filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
Have you ever been in a conversation with a group of women, only to watch the talk turn to motherhood and feel yourself fading into the background?
That’s the topic of this week’s Whiny Wednesday:
Being excluded from conversations because you don’t have children
Happy Whining!
Our private community now boasts close to 3,000 members and I’m extremely proud of the support and camaraderie we offer one another.
Periodically, someone leaves and I wish her a silent farewell and good luck. Members don’t often fill in the note about why they’re leaving, but when they do, it’s usually along the lines of “Yippee! I’m pregnant. See you later, sucka!”
Ok, it’s never like that, but you get the idea. Women generally leave Life Without Baby to pursue life with baby, and I have to admit that it always stings a little.
Recently, though, one member left and gave this wonderful reason:
“I am moving on from my identity as a childless woman.”
I wanted to throw her a party. She’s not leaving because she’s no longer a childless woman; she’s leaving because she no longer wants to carry around that label and all the stigma and resentment that can come along with it. She’s moving on, I assume, to embrace her life as a woman, with all its facets.
We play many roles in our lives and carry an assortment of identities. Sometimes those identities no longer suit us and we have to let them go. And while I’m sorry to lose a member, I truly wish her nothing but a wonderful life.
It was five years ago this week (geez, time flies), when I was lying on an examining table in a bright white room and my curiosity got the better of me. If I lifted my head off the pillow a couple of inches, and turned to the right, I could just make out the big black void that appeared on the screen of the doctor’s monitor.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That’s your uterus,” the doctor replied. Only that’s not what I heard. In my head I heard “That’s your big empty useless uterus.”
Dang.
I really thought I was in a good place, that I was okay being the middle-aged childfree woman. I had steeled myself for a waiting room full of pregnant bellies (it was just me—whew!), I had prepared myself to oh-so-casually answer questions about my own pregnancies (none) and family plans (again, none). I was even hopeful that the exam would show the presence of a cyst (indeed, it did), which would explain some painful symptoms I had been experiencing earlier that year, thus giving my doctor the impetus to explore treatment options. All good.
But all the pretty thoughts seeped out of me as I was lying there, prone, and seeing The Void, and thinking the only thing my beautiful uterus was good for now—perhaps was ever good for—was producing freakish growths.
I am happy to report that subsequent surgery removed the benign cyst and I have been (knock on wood) in good health since. I am also happy to report that, over these last five years, I have made more progress on my journey to accepting my life without children.
Sometimes, though, I still feel the invisible scars. They live deep inside me, where they won’t appear on the most technologically advanced scans, and they occasionally twinge. I still feel The Void, the voids, and on those days, the best self-love medicine I can give myself is saying out loud: I’m still here.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
We’ve got another holiday coming up in the U.S. this weekend. Oh, excuse me, another family holiday. You know, when generations get together to pass along traditions, share celebrations, take group photos that will later appear on family holiday cards. You know, those days that can totally suck! for those of us who feel so horribly left out because we don’t have kids who might gift us with handmade works of art, treat us to a nutritionally questionable breakfast in bed, or turn the kitchen into a sticky swamp from mixing good ol’ time lemonade on a hot summer afternoon.
Which makes me think about the old adage: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Or as I like to say: When life hits you upside the head then kicks you when you’re down, make limoncello.
I’m not an advocate of drowning my sorrows in booze, but I do think there are healing benefits to stepping away from my challenging routine, finding someplace quiet to sit, taking a few deep breaths, calming my heart, and sipping something lovely.
If you’d like to stock up for the long, hot limoncello days to come, here’s a simple recipe from Giada De Laurentiis (find the full recipe, reviews, and tips here on foodnetwork.com):
Ingredients:
10 lemons
1 (750 ml) bottle of vodka
3-1/2 cups water
2-1/2 cups sugar
Directions:
Cin cin!
Kathleen Guthrie Woods also likes to occasionally drown her sorrows in dark chocolate.
A while ago, I asked you to suggest Whiny Wednesday topic ideas. Boy, did you deliver! Here’s one that a lot of you mentioned struggling with:
Running into old friends who now have children
Whine away!
I’m not a Catholic, but I have attended numerous services to support friends in their faith journeys and I am familiar with the vow in wedding ceremonies that asks, basically, “If you are blessed with children, will you raise them in the Catholic faith?” (“We will.”) It was an unpleasant surprise, then, when I attended a beautiful wedding mass and the priest, in my humble opinion, went too far.
“There are many here who are eager for you to bear fruit—as soon as possible!…May you soon become co-creators and bring many children into the world…Now that you are husband and wife, we look forward to your becoming parents…When you have your children….”
I get that the parents of the bride and groom are eager for grandchildren, but as the calls continued for my friends to procreate, I got uncomfortable, sad, and, well, angry. The kicker for me was when the priest invited us to pray for this beautiful young couple to produce babies asap. Oh, I prayed for them alright, but my prayer went something like this:
Dear God, Please be present for this wonderful man and woman. Bless their marriage. If they have a desire to have children, I pray that you spare them the heartache of infertility, miscarriages, and any other impediments to parenting. If children are not to be a part of Your plans for their future, please be a comfort and guide to them, and please soften the hearts of their family members.
I’m rankled whenever I hear someone say that “it’s not God’s will” or “you aren’t faithful enough” or some other condemnation for why good people are not “blessed” with children. I know in my heart that none of these statements are true, yet they can be so hurtful. I hope and pray that my newlywed friends never have to be at the receiving end of this kind of pain.
I’d like to hear from you. What does your church have to say about this? How do you feel about wedding vows that call for bringing children into the world? And most of all, how has your faith helped you in your journey through life without babies?
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with being childless.
By Lisa Manterfield
Do you remember the game Chutes and Ladders? In the UK we called it “Snakes and Ladders” and I loved it. I had a nursery rhyme version with Jack and Jill happily climbing the hill on one ladder, and then tumbling down at the next snake (or chute). Humpty Dumpty, Rock-a-Bye-Baby, Little Bo Peep and her poor lost sheep were all there with their assorted joys and disasters.
In case any one is reading and has no clue what I’m talking abut, Chutes and Ladders is a board game. There are 100 squares on the board and you roll a dice and move along, trying to be the first person to reach 100. If you land on a ladder you get to follow the ladder up and jump ahead on the game. If, however, you land on a chute (or snake) you slide back down the board to a lower number. There’s no strategy involved in the game at all, and it’s pure luck as to whether you joyfully climb the ladder or careen back down a chute.
It struck me that life is a lot like chutes and ladders, especially when you’re playing the “coming-to-terms with infertility” game.
Case in point: A while ago, Mr. Fab and I had a great weekend. It was the first one in a while that we’d spent together just relaxing and enjoying one another’s company. We slept late, took a long walk, planned a vacation, and took a long afternoon nap. It’s on weekends like these that I realize all the positive things that have come out of us not having children.
But on Saturday night we had dinner with some friends at their home. They and the other friends who were invited have adult children, so the evening was spent talking about all kinds of other things not relating to the perils of parenthood. But in their hallway were photos of their children as toddlers, sitting in the garden, laughing those infectious toddler laughs, and for a few minutes I found myself just staring at the pictures and thinking about all that I’ve missed with not having children. My happiness hopped on a chute and slid back down a few squares.
I think that my life is always going to be this way, that I’ll keep making progress and moving gradually towards that place of being 100 percent at peace with being childfree, but there are always going to be chutes thrown in my way: the cousin’s pregnancy announcement, the friends celebrating milestones with their children, those moments when I rethink the whole thing and wonder, “What if we got back on the train? What if that risky and expensive treatment worked? What if we adopted?”
But, for every chute that comes along, there’s a ladder that will take me back up. So, the trick to maintaining sanity and finding peace is to keep living for the ladders.
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
I am so glad I followed up with Amber*, who first shared her story with us in the summer of 2014. She is completely candid about the “dark days” that followed, the hard work it took to begin healing, and the bright spots she’s now able to enjoy in a life without children. Wherever you are on your journey, I hope you’ll find some encouragement in her story.
• • •
When Amber is asked, “Do you have kids?” she answers, “We have dogs, which are much easier than children.” There’s a lightness and humor to her answer that puts people at ease, but it doesn’t reflect the challenging journey she’s been on and her amazing strength and perspective. I was struck by the depth and wisdom in her answers to our other questions, and I think you, too, will be moved by her insight. Maybe some of it will strike a chord with you and help you in your healing.
LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?
Amber: I actually was never sure I wanted kids, but after some health problems, we were told “Now or never….” I had several surgeries to remove fibroids, and after each surgery I developed Asherman’s Syndrome. Several corrective surgeries, tons of scar tissue reforming, several dangerous ectopic pregnancies later, and then being told our only hope was a surrogate, well…I was fresh out of $75,000. You have to draw the line somewhere.
LWB: Where are you on your journey now?
Amber: I have moved on to live my life and be happy. I still have a wonderful husband and two dogs, and we will always have a wonderful life as long as we are together. I refuse to throw it all away just because we cannot have children. Sometimes people lose sight of what they have while trying to reach another goal. It’s like what Alexander Graham Bell says in my favorite quote:
When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.
LWB: What was the turning point for you?
Amber: Plan A was ruining my life and I was constantly devastated and sad. We were living in limbo between procedures and surgeries hoping for a miracle. As soon as we made the decision to move on, things started getting better and we starting enjoying our life again. We were back in control, and the most important thing was that we had each other. Thank God we had not lost each other in the whole mess. Lord knows I have lost multitudes of friends and family over our journey of infertility.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Amber: I worry about whom we will spend time with as we age, who will pick us up from the nursing home at Christmas. But, then again, some people’s children do not do that. I have to focus on the fact that we will have each other and a wonderful network of family and friends.
LWB: What’s the best part about not having children?
Amber: I get to spend all day, every day, with my best friend, and we can do whatever we want together at any given time. We get to take our dogs to the beach two to three times a year, sleep in on Saturdays, buy extravagant things, take naps whenever, hang out at the bar and watch a game, and, most of all, love each other more than anything on this earth.
LWB: What’s the best advice you’ve received?
Amber: This was from my friend Penny, who died way too young: “Life isn’t what it should be, life is what it is. However, we get to choose what to make of it.”
• • •
LWB: How are you doing today?
Amber: I am living my life, but do not get me wrong, I had some dark days after 2014. It was a lot to work through, and I would have probably benefited from counseling, which I did not do. I will say I carry the guilt of our inability to have children, but my husband has never blamed me. At times I feel that I robbed him of a family life, but we have so many things to be thankful for, and our life is so full.
I might sound all “Pollyanna”, like life is all rainbows and unicorns. I promise you that is not the case, as we took a long break for my mental health. I am just an it-is-what-it-is type of person. Quite frankly, I am glad that infertility has been the biggest tragedy in my adult life. I have lived longer than my own mother, who died of cancer in her 30s. I see people all around me losing their health, their spouses, their jobs, or their homes. Worst of all, I have seen people lose their happiness, which encompasses countless things, because they are holding onto anger and resentment.
The best advice I can give is: Do not lose what is sitting in front of you, do not take what you do have for granted. Get rid of the resentment and anger however you must, and live your life. My life is not bad without children. As a matter of fact, many people envy us for our lifestyle. I am so sorry for everyone reading this, as I would not wish infertility on my worst enemy. Just know that you can pick up the pieces after some healing and have a happy life. We have countless friends who are our parents’ age, and we all enjoy kid-free activities. We have also reconnected with our childhood friends now that their children are older. None of them even know what we went through. (When you tell people, you must be prepared for their well-meant but stupid responses.) We have our dogs, tennis, work, we know every bartender in a ten-mile radius, extra money, and so many other things. To sum it all up, we are living a happy life.
LWB: What would you like to say to the you of 2014?
Amber: Ahh…this is a loaded question. First and foremost: Go talk to a counselor! Perhaps even join a grief group if your reproductive endocrinologist offers one. Talking to people who are going through what you are would be way more helpful than becoming resentful of all the stupid things family and friends say trying to help you. Trust me, nothing they say will help you unless it is “Oh, I have $75,000 to give you” or “Oh, I can carry your baby for free.”
Do not feel guilty—it is not your fault. Only time will help you heal and, unfortunately, you are going to have to suffer through it to get to the other side, but the other side is better! While you drown in your grief, make a list of all the things you should be thankful for. It is a much longer list when you start writing it down. Help your spouse through their grief too. You are not the only one suffering.
You have a purpose in life, and that purpose was not just to have children. You must find your purpose, your passion, and your happiness. Time is the only thing in this world that you cannot get more of no matter what you do. What you do with your time is the most precious thing you have on earth. Choose what to do with it wisely.
This (see photo below) is what kept me going, part of my passion and my purpose.
*Not her real name. We allow each respondent to use a fictitious name for her profile, if she chooses.
Won’t you share your story with us? Go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods got goosebumps when she saw the above photo of Amber and her dog. How wonderful and inspiring to see Amber embracing and enjoying her Plan B life!
Here in the U.S., we’re entering into another three-day-weekend to celebrate Memorial Day. This is the kind of holiday that, in my Plan A life, would have included a family picnic, a family barbecue, maybe a family outing to watch a parade, and overall a fun opportunity for my children to spend time with the many generations of our family.
So add all of the above, once again, to my list of invisible losses that come with being childfree-not-by-choice. Also on my list:
• Never being able to see my father’s, husband’s, or own eyes in another human being.
• Never having the pleasure of hearing someone say “She’s just like you at that age.”
• Never getting to throw an over-the top child’s birthday party with an ooh- and ahh-inspiring magician, balloon artist, or bubble-making machine.
• Never getting to quietly take pride in my child’s achievement.
• Never being able to watch my grown child pass on to his child the traditions, rituals, and stories I taught him.
In Living the Life Unexpected, the always spot-on Jody Day adds her own list of invisible losses followed by this line:
If you take the time to think about it all in one go, which is more than most of us are ever likely to do because of the breathtaking amount of pain involved, it’s a testament to our strength that we’re still standing at all.
“It’s a testament to our strength that we’re still standing at all.” That line took my breath away the first time I read it, and it reminds me that grieving and healing is a long and circuitous journey.
I know it’s painful. I know sometimes the “easy” route of denial is appealing. But today I encourage you to set aside some time to acknowledge what you’ve lost. The visible and not-so-visible. I think that is the first step toward letting it go.
If you need help working through the process of grieving, I encourage you to check out the many resources available to you, starting with Lisa’s book Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen.
If one book or author doesn’t speak to you, don’t give up; find another. It’s what I’ve been doing, and I promise you it helps.
And wherever you are in the world, whether you’re celebrating Memorial Day or facing just another rough weekend, I hope you’ll remember that you are loved and you are not alone.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
Guest Post, by Jane P (UK)
I first had a desire to accept—to let go of my plans for motherhood—when marriage issues and signs of depression followed six failed IVF cycles. My husband could not continue fertility treatment and I could not stop. I would not contemplate accepting infertility, as it meant a life without baby. After 17 years of marriage, the word “divorce” came up.
I asked my husband to help me accept. He agreed to come to a counselling session with me at our local GP. There, the Counsellor asked, “What would a world look like to you if you could accept?” A simple question and my response was along these lines:
The bickering and arguments would stop. We would laugh again, we would plan again—not just plan, but look forward to things. (I felt that I had been going through the motions of life.) I wouldn’t feel pain or anger every time I walked through the town or in the office, turned on the TV or heard a casual baby/child related comment from colleagues, friends. (Everything was a trigger. Every minute of every day I was consumed with a massive sadness that wouldn’t shift. I countered this thought for years with, “Next time we try it will be different.” It never was.)
So, I was left thinking about my reply to the question from the Counsellor. I needed to accept so that I could stop feeling the pain, I would stop arguing with my husband. We would feel love again, enjoy life again…
I started to seek help. This came from LWB and through continuing to speak to the Counsellor. We found a way back to each other and through a final IVF treatment with donor eggs that ended with emergency surgery for an ectopic pregnancy. For the first two years I was tormented with wanting to try again, wanting to stop, but I’d promised myself and my husband that this was the end of the line.
Four years on, we stopped pursuing any more treatment. I am now officially too old at 50! So, why do I still wake up frequently and stare at the ceiling every day before forcing myself out of bed? Still ask the same questions, still feel the same sadness at the “motherhood” and baby conversations I overhear, still want to run away when a colleague makes an announcement, or leave my desk before her presentation on leaving day?
Initially, I thought acceptance would mean no more pain, looking forward to life again. Well, my marriage is back on track. I definitely look forward to things and plan fun events and holidays. I seek to relish every day in small ways—my latte treat at 11:00, having my hair done, buying a new lipstick here and there.
The triggers are still there, though. They don’t have me running away anymore, and I counter the feelings with acknowledging the loss and rationalising that motherhood is full of difficult days as well as joyous ones. But, I still feel the pain, and recently I wondered if I have truly accepted.
The word “acceptance” conjures up a feeling that “it’s OK that I didn’t get to experience motherhood and hold my baby”. But it’s not OK. You can’t stop the pain and it’s unrealistic to not feel the loss in some way.
So, maybe I don’t have to completely accept. Perhaps this is now what acceptance means to me:
Allowing myself to live again, letting in joy, loving my husband. Not expecting to not feel sadness when I see pregnant women, small babies or toddlers.
It means, loving myself, valuing myself, grabbing the life I have and enjoying it again with as much passion as possible!
What does acceptance mean to you?
Note from Lisa:
Jane P (UK) has been a long-time member of the Life Without Baby community. We really appreciate her writing this heartfelt guest post.
~ "a raw, transparent account of the gut-wrenching journey of infertility."
~ "a welcome sanity check for women left to wonder how society became so fixated on motherhood."
