Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Our Stories: Where They Are Now

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

When we marked the ninth anniversary of this site last month, I took a look back at where I was in the beginning (bitter, frustrated, lost), how I grew and often struggled to come to terms with not fulfilling my dream of being a mother, and in what ways I can give thanks for my journey. For it’s made me who I am today: a stronger, wiser, and more compassionate woman who is at peace with being childfree, oh, let’s say 85% of the time.

I also wanted to hear from other LWBers, specifically those who were early contributors to the Our Stories column, so I’ve been reaching out and asking: “Where are you on your journey and how are you today?”

The answers have been as different as the women themselves. I’ve heard tales of emotional see-saws, of being excited for a new Plan B one day and a puddle of regret and disappointment the next (pregnancy announcements and baby showers continue to rub salt in mostly healed wounds). I’ve heard about health issues, some that stemmed from treatments, that continue to challenge even the most resilient among us. I’ve heard from women who have blossomed in the years since we first got to know them, who have pursued their intentions of traveling more, being more aware of their blessings, and thriving in ways beyond what they could have imagined.

As I expected, a few women have dropped off the grid, and that may have happened for any number of reasons. Wherever they are on their journeys, I wish them well. One woman I hadn’t heard from in a while did reply, although she was somewhat uncomfortable about updating me because, a few months after her story was posted, she got what so many of us wanted: a miracle pregnancy that resulted in a healthy miracle baby. My heart expanded with her good news and I am genuinely thrilled for her, in large part because I know of her earlier sorrows and sacrifices. I feel deeply grateful that we at LWB could be here for her when her life path looked quite different.

One woman opted not to re-run her story, but she offered this as she reflected on her journey thus far:

“I remember the darkest moments I went through. Sobbing, pleading and screaming at God. If I could say something to myself in 2014, I would tell myself to hold on. Hold on to your husband, hold on to who you are, hold on to the love that does exist in your life. We are more than our fertility status. We still deserve love, and we have a lot to give the world.”

That’s what I want to say to you today: Hold on. If you are in a dark place and feel like you’re drowning in grief, reach out to your LWB sisters—through comments, through the forums, through just reading the posts and stories and knowing we get it. You are not alone! Hold on to us. Together, I believe, we’ll help each other up and onward toward healing.

One other thing I hear repeatedly from LWBers who contributed to Our Stories is what a healing experience it was for them. Even if you don’t submit your story for posting, consider answering the questions for yourself. You’ll find the questionnaire here.

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Hosting a Lovefeast

Today is Good Friday, a holiday in many Christian-based religions that commemorates the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. In my faith tradition, it was a dark day of contemplation and prayer, one that was necessary before we received the promise and glory of Easter Sunday.

I wanted to incorporate something about old or new practices and traditions into my post this morning, but wasn’t sure what would be most relevant for us all here at LWB. So I thought it best to do a little online research, and here’s some of what I discovered:

  • Although there’s a folk legend that “Good” was a derivation of “God” (something I was taught as a child), it was long ago defined as “pious, holy.”
  • In various countries and languages, what I call “Good Friday” is known as “Silent Friday” or “Great Friday” or “The Long Friday”.
  • Some countries close schools and government offices; in others, many businesses close so that employees can attend religious services.
  • Some religions observe the day with fasting; members of the Moravian Church, one of the oldest denominations of Protestants, marked the day with a “Lovefeast.”

It’s that last item that intrigued me. What is a “lovefeast”? In the 21st century, we have an understanding that a “feast” involves copious amounts of food and beverages, a large gathering of family and friends, and a celebratory air that might include music, dancing, and revelry. But there’s something about throwing in the “love” part that makes it sound (regrettably) a bit R-rated. That was not the case in the 18th century, when the Lovefeast held on Good Friday might have been as simple as servings of sweet buns and coffee, or even bread and water, with music and singing all designed to “strengthen the bonds and the spirit of harmony, goodwill, and congeniality, as well as to forgive past disputes and instead love one another.” (Read up on at the details here.)

Doesn’t the idea of that just warm your heart? It does mine, and it gets me thinking about how I might put together my own lovefeast. I imagine inviting dear friends to join me around a table for a thoughtfully prepared meal. I imagine seeing their delight as they greet each other with forgiveness and acceptance. I imagine a toast to friendships time-tested and new. I imagine feeling tears well in my eyes as I look around at the sweet souls beside and across from me and feeling so grateful for their presence in my life.

I also imagine you there. For although we are geographically all over the globe, making a sit-down dinner with all our LWB sisters impossible, when I am here with you, on these pages, I am strengthened by our spirit of harmony, goodwill, and congeniality. I release past hurts and look to the future. I feel accepted and loved.

And that feels so very, very good.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is counting her blessings today.

 

 

 

Our Stories: Wendy

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

As soon as I finished reading Wendy’s story, I sent her an email: “I understand.” Oh, how I understand. I’ve felt all the anger and bitterness, I’ve raged at how unfair Life has been, and I’ve experienced that same glimmer of hope when I finally realized I was not alone and found the courage to reach out for help.

I hope you’ll share some words of encouragement and compassion to Wendy in the Comments, and please take a moment to acknowledge that the Comments written by other LWBers are meant for you too.

Sending out extra love to all of you today. ♥Kathleen

 

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

Wendy: Circumstance. Married at 24, tried three rounds of AIH [artificial insemination by husband] at 27 (what was recommended before you consider trying IVF), found out I had Hodgkin lymphoma at 30. Decided to try adoption, but was told after a few steps in that, because I was in remission from cancer, I couldn’t adopt for seven years. We sold our house and went travelling around Australia for a couple of years. When we came back home, I was feeling unwell, so I went to doctors who thought I might be pregnant. I got excited, then had a test to discover I had fibroid so big I had to have a hysterectomy at 37. I had the hysterectomy and recovered in the maternity ward. (There were no other beds available, even with a request from me.) It was pretty gut-wrenching seeing mothers with babies! I asked the hospital for my womb so I could bury it myself, and they agreed, but my husband was not happy with my decision. From there my marriage broke up, and we divorced when I was 40.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Wendy: I moved interstate at 40, and I am remarried to a man with four teenage children who I feel I keep at arm’s length. I am at a point now, at 53, where I realise I had no counselling or grief support during the whole process for over 25 years. My personality has changed. I get angry and depressed. I get annoyed when people say “You have four stepchildren, you should be happy.” They just don’t get it. Yes, my stepchildren are loving, but they are not mine. They have a mother, and I will never have a mini me. I have come to a point where I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I need to actually grieve and have someone understand. So, thank you for reading this.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Wendy: I thought I could be strong and cope on my own and keep it inside, but I can’t. I am a strong woman, but I was too stubborn. I should have asked for support a long time ago, which makes me wonder how much better I would have felt earlier/now.

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

Wendy: I still haven’t worked that one out. It depends on the person asking. If they seem genuine, then I am more genuine with my answer.

LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you? (or What advice would you like to give to your younger self?)

Wendy: Get help and support asap. Talk to someone who understands. Don’t wait 25 to 30 years and become bitter, angry, or depressed.

LWB: Who is your personal chero (a heroine who happens to be childfree)?

Wendy: Xena, Princess Warrior.

LWB: How has LWB helped you on your journey?

Wendy: I have been able to express my feelings to others who have been through similar.

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

Wendy: I am finally seeking out help to grieve.

 

I hear again and again from contributors what a healing experience it is to answer these questions and share their stories with other readers who truly get what they’re going through—and who rise up to offer support and encouragement. Won’t you consider sharing your story? Visit the Our Stories page for more information and to download the questionnaire. I hope to hear from you soon.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is so grateful to be part of this community of wise, loving, and brave women.

 

 

Whiny Wednesday: Fertility Clinic Storage Failures

In the news, two fertility clinics suffered storage tank failure this week, resulting in the loss of thousands of frozen eggs and embryos.

What irked me were the quotes from one of the clinics:

“A large number of the patients who have stored embryos in the clinic have let them stay there unused for around eight to 10 years.” Implying that the embryos had no value and therefore it was no big deal.

And this quote:

“We’ve created many, many babies for women over the years.” Again, suggesting a “you win some, you lose some” attitude and total disregard for the impact on the patients who lost on this occasion.

A quote from a woman who is suing the facility after she and her husband were informed their frozen embryos were no longer viable sums up what was really lost in this catastrophe. “The medical community calls it tissue. I like to think of it as my children.”

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What got under your skin this week?

Trusting the Path When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen

By Lisa Manterfield
Do ever feel as if you’re in a constant battle with yourself? So often I make a decision and forge ahead on the path of my choice, only to catch myself looking longingly at another paths and wondering if I ought to have taken them instead. As soon as I make a decision I lose sight of all the things I’ll gain from choosing that path and can only see all that I’ll be losing from walking away from the other paths.

I certainly did that when I chose the “life without children” path.  I knew what I would gain by opting to stop treatments and I knew what I would gain by walking away from the adoption route we were on. I knew that my sanity and my marriage would benefit from that decision, and that I’d claim back the life that was passing me by. But I could also see clearly everything I would lose from walking away from the possibility of motherhood.

I know I made the right choice, and I’m glad I kept walking on my chosen path, but it doesn’t stop me looking back once in a while to see where I might have been.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who was making some difficult life decisions. She talked about the idea of trusting that the path you’re on will take you where you’re supposed to be.

At first glance, this reeks of “everything happens for a reason,” a philosophy that makes me bristle. Personally, I do not believe that I was denied children so that I could take a bigger, more important path instead, or that I wasn’t granted motherhood because it was more than I could handle.  I have an untreatable medical condition; I cannot reproduce; end of story; $#it happens.

And yet I’m intrigued by the idea of trusting the path.

There is no doubt that not having children will take me on a very different path than motherhood; it already has. But what if I stopped fighting that? What if I stopped looking over my shoulder at all that I’ve lost and trusted that the path I’m on will take me where I’m supposed to go? Granted, I might not have much to blog about with my new peaceful self, but perhaps I could just enjoy the journey and see where it takes me.

What do you think about the idea of trusting the path?

Our Stories Update: Kellie

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I’ve been revisiting some of our early posts, and as I re-read some of the Our Stories columns, I found myself wondering, “How is she doing today?” So I asked.

Following is Kellie’s story, which first appeared in April of 2014. At the end, she shares where she is now. Whether you’re new to the Life Without Baby community or in the midst of your journey and still struggling, I hope this update will renew your hope for your future.

•   •   •

Kellie was 19 years old when she got married for the first time, and although she always knew she wanted children, starting a family was never discussed in 14 years of marriage. “I never felt the desire to have his children,” she says. A few years after her divorce, she met her current husband, who, like her, was waiting for the “right one to come along.” Although the odds were stacked against them (Kellie was 39 when they got married), they decided to try for the family they both wanted.

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

Kellie: After six months of trying the old-fashioned way, we were told that I had premature ovarian failure. We moved on to IVF, then to using donor eggs, which we attempted three times. We finally decided it was time to get off the roller coaster, work on our marriage (as infertility can definitely take a toll on that), and figure out what Plan B looks like for us.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Kellie: I feel like I am somewhere in the acceptance stage, but at times, even at 45 years old, I still hope for a miracle. I am officially in menopause and know this is completely unrealistic, but I still get moments of “What if?” Maybe that would be a bit of denial as well.

LWB: What was the turning point for you?

Kellie: The turning point for me was after I read Lisa’s book (I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home). Up until then, I felt like I was the only one going through this; I was so alone. I would get on the Internet and look for blogs, forums, really anything or anyone that I could relate to or who could relate to me, but what I usually found were topics and discussions on ways to “help you get pregnant”, whether it’s eating this or that, stop stressing, etc., and there were always the success stories that went along with this. I just couldn’t relate. There would be no success story for me, no miracle pregnancy, and I felt so hopeless, a complete failure, and at times suicidal. Somewhere along the way Lisa’s book popped up. I read it, realized I wasn’t alone in this hell, and a peace came over me that I just can’t explain. I joined her blog and have never looked back. I no longer feel shame, and I am no longer embarrassed to tell my story if someone asks.

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

Kellie: Not being able to give my husband a child. I often thought I should leave him to give him the chance to find someone younger and fertile.

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

Kellie: The freedom to do whatever we want, whenever we want. We are also not nearly as financially strapped as we would be if we had children.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Kellie: While on three years of hormone injections, I learned I can be a real bitch! Just ask my husband. J Actually, I am stronger emotionally and mentally then I ever thought I was.

LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you?

Kellie: First and foremost, be true to yourself. People who have children will never truly understand what it’s like to be infertile. This includes family as well. I lost a very good friend over this because she just couldn’t understand what I was going through and only offered criticism and judgment about the way I was handling our loss. Furthermore, if you are invited to baby showers, birthday parties, etc., and you really don’t want to go, DON’T GO! Do not ever let anyone make you feel bad for your decision. In time, these events will become easier, but until then, do not force yourself to do anything that makes you sad or uncomfortable. And please do not feel guilty for putting yourself first.

•   •   •

LWB: Where are you on your journey today?

Kellie 2018: I am embracing Plan B. There are still moments when I get sad, usually around the holidays, but these feelings don’t last for very long anymore. When we realized that children were not in our future, we knew that a lot of traveling would be. We have held true to that by taking at least two long vacations per year plus many long weekends. I have a very full and happy life. Every so often, my husband and I talk about being childless; like myself, he gets sad at times about not having a child. But last night we were discussing the latest school shooting in Florida, and we just couldn’t imagine being those parents who were wondering if it was their child that didn’t make it out alive. I am grateful that we don’t have that worry! Overall, we both love where we are in life and look forward to many more adventures as a family of two!

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

Kellie 2018: YOU ARE NOT ALONE! That was one of the hardest things for me, as I felt no one understood what I was going through. LWB was the biggest help getting me through the depression of not having children. Knowing there were others who were going through what I was going through, or had gone through it, gave me hope that I could get through it too. My best advice is to find a way to get your feelings out by talking to someone who you don’t feel judged by or by writing what you are feeling. I kept my feelings inside until I read Lisa’s book (I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home), then I started writing a blog just so I could get my feeling out among others in my tribe. It was very rewarding as I was able to help others while others were helping me.

Be kind to yourself. I struggled with feeling like I was being judged by others as I couldn’t give my husband a child and our parents a grandchild. Over time, I realized I was mostly judging myself. It took time to not blame myself and to not feel like I failed as a woman, but in time and with the support of others and an amazing husband, I was able to move through this. Stop the negative self talk and remind yourself that this is not your fault.

Do not feel guilty for your feelings and step back when you need to. If you don’t feel you can be around celebrations such as birthday parties and baby showers (I’m still not a fan of baby showers, so I rarely go), then don’t put yourself into those situations. It’s okay to give yourself permission not to attend. You are not being selfish, you are taking care of YOU!

 

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 feeling so very grateful for this community of brave and wise women.

Our Stories: Infertility Around the World

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I’m fudging things a little bit today, as the writer of the article linked below, Amy McTighe, is not (to my knowledge) a member of our Life Without Baby community. She is, however, one of us.

“War and Infertility: How Losing a Pregnancy in Iraq Changed My Approach to Miscarriage” by Amy McTighe

I invite you to read her story. We can relate to many of her struggles with infertility, while at the same time have our eyes opened to how being childless-not-by-choice is dealt with in different cultures, different generations.

Because Lisa hails from the UK and I am in the USA, we tend to focus on how things work in our cultures. But there’s so much more we need to learn about and understand. We each have a story to tell, and I’d again like to encourage you all to share yours. Check out the Our Stories link for how to do this.

In response to Amy’s last line, today I hope she—and you—can begin to release any self-blame you are carrying. Today I hope you experience some new beauty in your world.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods continues to look for guidance toward healing in her own story, The Mother of All Dilemmas. Coming soon!

 

Why You Need to Fix Your Self-Talk

orange tulips in sunshine

By Lisa Manterfield

I’ve been spending more time than usual alone lately and it’s not good for my head. I’m beginning to talk to myself and some of those conversations aren’t good.

When I’m busy working, my brain and I get along just fine, but in the evenings, when I’m padding around the kitchen making dinner, doing dishes, or folding laundry, the conversations start.

You know the ones I mean. I pick up an issue that’s been bothering me, something someone said that stung, or some other injustice or conflict that’s gone unresolved. Then I set about solving the problem, confronting the offender, and getting into a big fight in my head. (Please tell me I’m not the only person that does this.)

Usually I gravitate towards the worst case scenario. I end up working myself into a lather over something that hasn’t happened, and may never happen.

Finally, I have to remind myself that my body can’t tell the difference between real conflict and imagined, and so it’s busy pumping all those stress hormones out into my blood stream, which isn’t doing my health any good. That’s usually enough to stop the arguments – at least for a while.

I used to do this a lot when I was busy beating myself up over infertility, trying to figure out why it happened – or more to the point, what I had done to make it happen to me. I’d think of all the choices I’d made along the way and imagine if I’d started earlier and had children with someone who wasn’t right for me, instead of waiting so long for Mr. Fab. Does any of this sound familiar?

Once you get that negative self-talk going, it’s easy to convince yourself of all kinds of things that aren’t true. And is that really going to help the healing process? Probably not. More likely it’s just going to create more stress and give you wrinkles.

So today, as you’re going about your business, listen to what you’re telling yourself. We all have plenty of real conflict in our lives; let’s not add to it by creating more in our heads.

Here’s a good article that explains more about the science of self-talk.

Our Stories: Ann B.

 

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Grieving is not a rational act, although I sense many of us try to treat it as such. “If I act ‘as if’…if I will myself to…today will be different!” And then we get hit with a fresh wave of loss and feel as though all of our sanity is washed away.

Ann B.* understands this all to well. Even though she and her husband made very reasoned choices about why they are childfree, she continues to be knocked down by the weight of her lost dreams and to feel ashamed of her sadness.

I get that. I think you do too.

Ann’s hopes for the new year may sound a lot like yours. If you’ve been in her shoes, I hope you’ll share some of your journey with her in the Comments. If you’re in her shoes today, I hope Ann’s words remind you that you are not alone.

I want to wish you all a Happy New Year!, but that doesn’t feel quite right. Instead, my wish for you is that this new year comes with healing moments of gratitude, grace, and peace.

LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.

Ann: I always wanted to be a mother. I work in elementary school education. I am surrounded by children in my personal and professional life. Most of all, I wanted to hold to my husband’s child in my arms. It was not to be.

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

Ann: Chance and choice. By chance: I have a medical condition, which, when well-controlled, does not interfere with my ability to live a full and happy life. By choice: I decided that the risk to my health (of pregnancy, which may exacerbate my condition), the risk to a fetus of birth defects (caused by medication I take for the condition), and the risk to my husband (of potentially caring for an unwell wife and a baby with special needs) was too great. We consulted many doctors and, ultimately, realized that having children was too risky.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Ann: I am in denial about the need to grieve the loss of motherhood. I feel ashamed of my sadness, which comes in waves. I don’t believe I deserve to grieve because this was my decision, and life does not owe me anything. I know that life is full of hard choices and varying circumstances. I choose to stay busy to keep the depth of sadness at bay.

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

Ann: It changes. I go through phases of mourning losses. For example, never experiencing pregnancy or childbirth, never naming a baby, never seeing my husband’s character strengths passed on, never feeling pride at a concert, and the lack of rituals/milestones that accompany children. Other times, I feel less significant, less loving, less generous, and less deserving than women who balance the demands of motherhood. I find myself apologizing and downplaying my life experiences in conversation with mothers.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Ann: I’ve learned that feelings are illogical and can’t be controlled by planning, research, or intellectual reasoning. It’s possible to feel guilt and shame about something that I still believe was the right and responsible decision. I’ve learned that feelings of loss will keep resurfacing until I am brave enough to face them and feel them.

LWB: What’s one thing you want other people to know about your being childfree?

Ann: “I have the humanity, compassion, and time to be your village. I have skills, experience, and knowledge to support your parenting journey. Don’t underestimate my capacity to love or serve your family. Please trust me and let me lighten your load.”

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

Ann: “No”. Sometimes, this is followed by an awkward beat of silence because I haven’t prepared a short, socially appropriate 10-word explanation. I don’t want to make others feel that they have caused offense. I know it is a form of small talk; it is a friendly, genuine inquiry. I want to honor their intentions and guide the conversation to a place that is comfortable for all. However, I’m not there yet. I feel pain every time I hear the question.

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

Ann: I would like to face my grief and stop denying the pain. I would like to use the grieving process to move towards healing.

 

*We allow each contributor to choose another name, if she wishes, to protect her privacy.

What are your hopes for yourself in this coming new year? We can all benefit from hearing about your experiences, plus we’d like to support you. Please visit the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire, and consider sharing your story with women who truly understand what you’re going through.

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

 

 

It Got Me Thinking…About My Very Own Holiday

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

If you’re in the U.S., you just got through or are in the midst of one of our biggest “family” holidays of the year. Feeling thankful? Yeah, me neither.

We’ve officially kicked off the holiday season—yes, a whole miserable season—that often feels like a series of slaps across the face for those of us who are childless-not-by-choice: the pageants with the impossibly adorable miniature angels, the onslaught of family photo cards and newsy letters, those awfully festive reunions that bring together multiple generations (and unwanted questions), the traditions we’ll never get to share, every little slight and hurt that reminds us of what we wanted and didn’t get to have. I’m all wrung out just from the anticipation!

But this year I have a plan for how I can get through the next several weeks with a bit of calm and brightness. In my schedule, between the shoulds and the musts, I am going to book out some time for myself. I am going to prepare now to welcome a most special guest into my home for the holidays: Me.

Think about it. If your dearest friend was coming to stay, how would you treat her? I might:

  • Fluff up the pillows on the bed and add a cozy throw blanket.
  • Arrange fresh flowers on the nightstand.
  • Pull out the “nice” towels, then pour out some of those fancy bath salts I’ve been saving for a long, soothing soak.
  • Place a couple of chocolates on her pillow at bedtime, and warm her PJs in the dryer just before she slips them on.
  • Serve her breakfast in bed—it can be as simple as tea and a muffin served on the special occasion china and presented on a tray.

How might you treat your most honored guest? Share your ideas in the Comments, then let’s commit to creating a true bit of holiday for ourselves.

 

If you’re struggling this holiday season, I encourage you to explore the Life Without Baby site for resources. Check out the Forums and Groups, reach out to others through Comments, or pick up some of the recommended Books. We may not be able to guarantee merriment, but we can offer compassion.