Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

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.

It Got Me Thinking…About the Slights We Endure

Last fall, my husband and I spent our hard-earned vacation time at a couple of popular amusement parks, taking in shows, attractions, foods and beverages not on our usual healthy meal plans, and rides. Due to an old injury (I’m fine), I couldn’t go on any of the tossing and twisting, dropping and diving, violently fun thrill rides, and I was okay with that. I enjoyed people-watching and reading a good book while my husband took advantage of my pass to experience all those rides twice then come back and give me a play-by-play.

After one such ride, he all but sprinted back to me. “I’ve found a ride for you!”

As he led me across the park to the place he had spotted, he gushed, “It looks perfect for you! It’s like riding a giant swing. It sways slowly as you ride over the park and take in all the amazing views, and I know you are going to love it!”

My anticipation and excitement grew as we waited patiently in the long line alongside families with young children. And then it all came to a screeching, sickening halt. For at the boarding site there was a huge sign that proclaimed:

I’m sorry: What?!

“I HATE this fudging place!” (Um, okay, I didn’t say fudging. It was not my finest moment.)

My husband trailed behind me as I stomped off. “Maybe you could borrow a kid?” he suggested, his own disappointment on my behalf evident in his tone. I gave him a glare that could melt a glacier, and I swear some of those parents in line pulled their children closer.

Even as I write this, months after it happened, my blood continues to boil. Why wasn’t I allowed on this ride? Why couldn’t I have had just a few minutes of childlike glee? Why must so many fun things be the exclusive right of kids and their parents? Why me?!?

I don’t have answers—or I don’t have answers that fully satisfy me. I am certain that the slights we childless women endure are not all intentional, while I am also certain that they feel like they come in wave after crashing wave.

I want to give you a happy or encouraging ending, or some wise insight, but I don’t have it in me. I still had a good vacation. I enjoyed the playtime with my husband, I enjoyed many of the other experiences the parks had to offer. But the slight still hurts, and it makes me want to hit someone, specifically the doofus who came up with the “must be accompanied by a child” rule.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is occasionally not at all at peace with her childlessness.

Being a Second Wife: It’s Complicated

Good morning! This is a bonus post for today as I wanted to share a story with you.

Our own Kathleen Guthrie Woods has just had her essay “Rebecca” published in Full Grown People, an online magazine for “The Other Awkward Age.” It’s a beautiful piece about stepping with grace and dignity into the shoes of a beloved—and deceased—first wife. It’s particular poignant in the way it deals with the shared heartbreak of infertility. I encourage you to hop over and give it a read.

Kathleen has been the backbone of Life Without Baby since it’s earliest days, and I am so grateful to her for helping to keep this site running for going on eight years! Please help me support her amazing work by checking out her beautiful story and giving it a share on your social media sites.

In the meantime, enjoy reading “Rebecca.”

How Time Moves Differently When You Don’t Have Children

By Lisa Manterfield

I do hope this isn’t simply a factor of aging, but lately I seem to have lost my ability to keep track of time. I was always so good at remembering things like how many years ago we visited such-and-such a place, or where we spent Christmas four years ago. But the last several years of my life have suddenly blurred into one big event. I can no longer accurately mark time.

Over lunch with a friend recently, we talked about her daughter and both expressed shock that she is already 16. How the years fly! We talked about another friend who has since moved away and how vividly we remember going to see her new baby so many years ago. I realized that I have no idea how old this little boy is now. I guessed he was probably somewhere around 10 or 12, but my friend knew exactly. “He’s two years younger than my daughter. He’ll be 14 in March.” I felt guilty that I didn’t remember that.

Walking home after lunch, it dawned on me that my time amnesia might have a lot to do with not having children. My friend is reminded on a daily basis of how old her children are. She marks the passing of time with birthday parties, school grades, and childhood milestones. She knows how long ago something happened, because she knows how old her kids were, or what grade they were in at the time. She knows how old our friend’s son is because she remembers where she was on her motherhood path when our friend was pregnant. I don’t have that marker and so I have to try to fill in the gaps with other events, or news headlines to mark time in my memory. But unless something significant happened, I don’t have those milestones to grasp onto.

Without children to mark time and propel my life forward, I can see how easy it could be to drift through the years. Children create milestones and new direction and, while I’m not in any danger of falling into a rut yet, I can see how easily my life could lose direction.

Maybe I’ve just hit by a patch of melancholy again, so does anyone else see this? Do any of you feel as if your life is drifting by?

Our Stories: Teresa

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Oh, how I want to offer you HOPE as we embark on fresh starts in this new year! I want to tell you everything will be okay, that you will be happy again, that everything will work out for the best.

But here at Life Without Baby, we’re about being real, and sometimes reality sucks. Some days we feel numb from our losses and grief, or we feel that our partners would be better off without us (because we’ve “let them down”), or we give up on ever experiencing any kind of miracle.

Teresa articulates these raw truths so well. At 34, married to a “wonderfully loving and strong husband”, she is struggling to come to terms with the end of her dream of motherhood. She’s also got some ideas about how she might start healing and moving forward in life.

Here’s her story.

LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.

Teresa: At first, my dream of motherhood was to make reparations for the parents I had, I wanted to be a better parent than my own. I wanted to build children that would step into the world as self-assured, confident, wacky, loving individuals. My children were named, spoken of, talked about. We’d send them to this school, or that school. We’d introduce them to this or that; we’d teach them this or that. Our nonexistent children were loved in every way.

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

Teresa: I am childless by circumstance. Even though my husband and I knew I had PCOS [polycystic ovary syndrome], I thoroughly believed that I would get pregnant. I thought the medications and procedures would work for me, and we both thought kids were in our future. A few months ago, we chose to stop fertility treatments. We were not interested in IVF [in vitro fertilization], and the doctors told us that my body was not responding to anything else. There was nothing more they could do for us.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Teresa: I am numb. My little sister will bring the first grandchild into my side of the family early in 2018. My heart and soul jump with joy for her, but at the same time, they battle the sadness that strikes me to my core. I thought the treatments would work, and when I visited her in the spring to see my new nephew, I would be able to share that my own baby is on his or her way. This is no longer the case. I do not understand why this is my path. I have given up on God. There will be no miracle, just this emptiness. I need to find a new purpose; the only thing I ever wanted will not come to pass. I am directionless.

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

Teresa: The knowledge that I am disappointing my husband. Now, this isn’t how it really is, but it is how I feel. He frequently repeats that he loves our life together. He is here for me. What he doesn’t realize is that I watch him when he cares for his sister’s children. I watch him around babies, toddlers, with kids in junior high. He’s amazing. He would be a perfectly imperfect dad. I am unable to give him this.

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

Teresa: A long time ago, I decided to stop skirting the issue. Infertility is often taboo because it has to deal with sex and emotions. No one knows what to say or how to act when they speak with an infertile couple. People feel uncomfortable when I say “My husband and I cannot have kids.” As soon as those words come out, people feel like assholes to have asked a question that is none of their business. In my feeble attempt to raise awareness, I am honest. Hopefully, one day, we’ll all be able to have a real conversation about it and acknowledge that infertility is a tremendous loss.

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

Teresa: It’s going to hurt for a long time. You’ll find that as you age, you won’t fit into a group anywhere. You don’t fit in with parents with kids. You don’t fit in with 20-somethings. You’ll find that a lot of your friends are retirees. You’ll hang out with elderly people, especially if you live in small towns. Your family will not know what to say or do.

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

Teresa: That my husband and I can heal together. He has been my rock, but I find myself pushing him away because I do not want him to be beholden to me. He can have children and should leave me and find a woman who can give him what he wants. My other hope is to stop all this silly thinking and embrace my wonderfully loving and strong husband.

LWB: How are you moving forward?

Teresa: I looked into my partner’s eyes. I wrapped his love around me. I breathed him in and asked him to never let go. I fight with myself daily over whether or not I should just leave him, give him the “out.” But he loves me, and he can handle this. So I let him love me, no matter how difficult.

Someone once told me to collect moments of joy. Everyone gets sad. Remember to count the moments of joy because they do come along. Then, after all the crying and disbelief, for a brief moment, your heart will be full. Hold on to that feeling because it will have to last you through the desert.

 

Won’t you share your story with us? The act of answering the questions itself can be very healing, plus we’d like to support you by telling you “You are not alone.” Please visit the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with her childlessness.

Whiny Wednesday: The Dreaded OB/GYN Office


As I settle into the New Year, I’m thinking about my upcoming (and some overdue) health check-ups—teeth, eyes, and, of course, the annual visit to my OB/GYN. The latter prompted this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

OB/GYN office walls plastered with baby photos

Given that this is so often the first of many stops on the fertility trail, and given that so many of us don’t have children, but wanted them, doesn’t this seem a tad insensitive?

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

The Importance of Asking for Help


“Ancora imparo. [I am still learning.]”

― Michelangelo, at age 87 in 1562

I am still learning. And thank goodness, too. If all I had to go on for the rest of my life was all I know now, I think I’d be in a lot of trouble down the road. That’s the beauty of age, experience, and wisdom, I suppose. It takes life experience to gain knowledge, and life experience only comes with checking off the years.

A couple of years ago, I learned an important lesson that I wish I’d learned much sooner. I learned to ask for help.

A while back, I was working through where I wanted to take this site, while trying to keep my freelance writing jobs going, and thinking about the novel I was supposed to be writing. I was trying to write blog posts, maintain the website, fix tech issues, run a workshop, and keep a marriage ticking along. Finally, I threw up my hands and said what equated to, “I can’t do this all by myself, so I’m not going to do any of it.” I really was ready to throw in the towel.

Fortunately I have a wise group of peers and an amazing mentor who talked me through my angst and convinced me to ask for help. I found an assistant to help with the blog and found a web designer to take care of the site properly. Their help freed me up to do the work I really wanted to do, which is writing posts and developing this community. What’s more, the other work got done quicker and better than if I’d struggled along as usual trying to figure it all out for myself.

The experience gave me pause and caused me to look back at my past and take a close look at myself. Turns out I have never been a person who asks for help. It’s not so much pride that stops me from asking, but more a sense of toughness. “I can do this on my own. I don’t need help.” Now I’m writing it here, it sounds an awful lot like stubbornness, but there you go.

I was also tough (or stubborn) when I was going through the grinder of infertility and later, when I was trying to figure out how to ever make peace with my situation. I never asked for help, even though I needed it. In part I believed it was pointless to ask for help because no one else could really understand what I was going through. I also didn’t want to upset people I knew and cared about, and I didn’t want to put myself in the position of comforting them.

In hindsight, I wish I’d asked for help. I wish I’d taking the chance of confiding in a friend. I wish I’d thought to look for a support group or hired the professional help of a therapist. I would have arrived at my place of peace a lot sooner than I did. But hindsight is 20/20 as they say, and I hadn’t yet learned the value of asking for help.

How about you? Have you asked for help? If so, where have you found it?