Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About How to Have a Happy Halloween

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

IGMT“Come trick-or-treating with us!”

I cried after I got off the phone with my friend Irene*. She had extended an invitation for me to join her and her two small children for some revelry on All Hallow’s Eve, and the ask brought on my waterworks. But not for the reasons you think. It wasn’t because I was once again feeling sorry for myself, heartbroken that I’ll never get to:

  • make my toddlers’ costumes from scratch (like my mom used to)
  • encourage my teenagers’ creativity when they create their own clever costumes (like I used to do)
  • delight my kids by dressing up as something funny (like my dad used to)
  • announce that House Rules mandate I get 10% of the haul (Dad again)
  • pass along decorations and traditions from my favorite holiday

No. I was crying out of sheer gratitude.

You see, a while back Irene and I had a frank talk about some of the things I’ll miss most because I won’t get to be a mom. Ballet recitals, baseball games, the Tooth Fairy, Santa. And…are you sitting down?…she listened. Not only did she listen, but she heard, and a few months later she did something about it by inviting me to be part of her family, so that I get to experience some of the joys I otherwise would have been denied.

I have been waiting a looooong time to find a friend like this.

I had to decline Irene’s invitation, but I’ve already booked out next Halloween to spend with her and her kids. Oh, and the reason I declined was because I’d already accepted an invitation from another friend to come over to her house and help hand out treats to the neighborhood kids. Look at that: Someone else heard me.

For the first time in ages, I am feeling hopeful again.

 

*Not her real name. I don’t want to embarrass her, and she knows who she is.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.

 

It Got Me Thinking…About the Death of a Childfree Friend

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Girl ThinkingBefore I even get into this post, I need to alter my title. It should read “The Death of a Friend (Who Happened to be Childfree).” Okay, that’s better

I entered into an interesting dance with our issues and challenges when a friend of 20-plus years lost her battle with cancer. Mercifully, her fight wasn’t prolonged, and the end came quickly and with little pain and suffering. My grief, on the other hand, was debilitating. I took naps at odd hours, I burst into tears at the grocery store (spotted something I knew she liked, realized she’d never enjoy it again), I read something that made me think of her, went to call her, and remembered all over again that she’s gone.

As I told friends who are moms about her passing, what surprised me the most was how often the first question was “Did she have kids?”, to which I answered “No,” to which the response was “That’s good.” This exchange always left me feeling yucky; did this mean that her death and my loss had less of an impact because she wasn’t a mom? I get that it’s good that young children were not left motherless, but I can’t quite agree that it’s good she never had any, yet I know she didn’t feel that her life was lacking in any way. She had an extraordinary life—full of travels and adventures and loving friends—one that wouldn’t have been possible if she’d filled her days with parenting duties.

 

I wallowed in my grief, and I wallowed in the anticipation of what I perceived will be my own inevitably lonely passing. But before I could start hating all reproducers for their insensitivity, I got a call from another long-time friend, a stay-at-home mom. Even though she had only met the other woman a few times, she cried with me over my loss. She listened to my memories, she shared a few insights, and before long she had me laughing so hard that I was crying again.

In earlier posts I’ve complained about the comments made after tragedies in which children are lost, such as “Only a parent can understand.” I’ve argued that compassion isn’t exclusive to people who happen to be parents. So this experience was my lesson in reverse. In my vulnerable state, I so easily could have locked myself away with my childfree friends. Many friends offered their condolences, yet the one person who really understood, who was able to reach my heart and truly comfort me, is firmly established in the mommy club. Compassion isn’t exclusive to anyone, it’s a human trait. And aren’t we lucky that, when we really need it, it comes to us from many different sources.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with being childfree.

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Pretending to be Mommy

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“Aunt Kath….” My young nephew looked up at me with his big brown eyes, my sister’s eyes.

“Yes, love.”

“You know what I’m doing right now?”

“Nope. Tell me.”

“I’m pretending you’re my mommy.”

My heart swelled to three times its size before I felt like it was then ripped out of my chest. Choking back a sob, I said, “That’s so sweet. Thank you. Tell me….” But before I could ask him about this imaginary family of his, where he got the idea, what kind of mommy I was (funny, strict, a lot like his real mommy), he had moved on to a new topic, something to do with a game he likes to play at his preschool. Hours later, alone with my thoughts, I revisited this exchange and struggled to come to terms with what it did to me.

I’m not new to this conversation. This sweet boy is the youngest of six nieces and nephews, and each has gone through this phase of wanting to pretend I’m their mommy. Out to lunch or shopping with a niece (“Let’s pretend you’re my mom.”), playing in the park with a nephew (“Maybe they think you’re my mom.”). They’re all great kids, so I’m flattered and touched by their game. And they’re all great kids, so it also slays me emotionally. I would have loved being their mom.

I expected to grieve my losses, feel left out, and wrestle with difficult choices in the coming-to-terms-with-being-childfree dance. I just didn’t think that the same moments that fill my soul with unanticipated joy could also send me into new cycles of depression. Brutal, right?

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.

It Got Me Thinking…About Shotgun Weddings

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Girl ThinkingShortly after I sent out save the date cards for our wedding, I received several variations of “Didn’t know you were pregnant – har har!”

I didn’t finding this the least bit humorous, although I’m sure that is what those Jim Carrey–¬wannabes had intended. My fiancé and I had been together for four years, living together for two. We were getting married because we wanted to, not because we had to. And so what if I was pregnant? Would it make this occasion, our commitment to each other, any less solemn?

Of course, because I had finally (mostly) made peace with our decision to be childfree, our friends’ insensitive responses struck a deeper, more painful chord. What I really wanted to do was reply back by saying, “No. Sadly, pregnancy is no longer an option for me.”

But that would have been rude.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She met and married her Mr. Right in her 40s.

It Got Me Thinking…About the Many Faces of Courage

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

IGMTAs 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.

Vanc Child Fest signFirst, 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.

 

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Why I Can’t Grieve

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 before he could be an honored guest at our wedding. 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 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.

It Got Me Thinking…About Big Girl Meltdowns, Holiday Edition

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods 

Girl ThinkingMeltdowns 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.

It Got Me Thinking…About Holiday Slights

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“Come One, Come All!” trumpets the headline.

I’m skimming the special calendar section of our local paper and find myself drawn into a description of a holiday spectacular and crafts fair, featuring actors as classic Dickens characters and carolers strolling in Victorian dress as they sing in the season. I am so there!

But then I read the small print: “Revelers (that’s me!), particularly families (uh, wait), are invited to enjoy the festivities.” It’s possible I’m being over-sensitive, but I am so sick and tired of slights like this, and it seems to strike an especially painful chord with me as we approach the holiday season. The “Family Sing-Along” at church. The “Family Pot-Luck” intended to bring coworkers closer together. The “Family Movie Night,” where multiple generations come together to enjoy a touching holiday-themed film. I love love love all of these fun activities, and will participate even though I’m not a 5-year-old, even though I am not part of a “family.” It’s sad to me, though, that my revelry is diminished by the sting of not feeling legitimately part of the event, all because of a marketing choice.

While I don’t want to get PC (politically correct) to the point of ridiculousness, I’d like to suggest to the world that there are other ways to welcome everyone without making single and/or childfree people feel…well…unwelcome. “Fun for all ages!” “Something for everyone!” The marketers for the fair had me at “Come One, Come All!” I wish they’d left it at that.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. “Mele Kalikimaka” might be her favorite Christmas carol.

It Got Me Thinking…About Thoughtful Holiday Greetings

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Some time ago, LWBer Dorothy Williams wrote about holiday cards in her guest spot, With Eyes of Faith…Birthday Jesus. She writes about why she chooses to send a card that celebrates the birth of Jesus versus “one of those cards” that trumpets family and children and seems to stab us right in the heart with our childfreeness.

It got me thinking about the worst holiday greeting I ever received. I was recently single again and in the throes of an if-I’m-going-to-be-a-mother-I-need-to-have-a-child-on-my-own-NOW panic attack. Friends’ cheery letters celebrated new homes, new babies, and full lives, and while I so wanted to be happy for them, each new photo was a painful reminder of all that I lacked and so desperately wanted.

In the pile of unopened mail one afternoon was a delivery from a long-time friend. In an effort to save time, she had mass produced address labels and affixed them to the envelopes. Smart. Mine was addressed to “The Guthrie Family,” although my friend had crossed out “The” and “Family” and written “Kathy” above. Not so smart. The insensitivity took my breath away.

I’ve talked to friends who have lost spouses to death or divorce, and they share a similar hurt when cards are inappropriately addressed. I want to shout “THINK, PEOPLE!” I know we’re all busy, I know this season is crazy, I know we are each shouldering our burdens, but please, take an extra minute, waste that extra stamp, and practice sending goodwill to all.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. When she can plan ahead, she prefers to send Thanksgiving cards.

Just in time for the not-always-happy holidays, Life Without Baby Holiday Companion by Lisa Manterfield and Kathleen Guthrie Woods is available. The $2.99 ebook offers more than 50 pages of classic blog posts with inspiration and encouragement for getting through the season when you’re childfree. Order your copy from Amazon or in PDF format at Gumroad.

It Got Me Thinking…About Hug Deprivation

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods 

Girl ThinkingI 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.