Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About Getting Knocked Up

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“If you’d really wanted to be a mother, you could have….”

OMG, how I hate sentences that start out like this. The advice the friend/parent/coworker/stranger then offers is well-intentioned (I hope), but so often feels shaming. It might be meant to be encouraging, but instead it comes down to “Clearly you didn’t want it badly enough.”

Well, f*&% that!

As a long-time single woman who ran out of time, one of the pieces of advice I frequently received was “You could have just knocked yourself up”—meaning I could have seduced some guy, “accidentally” neglected to use birth control, and duped him into being an unwitting sperm donor. Even writing this now, I find that so offensive. Morally, that does not align with who I am. Thinking about the deceit involved—whether the guy chose to marry me to make our child “legitimate” or whether I kept the pregnancy to myself and raised the child alone—makes my flesh crawl.

I guess the people who suggested this avenue thought it would be easy and victim-less, but I know better. My friend Paul (not his real name) was a very successful model. Early in his career, while he was in his late teens, he fell in love with a woman who was several years older, also a model. Their relationship was fiery, and ultimately heartbreaking for him when she broke it off after six months with no explanation. She disappeared from his life, and he assumed she had traveled to another country for work, as he frequently did.

Six years later he was in New York when he ran into her on the street. Holding her hand was a beautiful little girl who clearly was Paul’s daughter. When confronted, his former girlfriend coldly explained that she had chosen him for his genes, that she had never cared for him as a potential mate, that “her” daughter knew nothing about him, and that she wanted no part of him in their lives. When he shared this story with me years later, he was still devastated. My heart broke for him and for the girl who may never know the kind man who is her father.

It’s true that I wanted to be a mother desperately, and I pursued different options for having a child of my own. But when faced with the option of using and hurting other human beings, I realized a hard truth: I didn’t want it badly enough. And I do not regret my choice.

Whiny Wednesday: Work Pregnancies

It’s Whiny Wednesday, your chance to gripe about the issues you’re dealing with this week. This week’s suggested topic is one we’ve all had to deal with:

 An over-abundance of work pregnancies

 I can relate to this one. When I was trying to conceive, I managed a small department of about eight people. One year we had three simultaneous pregnancies…and none of them was mine.

Whine away!

The Thing Childlessness Did Not Take From Me

By Lisa Manterfield

There was a time when I found it difficult to be around mothers of young children. It was hard to listen to them talk about their kids when I felt I had nothing to contribute, and it was painful to know that I’d never be able to share those experiences with them. I couldn’t bear to hear their sweet or funny stories, and it made my blood boil to hear them complain. What I wouldn’t have given for the chance to be kept awake all night by a colicky baby.

As I’ve progressed on my journey and begun to heal, it’s become easier for me to spend time with mothers, to listen to their stories, to speak up when I have something to add, and even to commiserate about the hard stuff, without feeling resentful.

I’m listening to what they say about motherhood and I’m hearing a common theme: Motherhood chips away at them until they lose touch with the women they once were. They love their children, they love being mothers, but they resent how all-consuming the job is and how much of themselves they lose to their families, until they know longer know who they are.

There are always two sides to every story, pros and cons, gains and losses. When we don’t get something we want and deserve, it’s easy to focus on what’s lost—the experiences, the opportunities, and the stories we won’t get to tell. But what about what’s gained? And what about what’s not lost? What about the sacrifices we didn’t have to make and the women we now get to be?

I may not be the woman I’d once hoped to be—a mother—but I know who I am now, and a part of me is grateful for what I didn’t have to lose: myself.

Whiny Wednesday: You Wouldn’t Understand; You Don’t Have Kids


I know I’m probably going to have to duck for cover with this week’s topic. We’ve all heard it and the sting never seems to diminish. So here we go:

“You wouldn’t understand; you don’t have kids.”

I’ll be behind the couch if you need me.

It Got Me Thinking…About Holidays for One

I’ve been cleaning out old financial records, shredding old receipts, tossing old files. In the process I came across a calendar from 12 years ago. I took a break from sorting to flip through the pages and remember weddings, first projects with now-cherished clients, and play dates with friends who have since passed.

It is so interesting—sometimes inspiring, sometimes heartbreaking—to look back at who I was, then catch my breath and acknowledge who I’ve become in the past decade. This hit home when I flipped to December 24th, Christmas Eve, and read the only two items on my to do list for that day:

  • Shop for dinner
  • Read

I felt like that woman stepped out of the storage box and punched me in the arm. I knew her so well, for some of her still lingered inside me. She was so self-protective, so determined to not be hurt again. By staying home (alone) for the holidays, she told herself, she was saving money for more important things, with no clear idea of what those things might be. She was avoiding the hassles of travel. She was dodging all possibilities of feeling the sting of being an outsider as “family” gathered to celebrate the holiday.

She was mostly successful.

The painful truth was that she would have felt lonely no matter where she was or whether she was solo or surrounded by other people.

If I could reach back in time to offer advice, would I tell her to do things differently? Probably not. That was such a tender time, when each slight felt more like a stab, when each off-hand comment felt like an insult. She needed that time to tend to her wounds, to build up her shields, and to be able to pull herself out of that all-consuming malaise.

Eventually she did heal, and I did reach the point where I could again be in mixed company for the holidays. Sometimes I’ve been able to join in the fun with other people’s little people, other times I’ve relished a quiet day of rest (and an excuse to spend a few hours reading) with just my family of two + dog. This past December, I joyfully participated in a large festive gathering with extended family members. “Joyfully.” Wow. Twelve years ago I couldn’t have imagined saying, let alone, feeling that word.

I share this with you now because we are coming up on a holiday this weekend, and the Big Holidays are close on its heals. This is going to be a difficult time for many of you, and I am sorry about that. I wish I could make it easier, but I know from experience that you need to go through the hurting and the grieving. My hope for you is that you come out on the other side less than 12 years from now.

If this is your year of celebrating Holidays for One, please be gentle with yourself. If this is your first year diving back into the family mix of things, be brave, and be gentle with yourself. Know that you are not alone and we are here at Life Without Baby if you need a place to vent, rage, and be supported.

Letting Go of the Life You Wanted

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy, for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;

we must die to one life before we can enter another.”

~ Anatole France

I saw this quote in a book about writing, but it struck a chord with me. It relates to so many things in life, including making peace with a life with out children.

One of the hardest stretches of my journey was the space between realizing that our options for building a family were running out, and the point where we made the decision to stop trying. I knew there were options still open, but they were beyond the scope of what Mr. Fab and I were willing to do. At some point we had to make a decision that we would not have children and that we would find a way to be okay with that. It was one of the hardest (and perhaps longest) decisions I’ve ever had to make.

I’m sure you’ve found yourself in this kind of situation in other areas of life, too. You know that you have to take a new direction, that ultimately it will be the right decision, but as France says, in order to do that, we have to leave a part of ourselves behind. Sometime the hardest part is listening to ourselves and not being afraid to make the wrong choice.

My first career was in engineering. I’ve made several career changes since then, trying to find the place in the world where I’d be happy. I’ve found it in writing, but it took me a long time to get here.

Many people can’t understand why, after all those years of college and graduate school, I would abandon a perfectly good and respectable career. I’ll be the first to admit that if I’d just stuck to engineering, I would probably have been more “successful” and definitely would be making more money, maybe own a home and live comfortably, but I know I wouldn’t have been happy. I might have been successful by the conventional definition, but the cost of sticking to a career that didn’t make me happy, just because it’s what was expected of me, didn’t make any sense. But it wasn’t easy to let go of that life and take a risk of finding happiness in another life.

Part of finding happiness is letting go of that which doesn’t make us happy. Although I believed that having children would make me happy, I was miserably unhappy running in circles trying to produce a baby that my body had no interest in creating. I could have gone on trying forever, but the cost to my mental and physical wellbeing would have been enormous. Letting go of that part of my life enabled me to find peace with my new life, even if it’s a life I wasn’t sure I wanted.

Our Stories: Samreen

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I wept as I read Samreen’s story. Her losses, her anger, her depression cut me to the core, in large part because I know how she is feeling. I wish I could reach across the miles and pull her into a safe and comforting hug. I wish we could all do that for each other. At the very least, I hope you’ll join me in the Comments to let her—and all of us—know, “You are not alone.”

LWB: Briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Samreen: I dream of feeling a baby inside me and bringing her into this world. Raising her, seeing her growing, cuddling her investing my heart and mind in giving her a bright future.

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

Samreen: By circumstance. I am eight years into marriage. I have had three failed IUIs, two hysteroscopies, and two unsuccessful IVF attempts. We have registered for adoption, but I still want to conceive my own biological child.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Samreen: I feel angry and depressed. I want to accept the infertility factor and move on, but I fail to do so. I feel irritated with the pregnancy news of other women. I feel angry looking at others’ kids. I feel like breaking all connections with the girls/friends who are pregnant and having children. I cry at the thought of not being able to experience motherhood in this lifetime. And these thoughts creep into my mind at least 10 times every day, making me cry.

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

Samreen: The hardest part is to believe that I will not be able to experience motherhood in this lifetime. People say that it’s a beautiful feeling and nothing can replace it. I wanted to experience it too. I wanted to have child who is a carbon copy of me or my husband, a child who looks like us.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Samreen: I think I am still trying to figure out myself. I do feel scared thinking about the labor pains, but inside the core of my heart, I do crave for a baby that would be my biological child.

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

Samreen: “No, we don’t.” But it doesn’t stop at this. The next question always pops up, which has a why in it always. I usually tell them that I am dealing with infertility.

LWB: What do you look forward to now?

Samreen: I look forward to being okay about the fact that I can’t have biological children. I look forward to being a person who has accepted herself with her infertility and inability to deliver a child. I look forward to having peace in my own self and my life. I look forward to being happy.

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

Samreen: I feel hopeless and depressed right now.

LWB: How has LWB helped you on your journey?

Samreen: I am hoping that LWB will be able to bring in acceptance on this topic and help in healing my wounds of infertility.

When Samreen emailed me her story, she mentioned she found Life Without Baby through a search for helping with infertility. Is this how you found us? If so, I hope you will take a little time to explore the site and check out the many resources available, from the safe place to share stories (and whines), to the Forums (sign up under “Community”), to the list of books and other websites that might be of help to you. Please be gentle with yourself today. —KGW

It Got Me Thinking…About Evil Fantasies

It was a dark and stormy period in my life. I was single, alone, lonely, and hoping to turn my close-knit group of friends into a contemporary family unit. One of those friends, Karen*, was going through a particularly ugly period with her siblings and felt like she also needed to redefine family. So she presented me with an idea that seemed to partially solve both our problems:

“If something happens to me and my husband,” she said, “what would you think of being our children’s guardian?”

No brainer. I loved Karen and her husband and would do anything to help them. I also loved her kids, and I knew I would step in and do my very best to raise them well.

Plus, instant family! I started to plan out various scenarios with me in the starring role. The comforter, the mentor, the auntie admired by all for courageously and selflessly raising someone else’s children. The proud substitute-mom at soccer games, choir performances, and graduations. The doting grandmother….

Whoa.

I completely glossed over the tragic demise of two close friends.

You’ll be relieved to know that Karen and her husband are alive and well, and their kids are now in college. Karen reconciled with her siblings and designated one of her brothers and his wife as potential guardians. All was as it should be.

I have to admit, I was a little disappointed. I knew it was wrong, but those evil fantasies were tantalizing, alluring, even comforting. Getting a ready-made family seemed simpler (and possibly more possible) than my plan for dating, finding a suitable husband/father, and following the traditional route to family making (which, as you all know, didn’t pan out for me).

Every so often a mom friend will complain to me about her kids and say, “Do you want them?” and I’ll think, Be careful what you wish for.

 

*Not her real name.

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

 

 

Our Stories Update: Justine

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

It’s been four years since Justine first shared her story with us. I remember reading it for the first time and feeling in awe of the strength she had to state “I will always be a mother,” and how she defined that. Today she continues to impress me with her courage, her candor, her grace as she lives her life.

Her original story, first posted in June of 2014, appears below, followed by her update. The words of encouragement she now offers to her younger self inspire me, and I hope they will inspire you too.

•   •   •

Serious back problems (including surgeries and a year spent in a body cast) in her youth caused Justine to never be able to carry a pregnancy, so she didn’t think much about becoming a mother. Then the gestational surrogacy option became a media darling, and she started to think about new possibilities for creating a family. Justine and her husband endured two rounds of IVF, two transfers, and the loss of three potential babies. She’s 34 now. They have stopped all treatments, know that adoption is not an option, and are actively working to accept a childfree life together. Here’s some of her story.

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

Justine: Always fighting this feeling of not belonging. In every sense of the traditional woman my age, I will not belong because I am not a mother. However, I have learned that I will always belong, even when I do not feel I fit in, because that is my right and worthiness.

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

Justine: That I will always be a mother. I mother and parent my dogs. I mother and parent my clients as a therapist. I mother and parent all the children in my life. I just mother and parent in a different way, and in a lot of ways, I have a bigger audience than I would have if I’d had my own children. I also get to have different—not necessarily better, but just different—relationships with all of the children in my life because I am not their actual parent.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Justine: I’m a lot stronger and braver than I thought I was, especially in owning my story with courage.

LWB: What’s one thing you want other people (moms, younger women, men, grandmothers, teachers, strangers) to know about your being childfree?

Justine: I think a lot of times we are considered to be sad and bitter women, or people feel major pity for us. I think after we do our work of recovering from struggles we can actually have better and happier lives. It took major work to get to this side. My sad and bitter moments are few and far between, but I have to stay on top of my recovery.

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

Justine: I hit people with the truth and take the teaching moment. I usually say something to the effect that we tried to have our own children but can’t. I might say that we are learning to accept a childfree life, but we have a lot of children in our lives through our friends and family.

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

Justine: Continue my recovery, especially getting stronger in it. I will continue to work on my blog, Ever Upward [see below]. I hope that it can reach more and more women and continue to open up the conversation to the other side of infertility.

•   •   •

LWB: Where are you on your journey today?

Justine: Grief is lifelong—I will have forever wonders of who my three would be. And, I love my life. Love it. Every day I do the work to honor myself and my three, living in the sacred space of the forever grieving mother and doing the work to make it all a gift. I am the best version of myself, and I got myself back, the better self, after this brutal journey and because I choose to do the daily work of moving through grief, loving myself and others, living authentically, and teaching it to others. Because I am a mother of mothers. Because I am a mother. Because, without a doubt, I choose to love my journey, hard parts and all.

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

Justine: Keep going. It will be harder, and most of all, more beautiful, grand, and better than you ever imagined.

Learn more about Justine’s work, her books, and her blog at her website.

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

 

It Got Me Thinking…About the Playground Ban

I love playgrounds. I love the smells of grass and sand, and that tangy scent from old metal swing chains and jungle gyms. When I take one of the many little humans in my life out for a play date, a nearby park is frequently our destination, and when I’m out on my own or with a dog, I love to sit and simply watch and listen to the sounds of joy and happiness.

Maybe that’s why I take the growing “No Adults Allowed” trend so personally.

As a childfree human, my presence near a playground is now suspect. I am no longer welcome, I am no longer allowed, and it hurts.

I understand the concerns, certainly in light of the horror stories that appear in the nightly news about child abuse and abductions. If I were a parent, I wouldn’t want to be worrying that a serial molester was shooting video of his future victims while I ignorantly let my babies twirl on the merry-go-round.

And yet…parks to me symbolize a little piece of freedom in our ever-stressed-out world. A place where we can run in circles till we fall down in dizzy giggles, or chase a butterfly or kite, or lie in the grass and look for shapes in the clouds. Parks are where we can escape all of our shoulds and should-haves and, for a briefly delicious period, let our minds wander and our imaginations expand.

As a child, I loved to create secret missions for myself that involved climbing trees, hiding behind benches, and talking into my watch as I, a super-hero spy, brought down the bad guys (Nancy Drew and Charlie’s Angels were my peers in my fantasy world). When I was a young-ish adult, I loved following my nephews down the slides and pushing my nieces in the swings as they squealed, “Higher, Aunt Kath, higher!” These days I’m content to sit on the sidelines, enjoying the cacophony of shouts and laughter as other children create their own adventures. For a few moments, I can soak up a bit of their free-spiritedness, and even allow myself to drift in a big girl fantasy in which one of those sweet voices belongs to a child of mine.

Alas, it’s no longer allowed.

Kathleen’s favorite places on earth include New York’s Central Park, Rome’s Borghese Gardens, South Pasadena’s Garfield Park, and Stow Lake in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park.