They’re everywhere. You’ve heard them spouting about pre-schools. You’ve seen them take over restaurants. Maybe you’re even related to one!
They’re the topic for this week’s whine:
Uber-Parents
Here’s your chance to blow off steam.
It Got Me Thinking…About the Many Faces of Courage
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
As you may already be aware, from reading other bloggers’ posts, I had the privilege of joining six other amazing women in Vancouver recently for the first-ever gathering of the Global Sisterhood. (Lisa, Pamela, Cathy, and Sarah, Part I and Part II, have all shared their experiences on their sites, if you’d like to read more.) It was flattering and humbling to be included in this group, and it took me a while to process my experiences with them and my takeaway.
First, I have to share something funny. Upon arriving on Granville Island, I was greeted by signs—and posters, banners, balloons—announcing (wait for it) “Vancouver International Children’s Festival!” I cannot make this stuff up. The first-ever summit of The Global Sisterhood of women who are childfree-not-by-choice and we shared the weekend with hordes of parents and so-adorable-I-could-eat-them-up children. As I laughed out loud at the absurdity, I had to acknowledge how far I’ve come in my healing journey. I mean, really, of all the islands, in all the world….
Second, it was more than a little scary to head into this group knowing I was, yet again, an outsider. Yes, I am childfree-not-by-choice, but I’m also the only one who is childfree for reasons other than medical infertility. Would they relate to me? Would they hear me? Would they dismiss me? Would I be able to freely share my story and not be judged? Sounds familiar, doesn’t it. So what a relief, really, to quickly discover how open, accepting, loving, compassionate, funny, candid, supportive, strong, and courageous they all are. Each has faced her own demons and has chosen to publicly share her journey in an effort to help others around the world. That just blows my mind. Although our stories differ in the details, our intentions of transforming our private pain into encouragement for others are much the same. I came to think of them as my “warrior sisters.”
I was particularly struck by the courage of two women. One is “S”, who read about our planned gathering and asked if she could stop by. S is not a blogger. She is not someone who has bared her soul and her pain to a global audience. But she stepped out of her comfort zone to meet with us, to share a bit of her story, and to, I hope, take away some hope and inspiration. When we met for the first time, tears flowed—of recognition, of compassion, of relief. Even though I didn’t know her story, I knew what it took for her to show up. Early in my journey, I opted to stay home and suffer in solitude; I wasn’t nearly as brave as she was. So, brava, S!
Then there was “A”, the woman who planted the seed for our gathering and saw it to full bloom. She also is not a blogger, instead she describes herself as a “lurker,” someone who reads the various posts, takes what feeds her, occasionally comments. I feel she represents so many of our readers, and she reminds me that what we offer on Life Without Baby reaches women all over the world who may never reveal themselves. And that’s okay. In fact, I think it’s fantastic. I hope, if you are a lurker in any way, that you continue to find inspiration and support through the posts, comments, forums, and stories that are shared.
Now, I’d like to introduce you to one more brave woman. You know her well. You know her story, her journey, her fears and her doubts, her broken dreams, and her hopes for a happy future. And you know what it has taken for her to search for and find this site, to be open to the messages she might glean from the posts and comments, to uncover her vulnerable heart in hopes of one day healing. Take a look in the mirror: She’s you. Yes, you. Brava, my warrior sister.
Today, no matter where you are on your path of making peace with being childfree, I hope you give yourself some credit for how far you’ve come. You’re showing up and participating. You’re opening yourself up to learning and growing and surviving and some day thriving. That’s a very courageous thing to do, and I’m so glad you’re here on this journey with me.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
Whiny Wednesday: When We Were Kids
A college friend just posted a photo of her son at his high school graduation.
It got my attention because the “kids” weren’t much younger than my friend and her now-husband were when I first met them, and, as the boy looks like his father, the photo reminded me of them and how flipping long it’s been since I was in school.
It also caused a pang of sadness for another experience I won’t get to have. I won’t get to send my teen off to college or take a photo of him and realize he’s a carbon copy of his dad.
It’s Whiny Wednesday, and today I’m feeling whiny about what will never be. How about you?
No Longer Belonging in a Family-Friendly Restaurant
By Lisa Manterfield
A couple of years ago, a favorite local restaurant closed its doors, not because business was bad, but because the owner decided to reimagine the concept to make it more family friendly. My sweet little French bistro is no more.
What make this change particularly painful (and ironic) is that this gem, with its Parisian-style sidewalk patio, is where I sat when I wrote the first post for Life Without Baby.
One Friday afternoon, more than six years ago now, I took my laptop, snagged a table in the sun, ordered myself a glass of champagne and a half-dozen oysters and began documenting my life without the children I’d dreamed of. Since then, Kathleen and I have celebrated completing drafts of our books there (see photo) and, one evening, I met with one of my earliest readers of the blog to share a glass of wine and stories of our journeys. So, this place holds a special place in my heart.
Aside from the sentimental loss, the restaurant was also one of the few quiet adult places to eat in that area. Along with one or two other holdouts, it’s surrounded by family pizza joints and family burger bars. And now it’s going to be another family-focused restaurant—an “eatery” instead of a “bistro.”
The owner told the local paper that the new place “will cater to a larger segment of the population” and that he plans to “make it more of a place where everyone feels they belong.”
I found it ironic that this longtime patron, who once felt so at home there that she chose it as the place to write about not have children, would no longer feel she belonged.
It’s been over a year now since the owner first made his announcement, and the restaurant is still standing empty. Perhaps the owner’s assumptions about “everyone” was wrong after all. Still, it gives me little comfort. I still long for the favorite spot where I used to belong.
Whiny Wednesday: The Hardest Job in the World
Thanks to Kath for this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic. It’s a good one.
Parenting is the hardest job in the world!
And, go!
Whiny Wednesday: Baby on Board
Kathleen sent me this photo forwarded from a friend, and I thought it would make a great Whiny Wednesday topic. So, here you go:
It Got Me Thinking…About Big Girl Meltdowns, Holiday Edition
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Meltdowns are no fun, and they’re especially painful when they happen in public.
Recently I attended a friend’s daughter’s first dance recital. It was beautiful, it was funny, it was entertaining. Nothing cracks me up quite like a row of four-year-olds in pink tutus doing their best to tap on a beat.
Except this time I wasn’t laughing. Every tiny dancer made me long for the one I could have had, should have had. I sat in the semi-darkened theater, surrounded by parents, grandparents, siblings, and every form of video camera and cried. Big tears rolled down my cheeks, my nose ran like a fire hose, and when the lights came up, I doubt anyone thought my swollen face was due to seasonal allergies.
I took my first dance class when I was five and tapped, kicked, twirled, and leapt my way through childhood. I loved the magic, the music, the costumes, and even the discipline. I looked forward to one day watching my own daughter glide across a stage, and as I watched my young friend steal the show, I thought about how sad I was to to miss sharing these experiences with a mini-me.
’Tis the season of holiday performances: children’s choirs, reenactments of the nativity (I love Lisa’s description of the drive-through nativity she discovered a few years ago), pageants, caroling, The Nutcracker. I loved them all when I had parts in them, and I still love them. It’s just a little bit harder these days to keep my emotions to myself when I’m in the midst of the family fun.
So, if you notice a gal sniffling in row 12 during the curtain call, kindly pass her a tissue.
The holiday festivities can bring up all sorts of painful emotions when you’re childfree-not-by-choice. If you could use some inspiration and encouragement to get you through the tough times, check out the Life Without Baby Holiday Companion available here and on Amazon.
Holiday Blues and a Celebration
By Lisa Manterfield
That’s me, learning to sail.
Every year it seems I get caught out with a bout of the Holiday Blues.
After a really fun and non-traditional Thanksgiving with wonderful friends, I headed into December ready to celebrate the holidays my way. Then Bam! I came down with the Holiday Blues.
There will always be things I wish were part of my festive season, like hand-delivering gifts to my family, shopping for small children, and creating the kind of Christmas I had as a child. But it wasn’t theses losses and what-ifs that gave me the blues this year.
Maybe it was the rainy weather that kept me indoors for much of the week. Maybe it was the end of year racing towards me highlighting the things that didn’t get accomplished this year. Or maybe it’s that Christmas doesn’t really feel like something to celebrate anymore.
Finally, I took my own advice, and that of a couple of friends, and dusted myself off. I bought a tree, made plans for Christmas Eve dinner at a favorite restaurant, and wrote and sent my cards. And then I made myself a cup of tea and sliced off a chunk of proper English fruitcake, and I curled up in a chair and wrote in my journal.
I made a list of everything good that happened this year—all the fun things I did (see photo, for one), the challenges I overcame, the goals I reached this year, the friends I spent time with, the family I visited.
And guess what I discovered? It’s been another great year this year. I have lived my life, perhaps not always to the fullest, but to the best that I was able. And I had a good time doing it.
That, I think, is plenty of reason to celebrate.
Resetting Holiday Expectations
By Lisa Manterfield
Recently a friend posted this question of Facebook:
“Are you the adult you dreamed of becoming?”
I laughed when I read it. No! Of course I’m not. The adult I dreamed of was an international engineering consultant, living in a large house with a circular driveway, with a fabulous husband and four beautiful children, including one set of twins.
Aside from the fabulous husband, that adult is almost the polar opposite of the adult I am now. I’m a writer, who works from my very small rented beach cottage, and of course, there are no children in my picture. And yet, once I stop to consider my friend’s question, I realize that I’m a lot happier as this adult than I would have been had my expectations been met. I’ve met the person I’d once dreamed of becoming; she wasn’t a very happy person and she definitely had more grey hairs than me.
Half the battle of coming-to-terms with a life without children is letting go of our expectations—and creating new ones. This is never more true than during the holiday season, one of the most difficult times of the year to be childless.
When I think of my expectations of what Christmas should be like as an adult, those four children are always there, gathered around the tree, gathered around the dinner table, and then gathered around me as the day comes to a close. Even when I realized that children wouldn’t be part of my life, I still strived to make Christmas live up to my expectations. Consequently, Christmastime was very sad time for a number of years. I knew there was no way my expectations could be met, and eventually I stopped making an effort to celebrate.
The worst year was when my husband and I found ourselves sitting at home, with no Christmas tree, no plans, no celebration, and we knew we’d allowed our lack of children to take over our lives. We also realized it was time to set new, more realistic expectations.
When I took a step back and looked at what I really wanted for Christmas, not on the surface of gifts, family, and decorations, but on a deeper emotional level, I discovered that my spiritual wish list included love, peacefulness, companionship, and a good dose of silly fun. I needed to explore new ways to get what I really wanted.
It took a couple of false starts to find a new way to celebrate Christmas, but a couple of years ago we nailed it. Mr. Fab and I rented an apartment for three days in a nearby beach town. We celebrated on Christmas Eve with a lovely dinner at an historic hotel with an enormous Christmas tree, roving carolers, and even an outdoor ice rink (in Southern California!). On Christmas Day, instead of sitting at home feeling sad about a pathetic Christmas for two, we went to the zoo, like a couple of big kids, and had a whale of a time. I even got to feed a rhino and have an ice cream. We both agreed it was the best Christmas we’ve had for a long time, plus there were no tantrums or mountains of dirty dishes to deal with.
It’s hard to let go of our expectations, especially when they’re often so deeply engrained, but if you’re struggling to find your holiday cheer this year, I encourage you to look beneath the obvious losses and examine what’s really missing for you. Even if you can’t meet your tangible expectations of what the holidays should be, you might be surprised to find you can satisfy your true needs in unconventional—and unexpected—ways.
I sat down recently with Jody Day of Gateway Women to talk about how we’ve adjusted our expectations and reclaimed the holidays. You can find the interview at Gateway Women.
It Got Me Thinking…About Hug Deprivation
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
I had a great life. I’d started and was running a successful business. I had a tribe of smart, funny, and supportive women friends. I was healthy and fit. Furthermore, I was coming to terms with the possibility that I would remain single and childfree, and I was becoming more confident that I could create a fulfilling life for myself, by myself. I had everything I needed and I was happy.
Until.
During an extraordinary two-week period, I took care of my 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents traveled. We danced, we laughed. He threw tantrums, I stressed about keeping the house together and keeping him from getting hurt. Everything was somewhat under control. Then one night, while I was in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes, he came up behind me, threw his arms around my leg in a tight hug, kissed the back of my calf, then toddled back to the living room.
“Thanks, Jake!” I managed to get out before tears locked up my voice. A current of love surged from my leg and throughout my body as I sobbed into the soapy water. I was struck by the realization of how touch deprived I had been for so long. Sure, friends greeted each other with a light hug and peck on the cheek. It wasn’t even the passion of a romantic relationship that I longed for. It was the daily human interaction, the hugs and kisses, the gentle caresses, the genuine affection, the skin-to-skin contact, something moms get (and have even been heard to complain about).
At that time in my life, I had none of that in my home. What made me a bit scared was that I hadn’t even noticed. It had become my “normal” and I hadn’t thought anything of it until Jake reawakened the need in me.
When I got back home, I brainstormed how I might create more physical affection in my life. I ruled out engaging in one-night stands and, well, hiring male escorts, both of which lacked the “genuine” aspect I needed. I thought about scheduling more frequent massages. I lavished my dog with belly rubs, which helped some. Was it enough? Would it be enough?
The one answer that made sense to me was that in order to receive, I needed to give. I could visit elderly residents of retirement homes, providing them with conversation, attention, and gentle touches. I could become more huggie with my friends, especially my single friends. I could offer to babysit, giving my mom-friends breaks they needed and getting some cuddling time with the children who inhabit my circles.
Are you aware of this need in yourself? If you’ve come up with creative solutions, please share them with us in a comment. Meanwhile (and I know this is just a tidbit), please consider yourself cyber-hugged.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
