Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

How Infertility Stole My Confidence

By Lisa Manterfield

I was always a pretty confident person, even as a child. I could be quite shy, and still am at times, but I was never fearful. I firmly believed that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to and I wasn’t afraid to try anything. I backpacked around South America, jumped out of airplanes, and tried all kinds of strange foods. If anyone told me it couldn’t be done, I took it as a cue to prove her wrong.

But infertility changed that.

Suddenly, I was more timid about getting out there and going for what I wanted. I became a nervous flyer, popping Rescue Remedy and gripping the seat arms on flights. I even caught myself assessing flight times and potential for disaster when considering a trip. I couldn’t seem to make a decision without asking for opinions from everyone and then second-guessing myself.

After a friend commented on the change, I took a long hard look at what had happened to me, and the thing that popped to the forefront of my mind is infertility.

I hate to pin everything that’s wrong in my life on infertility, but in this case, I think I was right. Infertility taught me that I can’t always get what I want just by trying hard. It taught me that bad things do happen to good people, and they could even happen to me. And it taught me that I am not invincible, and that created a giant fissure in my confidence.

It was very disturbing to realize what had happened, because that wasn’t who I was. I wasn’t a timid mouse. I didn’t want to be afraid of life, but that was who I had become. Maybe you’ve seen similar changes in yourself.

So, how to undo the damage?

Self-awareness was the first step. Once I recognized the change, I made sure to check in with myself whenever I felt my courage waver. It was very helpful to step away from myself and look at what I was really afraid of, instead of just pulling the blankets over my head and giving into it.

I also began looking for the old Lisa in some of the places she used to be most confident. I took up orienteering again, which used to be a sport I was pretty good at. Even though I wasn’t as in shape as I’d once been, the old skills were still there and reawakening them helped my confidence grow again. I tried to recognize fear and treat it accordingly.

Finally I looked for ways to gently push myself out of my comfort zone (and drag poor Mr. Fab out of his, too.) We learned to sail, something we’d never done together before. It was just a small step, but it was definitely an area in which neither of us was an expert, and so we built our confidence together.

Infertility taught me that I am not invincible, but slowly, I found my confidence again. No matter what happened in my past, I don’t want to spend my future afraid of what might, or might not, happen.

For ideas on how to gently step out of your own comfort zone, please check out the interview I did with Kathleen Guthrie Woods last week. Her 52 Nudges might be the perfect way to start finding your confidence again.

Our Stories Update: Karin

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Karin first shared her story with us in 2014. At first glance, she seemed to be in a good place with accepting a life without babies. Then we read the parts about the fears that plague so many of us: growing old alone, facing more isolation as our friends become grandparents. I was right there with her, yet I took strength from her example.

Has time healed her wounds? You’ll find out when you read the update below her original story.

•   •   •

Although she came from a very close extended family, Karin didn’t really think about motherhood until she experienced infertility in her early 30s. Then it became a “dream.” Now 41, she and her husband of 19 years find themselves in a place of mostly acceptance, but she feels somewhat alone in her concerns about the future. If you can relate, please reach out to her—to all of us—in the Comments.

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

Karin: We were first childfree by chance and now it’s by circumstance. After years of unexplained infertility, various drug treatments, one horrific miscarriage, and lots of ovulation kits, my husband and I decided to stop trying for children. At that point, I began a very intense hatred of my body. My [menstrual] cycles were very long and painful, and as I grew older, they got worse and worse. This only intensified the self-loathing I was carrying around. It got so bad that the only option I had left was a hysterectomy. Knowing that I was not going to be able to conceive without massive medical intervention, and knowing that path was not for us, I decided to go through with the hysterectomy. It was the best decision I have ever made. I feel like I got my life back! Thanks to mindfulness training, yoga, and that surgery, I’ve been able to accept my body again and, more important, regain peace.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Karin: I’ve been in the acceptance phase for quite some time. I have a wonderful husband and a very fulfilling job. But the residual feelings of isolation and fear of the future are what dominates my infertility issues now.

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

Karin: The fear of who will take care of me when I am old. My grandparents were in wonderful assisted living facilities toward the ends of their lives, but they were still attended to by my mom and my aunts—everything from shopping for basic needs to handling the finances. I cannot think of anyone in my life now who I could rely on to help us in our old age. My husband is an only child, and my sister has only one daughter. I do not have the nieces and nephews that many others have and will hopefully rely on when the time comes. And this truly terrifies me. This is, by far, the most difficult issue for me now. I feel quite alone in this. I don’t think many other people who are childfree have this worry, or, if they do, it is not as intense as mine. Also, I am the only person in my immediate social circle who does not have children. I feel like all the feelings of loss and isolation will resurface when my friends become grandparents.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Karin: That I’m stronger than I thought I could ever be. You read that going through infertility will make you a stronger person, but until you actually feel it, it’s hard to believe. I’ve also learned to live life as consciously as I can with as much compassion as I can muster. Living a life with as little harm as possible toward others, including the environment around me, is rewarding and purposeful. I didn’t feel it this intensely prior to trying for children.

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

Karin: I say “NOPE!” And if they ask why not, I simply say “We tried and it didn’t work out.” That usually stops people. Occasionally, people will ask why we didn’t adopt, and I say adopting does not cure infertility and we believe adoption is a calling that we just didn’t have.

LWB: How has LWB helped you on your journey?

Karin: It was the first community that got it!! Besides Pamela Mahoney Tsigdinos’ book Silent Sorority, what else did we have? LWB has been so incredibly integral in my journey that it’s hard to put into words. I would, however, like to see more information or discussion by others about being childfree in old age and the new dynamics that will come into play when we are not just non-moms but non-grandmothers!

•  •  • 

LWB: Where are you on your journey today?

Karin: I never would have guessed 10 years ago, or even five years ago, that there would come a time where I do not think about my childlessness daily. As much as it consumed me years go, it is now just a small piece of me. I think about so much more than childlessness these days. As cliched as it sounds, time really is the ultimately healer. But I do believe that there is more to it than that. I guess my childlessness is part of who I am. It is a part that makes up my whole, and this is not a bad thing at all. I think this comes from deep acceptance. At some point, I accepted my life situation, stopped fighting against it, and once that truly happened, childlessness ceased to be that all-consuming problem in my life.

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

Karin: Well, I still think about the same issues involving who will take care of me in my old age. But reading over the post I wrote at that time, I used the word “terrified” to described it. I kind of chuckled when I read this, because that is exactly how I remember feeling. But that feeling is much less raw and emotional than it was then. Now I think about my old age with the feeling of privilege. It would be a privilege to live into old age. And I have feeling that I will be able to take care of myself much more than I gave myself credit for.

 

We’d love to hear your story! Go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.

How Not to Say the Wrong Thing to Someone in Crisis

By Lisa Manterfield

Recently, Jane P reminded of this article by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman that I posted some time ago. It’s a good reminder about how not to say the wrong thing to someone in crisis. I wish it was mandatory reading for everyone, and I especially wish it came with a note explaining that it applies when talking to infertiles and the childless-not-by-choice.

The gist of their Ring Theory is that the person in crisis is at the center of the ring and those next closest to the person occupy subsequent rings. In the case of someone coming to terms with not having children, she would be at the center, her spouse or partner on the next ring, perhaps closest family and friends on the next, and more distant family, coworkers, and acquaintances beyond that.

The rule is that that if people have something mean or insensitive or opinionated to say, they say it to someone on a bigger ring. When speaking to someone on a smaller ring, they can only listen or—if they must say something—offer help, support, or comfort. No advice, no miracle stories, no blame or shame. No offering of their kids, no suggestions to adopt. “I’m sorry” is all that needs to be said. If they want to dump, dump outwards, not inwards.

I wish people would understand that someone who has just acknowledged she won’t ever have children is in crisis, and what she needs more than judgment and unhelpful help is for people to say to the right thing.

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.

It Got Me Thinking…About Being Fine

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

When a woman says “I’m fine” to the man in her life, what she really means is “I am soooo not fine, and unless you are about to offer me jewelry, you better think verrrry carefully about what you say next!”

That’s a silly joke in our culture, but there’s a kernel of truth in it.

I was thinking about this earlier this month while I was at the last of a series of doctor appointments. For several months I’ve been dealing with some non-life-threatening but frustrating symptoms and have been doing all types of tests to try to figure out what the heck is going on with my body. When the last round of results came in, my doctor informed me, “Your blood tests are normal. Your CAT scans are normal. You’re okay. You’re fine.” And I wanted to scream from the exam table, “Clearly I am NOT FINE or I wouldn’t still be here telling you I don’t FEEL fine!” (He then said I just need to stop stressing, which naturally made me want to rip his throat out. But that’s a post for another day.)

Many of you have shared similar stories from your dance with infertility, in which doctors, therapists, parents, friends, strangers, and fertility specialists have told you there is nothing wrong with you, it will happen when it’s meant to happen, you just need to relax…you’re fine. Heck, it started even earlier for me as I stood on the sidelines in puffy taffeta bridesmaid dresses (it was the ’90s) and dyed-to-match shoes, hoping I wouldn’t have to wait much longer to meet The Love of My Life/Father of My Future Children. When well-intentioned friends and relatives assured me it would all come together at the right time and everything would be fine, I didn’t feel “good, acceptable, or satisfactory” (Merriam-Webster’s definition); I felt like a freak of nature.

Some times events play out and the new paths we discover are better than we had hoped (maybe just a little behind our desired schedules). Some times bad things happen and we discover as-yet-unknown strengths for facing and overcoming challenges. Some times really bad things happen and we have to dig deep into our souls to find peace and acceptance no matter the final outcomes. And it’s when we reach within, I think—I hope—that we find we will, in fact, in time, be fine.

Whiny Wednesday: You’re Too Young for Menopause

Over the past couple of years I’ve been “enjoying” a journey through menopause. Yeah, it’s a hoot. All the symptoms of PMS, plus fuzzy head, weight gain, night sweats, the works.

I’ve been prescribed HRT and I’ve been reaching out to older friends for advice, because there’s a lot about this I don’t know. Most of my friends have gladly offered support, however one woman (a friend of a friend) looked at me and said, “Menopause? You’re too young for that.”

I assured her I was not, and left the conversation, but really, is that a helpful thing to say? Yes, I know I’m too young for menopause. Add it to the list of things my body’s given up before its time. And then ask me how I feel about the possibility the rest of me might be aging faster than it should too. Does this ever end?

As you may have guessed, it’s Whiny Wednesday. If you’re not yet hearing this about menopause, in what other ways have you been dismissed?

It Got Me Thinking…About Adopting a New Attitude

A girlfriend who also happens to be childfree forwarded me an article about the lifestyles of parents versus non-parents. I’m not going to share it with you because, frankly, you don’t need to read it. We’ve already seen so many variations on this theme, and I’m tired of the us versus them, the haves versus the have-nots. The central question in these articles, many of which are based on surveys, seems to be “Who is happier?”

What strikes me as I think about this is that the answer has nothing to do with what we have or don’t have. It’s not things or jobs or money or even children that make us happy. I know many parents who are miserable, many childfree people who are miserable, and many more from both camps who have found something to be happy about. What they all have in common, I think, is attitude.

I’m reminded of the best piece of advice my grandmother gave me. She passed away after 93 years of life, during which she experienced her share of joys and tragedies.

Me: Gram, what is your secret to life? What has kept you going through all of it?

Gram: (Thinking for a moment) Be happy. No…wait. It’s not just that. It’s realizing you have a choice and choosing to be happy.

Me: Wow. It’s so simple.

Gram: …and I have a scoop of ice cream every day!

I know many of you are treading through rough patches of your journey, and I won’t downplay your need and right to grieve. But when you look at the whole picture of your life, I hope you evaluate it with an attitude of gratitude. I hope you can make that choice. And on days when that’s easier said than done, I hope you’ll join me in enjoying a scoop—or two—of full fat, full sugar, super-delish ice cream.

Whiny Wednesday: The Baby Shower and Gender Reveal


This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is that old chestnut:

The baby shower!

A reader wrote:

I would like to know how others handle baby showers. I have vowed to not go to any more baby showers after leaving the last one in tears and disappointed in myself because I felt so strong before I went. Do others have emotional issues about other people’s baby showers or am I alone?

After assuring her that she definitely was not alone in feeling this way, I thought I’d turn the topic over to you. And I’m adding to it the newest horror, the gender reveal party.

Please whine, rant, empathize, and even advise on this most delicate of topics.