It’s Whiny Wednesday, your opportunity to rant on a theme.
This week’s topic is:
Caring for elders and wondering, “Who’s going to do this for me?”
Feel free to add your own whines, too.
Whiny Wednesday
Last week I asked you to share topic ideas for Whiny Wednesday. Quite a few of you were glad to oblige. Thanks for the great ideas.
So, this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is:
Other People’s Pity
As always, you’re free to vent on your own topic, too.
If you have Whiny Wednesday topics you’d like to see voiced, please drop me a line.
Our Stories: Gwen
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Gwen*, now 44, has endured a rough journey of loss and infertility treatments, but she still hopes for a miracle. Like many of us, she dances around the pros and cons of being childfree as she considers what her Plan B might look like. Do you see yourself in her story? If so, take a moment to reach out to her in the Comments.
LWB: Please briefly describe your dream of motherhood.
Gwen: I told myself that if it didn’t happen by 36 I would not pursue it. It wasn’t until I was 39 and reconnected with an old flame—who I eventually married—that I wanted to try for a family. My husband had been a victim of parental alienation for over a decade, has had no connection with his own children for over eight years, and it was very important for me to be able give him a child we could raise together in a very loving family.
LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?
Gwen: It was by choice until the age of 39. Then, after three years of trying and having over a dozen conceptions/zero pregnancies/one early miscarriage, I sought infertility treatment. Two failed IVF (in vitro fertilization) cycles into two failed IUI (intrauterine insemination) converts; the doctors could do nothing for me. We can’t afford and are not morally on board with egg donorship. We are too old to adopt a young child, and I do not to want to put myself or my husband through the grueling process of rejection through adoption.
LWB: Where are you on your journey now? (For example: still in denial, angry, hoping for a miracle, depressed, crawling toward acceptance, embracing Plan B, all of the above.)
Gwen: All of the above. I still hope every month, still time intercourse for a possible miracle while fully knowing the eggs are bad and the outcome will most likely never change. Just this month we had a conception that failed. I now joke that my uterus is made of Teflon.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Gwen: Feeling like a social outcast. I just cannot get past that one. I’ve never followed the status quo my entire life, was a “late bloomer” with all things social growing up, and became a statistic as a child of divorce and divorced twice over myself. So giving up the battle and becoming yet another statistic is the hardest part for me. “Everyone else can have a child, why not me?” is what goes through my head every day.
LWB: What’s the best part about not having children?
Gwen: Not having to dedicate the next 18 years to being responsible for another human being. I can continue to “do my thing”, come and go as I please, work on my crafts whenever I want, enjoy life on my terms, and not lie in wait for what my offspring needs right now. Oh, and being able to get a full night’s sleep every night. That’s a biggie.
LWB: What’s your Plan B?
Gwen: As I am just coming to terms with being childfree forever, I guess it is wait and see. After three years of marriage we could apply to be a licensed foster home and hope to find an older child who will fit into our life. But that is another year waiting, and my thoughts on adoption might change by then. I’ll leave that in God’s hands.
*To protect respondents’ privacy, we allow each to choose a name for her profile. It may or may not be fictitious.
Won’t you share your story with us? Go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
Whiny Wednesday
I’m finding that I don’t have much to whine about these days. While I’m thrilled to be in this place of peace, I’m not sure it’s doing much for Whiny Wednesday. I’m concerned that I’m not touching on the topics that might be at the forefront of your lives right now.
So, Kathleen gave me a great idea: Why not put a call out for guest whines?
If you have a topic you’d like to voice or a conversation you’d like to start, drop me a line. Just send me a couple of sentences with your whine and I’ll turn it into a guest post. Let me know too if you’d like to include your first name, a pseudonym, or be anonymous.
As for this week’s whines, feel free to unleash in the comments below.
Memorials and Milestones
It’s Memorial Day here in the U.S. and Mr. Fab has asked that we go to the cemeteries where his relatives are buried. One of those cemeteries is also the place I had my big epiphany when I realized I was never going to have children.
I haven’t been back there since that day more than five years ago and I know it’s potentially a loaded place for me, but I think I’m going to be okay. Going back there will mark another milestone on my road to recovery and each one gets a little easier.
***
On the topic of milestones, this site passed its own milestone last week, with the 1000th post on this blog! I haven’t done the math, but I’m guessing 1000 posts equates to about 400,000 words. So, if you ever find yourself bored, feel free to browse what’s probably the equivalent of five books of posts!
***
And speaking of books I have finally managed to get all your book recommendations up on the site. How long has it taken me? It took me way longer than it ought to have done and I finally found an easy way to do it. You can find the Books page here.
You’ll notice that the books are listed through the Amazon Affiliate program, which means that if you click through and buy the books from the links on this site, LWB will receive a small commission. This will help to offset the cost of providing the private community and keeping the site ad-free. (Those of you who were here in the early days may recall the site was housed on a free platform that had Google ads offering diapers, fertility clinics, and baby products.) If you’re not comfortable using the affiliate links, you can simply use the page as a list and then go directly to your preferred bookseller.
The Books page is still a work in progress and I hope to add more as I go, so please let me know if you come across a book that you think other readers would find helpful.
My Big (Unconventional) Mother’s Day Plans
Image courtesy TSNY/Bob Holzman
Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past month and haven’t turned on the TV, logged onto Facebook, been to a grocery, drug, or card store, or checked your mail or your email box, you’re probably already aware that Mother’s Day is upon us. In my book this day easily trumps Halloween, Christmas, and Valentine’s Day combined for the worst day of the year to not have children.
I’ve written about Mother’s Day woes in the past (see below for some reruns), but this year I’m taking back the day.
Two years ago my friend and I bought Groupons for trapeze lessons. We somehow never managed to organize a date to go and last month we realized our passes would expire on May 14. We quickly scrambled our calendars and found a day we were both free. Sunday May 11 was the only option. I mean, what else would two childless women with British mothers have to do that day?
So, that’s it. We’re going. And honestly, I can’t think of a more fitting way to take back what was once the saddest day of my year than by flying through the air with the greatest of ease, as a magnificent non-mom on my flying trapeze!
***
If you’re struggling with Mother’s Day, here are a few past posts and encouraging comments that I hope will help.
My Bah Humbug to Mother’s Day, But Not to Mother (May, 2010)
Breaking Up with Mother’s Day (May 2011)
It Got Me Thinking…About Nurturers (May 2012)
Preparedness (May 2012)
Duck, Weave, or Cover? (May 2012)
Mother’s Day (May 2013)
Our Stories: Lisa
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
One of the most touching aspects of our Life Without Baby community is our willingness to openly, candidly share our stories. Together we’ve learned, grown, sympathized, encouraged, accepted, and celebrated. What a gift!
We want to encourage more story sharing, so we are launching this new column space, and our brave and beautiful leader, Lisa Manterfield, has agreed to be our first interviewee. We’ve learned a lot about and from her as she’s shared the stages of her journey here on Life Without Baby. Read on for a few of her insights, then consider sharing your story through the link on our Our Stories page.
Lisa always wanted and expected to have children, but knew it had to be with the right person. She was 34 when she married “Mr. Fab” and believed she still had plenty of time. Initially she thought his vasectomy reversal might put a wrinkle in her plans, but it turned out her own infertility was the real issue. Now 43 ¾ years old, she has fully accepted that she won’t have children, and she can see the opportunities she has had because of it. Lisa has chosen to answer the following questions.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Lisa: If you’d asked me this three or four years ago, I might have answered feeling like a social outcast, not relating to friends, not leaving a legacy or having someone to leave my stuff to, not experiencing the joys of shaping a little human, never experiencing pregnancy…the list goes on. But I think if I went back to that list every six months or so, I’d find myself crossing things off. Most of the things that used to be so hard don’t seem so important anymore, and I’m really enjoying the advantages of not having children.
LWB: What’s the best advice you’ve received?
Lisa: It wasn’t so much advice as a passing comment that stuck. A friend hinted that she and her husband had had fertility issues, didn’t have children, and now she realized they were okay as a family of two. Her comment struck me on two levels. Firstly, it caused me to rethink my definition of family and I realized that, yes, I too already had a real family, just a small one. I’d always thought of us as a couple who wouldn’t be a real family until we had children, but that wasn’t true. I also saw in her my first infertility survivor, and I knew that if she could say she was okay, I would too. It was a big shift for me.
LWB: What have you learned about yourself?
Lisa: I’ve learned that I’m incredibly resilient. I now know from experience that I can go through whatever life might throw at me and come out the other side in one piece, and perhaps even stronger than I was before. I’ve learned to be less judgmental of others, because you never know what personal hell someone is going through at any time. My experience has made me more compassionate towards others who are hurting too. I’m much more likely to stop and take the time to reach out to a friend in need.
LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you?
Lisa: Everyone’s journey is so different that it’s almost impossible to give advice. How do you tell someone it’s time to give up on a dream? That stopping point is different for everyone. I might advise someone like me to decide ahead of time which options she’s prepared to try and how far she’s willing to go and for how long, but in reality, you do what you do, you get caught up in hope and a growing desire for success, and the last thing you’d want to hear is someone telling you to stop and accept that it’s not working. So, I’d just offer support instead. It’s much more valuable than advice.
LWB: What is your hope for yourself this coming year?
Lisa: I’ve been working hard for a long time now on another big dream—to be a fiction author—and this year, I feel as if something good is going to happen to me. That resilience I talked about earlier has come in very handy, as I seem to have a habit of picking dreams that I can’t fully control. It’s been interesting to see how much of my experience of dealing with loss has come through in my latest novel, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with infertility. So maybe this will prove to be the silver lining of my experience. I hope so.
You can read more of Lisa’s story in her award-winning memoir, I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home, and find out what she’s currently working on at LisaManterfield.com.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
It Got Me Thinking…About Good Girls
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
“But I did everything right!”
My sweet friend Connie* was in the midst of a serious health crisis, and I was doing my best to be supportive when she blurted this out. I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that she’d find the silver lining in her experiences, that that which did not kill her would make her stronger. But the reality was that what she was facing might very well kill her, and the unfairness of it all was breaking my heart.
For, you see, Connie is a “good girl.” She is a dutiful and loving daughter, sister, and friend. She is loyal to her employer and she is honest on her tax returns. She doesn’t drink too much or eat too much, and she’s never smoked any substance, legal or otherwise. She has followed her doctors’ instructions to a T, but she wasn’t responding to the prescribed treatment and she was facing a scary and uncertain future.
Our exchange reminded me of so many conversations I’ve had with women who are childfree not by choice. They waited to be financially able to support a family, only to discover their reproductive years had passed them by. They waited to meet Mr. Right—who would also be Daddy Right—then encountered inexplicable fertility challenges. They planned and dreamed and planned some more, then were denied the privileges and blessings of having children. These were good girls who would have been good, loving mothers, but they got gypped.
Twenty or so years ago, I asked my mother to share with me the best life advice she’d ever received. She thought for a moment, then replied: “Life is not fair.” I had expected something more encouraging, along the lines of “Good girls win!” But she went on to explain that good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people, and vice versa, and if you can accept the randomness of life, perhaps you’ll better appreciate when good things do come your way.
I get this on an intellectual level, and I’ve certainly experienced it throughout my life. Still, I wish reality had a little less bite. I wish the good women I know who want to be mothers could have their miracle babies. I hope Connie’s doctors come up with a miracle cure that allows Connie to make a full recovery. I wish good girls (like me) would get all the good things in life they deserve. It seems only fair.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
*Not her real name. As of this posting, her condition has improved, but she’s not yet out of the woods.
Guest Post: No Apologies
By Justine Brooks Froelker, LPC, CDWF-Candidate
Battling through IVF and learning to accept a childfree life means we are faced, sometimes daily, with uncomfortable social situations and questions about our motherhood status and how we got here. It also means the wounds of infertility, especially in the beginning when things are completely raw, continue to be open, gaping wounds. And at times, it can feel like society callously pours salt into us over and over.
Infertility, IVF, pregnancy loss and childfree acceptance are some of the most shamed words in our lexicon. The blogging universe has helped move us past this shame in many ways; however we have a long way to go in my opinion. My blog, Ever Upward, is my story; completely honest, completely open and without much shame…anymore at least.
Owning my story, completely and out loud, for the world to read has changed my life. My healing journey continues to improve and I am making connections with so many people all over the world. However, I completely understand and get that this is not how most of us going through infertility and childfree acceptance feel. However, I would like to offer a permission for all of us.
No apologies.
If you aren’t ready for that baby shower, politely decline. If your friend only talks about her brand new baby or her kids, respectfully ask her about something else in her life or bravely ask her to stop. Or simply greatly limit your time with her. Only you know what you are ready for with wherever you are in your journey. Give yourself permission to ask for what you want and need and to set boundaries. And do it without apology, especially to yourself.
As I write, I am headed home from my certification training with The Daring Way™ based on the research of Brené Brown. Through my work in the last 5 days I have learned more about my shame surrounding my IVF journey. Of course the misunderstandings and judgments that society and others have surrounding infertility can make shame envelope me so quickly that I completely shrink. But, through my work I also learned that at times I shut myself down in telling my full story because I know it is difficult for others to hear. Not only do they not want to discuss shamed infertility but they also don’t want to have to feel how sad my story is. Or how much they wish I could be a mother because they know I’d be a great mother. I find that I quiet myself and don’t share because I shield myself from feeling shame by people pleasing and caretaking, not wanting someone I care about to feel any pain, let alone my pain.
But, I also silence myself because I really don’t want their fucking sympathy.
I hopefully yearn for their empathy, and one day their understanding.
In the light filled spirit that has washed over me after learning the curriculum of The Daring Way™ I am filled with courage and hope. I will no longer shy away from my story, ever. I will practice my shame resilience. I will stop making apologies to society, to my friends and family, but most of all to myself.
So without any apology:
I am Justine.
I tried IVF two times with a gestational surrogate, and for us two times is enough and one more time than we really could afford both financially and emotionally.
I can’t have kids.
I tried very hard to be a mother.
I paid a lot of money to be a mother.
And, I put my body (and my surrogate’s body) through hormonal hell to have a baby.
But they were never my babies to love here on earth.
I know that adoption isn’t for me.
And so I work, sometimes every minute of every day, to accept my childfree life and to let go of my childlessness.
And I will no longer silence myself because my story is sad or scary for anyone, as I will no longer allow shame to steal my true self.
Because, this is my ever upward.
No apologies.
Justine Brooks Froelker is a Licensed Professional Counselor and a Certified Daring Way™ Facilitator-Candidate (based on the research of Brené Brown) with a private practice in St. Louis, Missouri (www.jbftherapyandcoaching.com). In February 2011, her husband and she began their journey in the world of IVF. 2 rounds of IVF with a gestational surrogate, 2 transfers, 3 babies never to be born and learning to accept a childfree life later, Ever Upward is conceived.
It Got Me Thinking…About Why I Can’t Grieve
During August, as I enjoy some travel time, I’m sharing some of my favorite and your favorite posts from the past year. I’ll look forward to seeing you again in September. ~Lisa
Today’s post was originally run on 10/9/12
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
It’s impossible to put on mascara when you can’t stop crying.
I learned this little truism the day after we put our sweet 14-year-old dog to sleep. I’d spent the day intermittently sobbing and whimpering—set off by her empty bowl, her favorite spot in my office, now vacant, and tiny reminders of my everyday companion. I had pushed off most work-related tasks, but still had to pull myself together for an evening event I needed to attend. With a lot of deep breathing, as well as promises to myself that I could continue crying my eyes out later, I managed to make myself presentable.
I’m not new to devastating losses. Almost daily, I still think of the best friend who died tragically when she was just 20, my beloved grandmother and “hot date” for movies who passed in 1993, and my father-in-law who left us 914 days ago. But the outpouring of emotions I experienced after losing Scout was a new breed of grief. Guilt, gratitude, longing, regret, relief, loneliness, heartache. At times it consumed me, as, I think, it should. And that got me thinking….
As a woman who is childfree by circumstances, I have never fully grieved the loss of my dream of motherhood. For 25 years or so, I’ve been in this crazy dance between longing and hoping, praying and wishing, denial, regret, jealousy, despair, having faith and losing faith. I used to beg God for a neon sign—seriously—a message so clear that said either “You will have children, so stick it out!” or “You aren’t going to have children. Get on with your life!” And the years went by. And the years went by. And here I am. I am 46 years old, childfree by circumstance (don’t you dare accuse me of making a “choice”), and I describe myself as “mostly at peace” with my status. But there are days when I still think “What if….”
I won’t trivialize the pain of our sisters who are childfree by infertility. I’ve held too many friends and sobbed with them over miscarriages, failed IVF treatments, and the loss of their dreams, and I know too well that their paths are filled with heartbreak. But because LWB is a place where we can safely share our deepest hurts, please allow me to say that there are times when I’ve envied their ability to grieve. My friends had defining moments when they could let it all out, when they could ask for support, when support was offered even when it was not asked for. Think of my journey like the quiet drip-drip of a faucet; it’s imperceptible, so no one calls in the plumber, but over time it causes the same amount of catastrophic damage as a flood. I have never had a moment of finality, never experienced that intense period of grief, and on some very deep and possibly damaged level, I wish I could.
Selfish? Perhaps. But hear me out. I know that grieving is necessary. The sobbing period winds down, you put your experiences into perspective, and then you move on. For I so would like to be able to move on. I want to embrace this path I’ve been given and find new purpose in my life. I’d like to feel that the wanderings of my childbearing years were not just wasted time. And I fear that, if I skip past the crucial grieving phase, I’ll never get to the phase of accepting and, ultimately, to that day when I can feel content with my circumstances.
P.S. Grief is a topic we’re addressing head-on here at LWB. If you are feeling stuck, consider signing up for the upcoming LWB Mentoring Program that starts this evening. You’ll find more information here.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She’s wrapping up a memoir about her journey to coming to peace with being childfree (and clearly it’s a work in progress).
