’ve recently come across a couple of possibilities.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Kay: I still struggle with hearing pregnancy announcements, and frequently give a big sigh when I read stuff on Facebook about friends’ kids/grandkids or their parenting stuff. Early on I told myself, “This is not how your life will turn out. You will not have this.” It was an attempt to work for acceptance, but I eventually gave it up as it was turning into a self-pitying whine instead of acceptance. Sometimes I’m angry, more often I’m wistful. I frequently quote Agatha Christie: “Life is badly arranged.”

•   •   •

LWB: How are you doing today?

Kay: I have medical issues that are debilitating, and while I try very hard to be upbeat and positive, I’m much worse than four years ago. Because of these issues, I’ve not been able to follow through with aged-out foster children.

I struggle not to be bitter about life, and I am very thankful for the things I do have: supportive husband, friends and family, our home and cats, a decent functional medicine (semi-alternative) doctor. I think I have the bitterness under control, but I am sad (not clinically depressed) often, feeling that we’ve missed so much.

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

Kay: The question about what to say to my younger self is a conundrum. I guess I would simply tell myself that, with my genetic structure, medical intervention does more damage than benefit, and it would be best to eschew it. And “Embrace life more fully.” I was raised with the belief that “good things come to those who wait” hand in hand with “the meek will inherit the earth,” and those two things combined lead to too much passively waiting and watching life pass by.

 

*To protect respondents’ privacy, we allow each to choose a name for her profile. It may or may not be fictitious.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is inspired by the strength and courage of every woman who has shared her story here.

It Got Me Thinking…About Updating My “I’ll Nevers”

I’ve been reading through some posts from the early LWB days, and this came up as one of the most-read—and one that received a flood of comments. It continues to ring true, and it continues to make me laugh and think. I’m including it below for those of you who haven’t seen it yet, and for long-time LWBers who will get a kick out of revisiting it.

What’s most interesting to me about how it makes me feel today, in 2018, is that I now focus less on the “I’ll Nevers” (both the loss of experiences and the avoidance of the annoying acts listed below) and focus more on the “I Cans.” For example, last year one of my nieces earned a spot on her high school cross-country team. Because I don’t have sporting events with my own kids filling up my Saturdays, late in the fall I was able to travel quite a distance to watch her team win the league championship. Several weeks later, my husband and I drove nine hours round-trip to watch her and her teammates win the state championship.

It was beyond thrilling to be there, and my heart overflowed with pride for this young woman who had worked so hard to achieve her win and with gratitude that I was able to be there to see her achieve it. I think of this again and again as I attend basketball games, awards ceremonies, music recitals, theatrical debuts, graduations, first communions, and other special events for my nieces, nephews, and godchildren—things I can and do enjoy but would never get to if Fate had dealt me a different hand.

So today in the Comments, I hope you’ll have fun with your “I’ll Nevers” and I hope you’ll think about at least one “I Can” you are able to enjoy because you happen to be childfree.—KGW

•   •   •

Whenever I get tired of hearing myself whine about all the things I’ll never get to experience because I’m childfree—feeling a second heartbeat within my body and beaming with pride when someone says “She’s just like you”—I find I can put an end to my self-pity party by thinking about some of the annoying things I’ll never do. This includes:

1.  I’ll never ruin another couple’s romantic dinner because I’ve let my toddler run amok in a nice restaurant.

2.  I’ll never keep an entire airplane full of stressed-out businesspeople and weary travelers awake with my screaming infant, because if I can block out her cries, surely they can make an effort.

3.  I’ll never insist that, because my child is actually the smartest/most talented/most gifted kid in the group, he should get special treatment.

4.  I’ll never have to schedule a vacation to coincide with school holidays, so I won’t be part of the masses of humanity standing in line in front of you to get into the museum/amusement park/restroom stall.

5.  I’ll never say the words, “How would you know? You’re not a mother.”

6.  I’ll never offend a stranger by asking him to hold my child while I lift up my shirt, fumble with snaps, and flash my breasts before taking the kid back for a public feeding.

7.  I’ll never saddle a colleague with extra work because I have kids.

8.  I’ll never blow off a friend because I have kids.

9.  I’ll never tell my husband to go take a cold shower because I’m worn out from taking care of his kids.

10.  And I’ll never, ever con extended family into going on a Disney cruise.

What’s on your list?

Whiny Wednesday: Family Who Won’t Let It Go

It’s the sister who every time she sees you asks, “So are you…?” The aunt who asks at every big holiday gathering, “When are you going to…?” Or the mother-in-law who passive-aggressively wonders out loud when “someone” is going to make her a grandmother. You know,

That one relative who just can’t let it go.

Got one? Tell us about him or her, then tell us what you’d like to say back.

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.

 

 

How We Heal Our Emotional Scars

Woman walking alone on beach

By Lisa Manterfield

I have a large scar on my left knee. It has black lines of grit in it, and smooth patches of scar tissue that catch the light on an otherwise rough patch of skin.

My scar is 30 years old and I don’t think about it very often anymore. It doesn’t hurt, even when I poke it, and the wound that caused it healed long ago.

But if I think back to the day I got my scar, all the memories and the pain come flooding back. I remember the bike accident. I remember riding through the trees on a gorgeous sunny day, laughing with my friends and flirting with a boy I liked. I remember trying to get his attention and catching my front wheel on his back tire. I don’t recall sailing through the air, but I must have done, because I do remember skidding along the trail, trading bits of knee for bits of trail.

I remember sitting in the bath at home and crying as my mum tried to clean the wound. And I remember my older brother—a bit of an expert on injuries and scars—gently coaxing me to scrub out the grit or be left with a terrible scar.

I also have a vague recollection of a discussion among adults (not my parents) about plastic surgery and what a shame it would be if a “pretty girl” was disfigured by an ugly scar.

It all happened so long ago, but dredging up these memories can bring back all that pain, my embarrassment, the tenderness of my brother, the feeling that my scar would make me “less than” I could have been. I can feel all of it again as if it had happened in more recent memory.

I feel this way about my infertility and childlessness, too. Most days, I don’t think about it anymore. But lately I’ve been writing about grief and loss, and some of those awful feelings of sadness, anger, and deep, deep loss have been coming back to me.

It’s taught me that the healing process for emotional scars is much the same as for physical scars.

You have to suffer some terrible pain to clean the wound. You have to struggle through the initial all-consuming grief. You have to ask for support from people who might not know how to give it. You have to walk again, even if every step is agony. You’ll meet people who will see you as damaged and less than you could have been, because you no longer fit into their ideal of perfect.

But over time the healing begins. You’ll knock your healing wound a few times and break it open again. In one particularly unfortunate incident, you’ll fall on the same wound and end up with a double scar. But you’ll remember how much you loved riding a bike and you’ll take it up again. And you’ll meet new people, who don’t care whether you have one ugly knee, because they’re more interested in some other facet of who you are. And you’ll realize that being a “pretty girl” wasn’t what you were destined to be anyway, and you’re happy being an outdoorsy girl who’s accumulated a multitude of scars since then.

And when you’re shaving your legs (which is trickier because of the scar) you might sometimes recall how you got the scar and the pain you went through. But most days, you won’t even think about.

Having a big scar on my knee means I never got the opportunity to be a leg model, but I got to be so many other things instead, things that have made my life journey quite interesting. My infertility scar is much newer than my knee scar, but I can already see it healing in a way I couldn’t have imagined when it was new and raw. I am starting to wonder about what new destiny it’s leading me to.

For more about hiding and revealing our scars, check out this guest post from Quasi-Momma. 

Our Stories: Teresa

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Oh, how I want to offer you HOPE as we embark on fresh starts in this new year! I want to tell you everything will be okay, that you will be happy again, that everything will work out for the best.

But here at Life Without Baby, we’re about being real, and sometimes reality sucks. Some days we feel numb from our losses and grief, or we feel that our partners would be better off without us (because we’ve “let them down”), or we give up on ever experiencing any kind of miracle.

Teresa articulates these raw truths so well. At 34, married to a “wonderfully loving and strong husband”, she is struggling to come to terms with the end of her dream of motherhood. She’s also got some ideas about how she might start healing and moving forward in life.

Here’s her story.

LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.

Teresa: At first, my dream of motherhood was to make reparations for the parents I had, I wanted to be a better parent than my own. I wanted to build children that would step into the world as self-assured, confident, wacky, loving individuals. My children were named, spoken of, talked about. We’d send them to this school, or that school. We’d introduce them to this or that; we’d teach them this or that. Our nonexistent children were loved in every way.

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

Teresa: I am childless by circumstance. Even though my husband and I knew I had PCOS [polycystic ovary syndrome], I thoroughly believed that I would get pregnant. I thought the medications and procedures would work for me, and we both thought kids were in our future. A few months ago, we chose to stop fertility treatments. We were not interested in IVF [in vitro fertilization], and the doctors told us that my body was not responding to anything else. There was nothing more they could do for us.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Teresa: I am numb. My little sister will bring the first grandchild into my side of the family early in 2018. My heart and soul jump with joy for her, but at the same time, they battle the sadness that strikes me to my core. I thought the treatments would work, and when I visited her in the spring to see my new nephew, I would be able to share that my own baby is on his or her way. This is no longer the case. I do not understand why this is my path. I have given up on God. There will be no miracle, just this emptiness. I need to find a new purpose; the only thing I ever wanted will not come to pass. I am directionless.

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

Teresa: The knowledge that I am disappointing my husband. Now, this isn’t how it really is, but it is how I feel. He frequently repeats that he loves our life together. He is here for me. What he doesn’t realize is that I watch him when he cares for his sister’s children. I watch him around babies, toddlers, with kids in junior high. He’s amazing. He would be a perfectly imperfect dad. I am unable to give him this.

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

Teresa: A long time ago, I decided to stop skirting the issue. Infertility is often taboo because it has to deal with sex and emotions. No one knows what to say or how to act when they speak with an infertile couple. People feel uncomfortable when I say “My husband and I cannot have kids.” As soon as those words come out, people feel like assholes to have asked a question that is none of their business. In my feeble attempt to raise awareness, I am honest. Hopefully, one day, we’ll all be able to have a real conversation about it and acknowledge that infertility is a tremendous loss.

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

Teresa: It’s going to hurt for a long time. You’ll find that as you age, you won’t fit into a group anywhere. You don’t fit in with parents with kids. You don’t fit in with 20-somethings. You’ll find that a lot of your friends are retirees. You’ll hang out with elderly people, especially if you live in small towns. Your family will not know what to say or do.

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

Teresa: That my husband and I can heal together. He has been my rock, but I find myself pushing him away because I do not want him to be beholden to me. He can have children and should leave me and find a woman who can give him what he wants. My other hope is to stop all this silly thinking and embrace my wonderfully loving and strong husband.

LWB: How are you moving forward?

Teresa: I looked into my partner’s eyes. I wrapped his love around me. I breathed him in and asked him to never let go. I fight with myself daily over whether or not I should just leave him, give him the “out.” But he loves me, and he can handle this. So I let him love me, no matter how difficult.

Someone once told me to collect moments of joy. Everyone gets sad. Remember to count the moments of joy because they do come along. Then, after all the crying and disbelief, for a brief moment, your heart will be full. Hold on to that feeling because it will have to last you through the desert.

 

Won’t you share your story with us? The act of answering the questions itself can be very healing, plus we’d like to support you by telling you “You are not alone.” Please visit the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with her childlessness.

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.