Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Guest Post: Infertility Cuts Men Up Too

By Sheridan Voysey

Childlessness isn’t just a “female thing.” It cuts a man up too.

I know. I’ve felt it—felt each stinging cut.

For ten years my wife, Merryn, and I dreamed of starting a family. Our journey in pursuit of that dream included special diets, courses of fertility-boosting supplements, healing prayer, and chiropractic sessions (yes, chiropractic sessions—you’ll try anything). The journey included numerous rounds of costly IVF treatment, and a year of assessment as potential adoptive parents followed by an agonising two-year wait for our hoped-for adoptive child.

We pursued our dream with all the energy we had. But our dream never eventuated.

Exhausted from a decade in the wilderness of infertility, we brought our dream of a baby to an end on Christmas Day, 2010, after doctors had told us, just days before, that our final IVF round had been successful. They’d been wrong.

I feel the loss of that hoped-for child today. I feel it when I see a father tickling his giggling daughter, or as I watch a family celebrate the birthday of their teenage son, or as I see a proud father walk his radiant, veiled daughter down the aisle. I hear a little voice at these moments that says, “You’ll never have that,” followed by a jolting sense of injustice. “It’s just not fair,” the voice says, “when we tried so hard to have a child.”

Yes, infertility can cut a man up.

It cuts a man up in more ways than the loss of fatherhood, though. Having written a book about Merryn’s and my experience of starting again after infertility, and sharing our story through speaking, I regularly have men confidentially email or pull me aside at conferences to share feelings they rarely share. “I can’t talk about this to my friends,” one guy told me. “I have low sperm count. I can’t father a child. That’ll hardly impress my football buddies.” For many men this threatened masculinity is the most difficult aspect of infertility.

The lost opportunity of fatherhood. Threatened masculinity. Infertility can bring a third kind of pain to a man too—a pain born of empathy.

Try watching your wife’s bottom lip quiver as the doctor delivers the results of those first fertility tests. Watch the sadness grow in her eyes—a sadness that may last for years.

Watch your wife’s face contort in pain as the needle extracting the eggs for your first IVF round goes in. Watch as she later recovers from the trauma in shocked silence.

Watch your wife wait in hope for the results of the blood test—for the phone call with the good news that you pray for. Watch time and again as her hope falls to the floor.

Watch as she waits, and waits, and waits for the phone call from the adoption agency. Any day now it could come—the call to collect our child. But the call never comes.

Watch as she sits on the bed, a circle of tissues around her and her eyes rubbed red. Watch as she cries night after night. Feel her body shake as you hold her.

Watch as she enters an identity crisis, wondering if she’ll ever become the person—the mother—she longs to be.

And watch as she struggles with the faith that once sustained her. Watch as she wonders if the God she prays to cares. If he cared, surely he’d give her a family.

Watch all this—watch and try not to be cut up. When the one you love most suffers so much, how can your soul not be ripped to shreds?

Over three years have passed since my wife and I brought our quest for a child to an end. We’re in a different place now—we’ve started life again. And our story is helping others who need their own new beginning after a broken dream.

But please know this: childlessness isn’t just a “female thing.” Infertility cuts a man up too. In more ways than you may know.

 

Sheridan Voysey is a UK-based writer, speaker, and broadcaster. His latest book, Resurrection Year: Turning Broken Dreams into New Beginnings, chronicles his and his wife’s journey to start life afresh after ten years of infertility. Follow him on Twitter @sheridanvoysey, Facebook, and get his articles and podcasts at www.sheridanvoysey.com.

Our Stories: Heather

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Our Stories“When I was a little girl,” Heather says, “I always wanted to have a baby, just one.” But she was not able to be a mother, first by chance and later through choice when she chose to stop pursuing infertility treatments. Now 39, Heather and her husband are embracing their own Plan B, a childfree plan. Here’s her story.

LWB: Briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Heather: I had dreams of loving, caring, and teaching my child all about life. I wanted to be a mother who gave my child humor and memories, a mother who would support and enjoy my child’s journey in life.

LWB: What was the turning point for you?

Heather: After the last IVF, they called to tell me that my levels had turned low—meaning a miscarriage. I went upstairs into my bathroom, took everything from the IVF and bagged it up, took it to the trash, and told myself that enough was enough. I needed to get myself back.

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

Heather: Being excluded from my friend’s lives when they talk about their kids. Or being left out of the birthday parties because I don’t have kids, so they think that I won’t want to attend. (I buy the best gifts!)

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Heather: That I love my quiet time. That I don’t have the patience for kids around me all the time. I believe that there are places kids should not be—salons, swanky restaurants and bars, concerts—and I enjoy going there.

LWB: What’s one thing you want other people (moms, younger women, men, grandmothers, teachers, strangers) to know about your being childfree?

Heather: Just because I don’t have children of my own, doesn’t mean that I don’t “like” them. I am a great aunt, a great friend to young teens that my friends and family have. I want people to know that I wanted kids, it just was something that was not meant for me to do.

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

Heather: This question still bothers me. I usually just say “No, I don’t have kids.” If people would leave it at that…but most of the time they follow that with “Are you going to?” It depends on who asks and the situation itself, but my favorite answer is “No. Do you?” It usually takes them aback, and I smile deep down.

LWB: Who is your personal chero (a heroine who happens to be childfree)? What about her inspires you?

Heather: I read an article a couple months ago about stars who don’t have children. Cameron Diaz stated that she doesn’t have kids, and she has a great life because of that. It makes me happy, because my husband and I have a great life, we are free to do what we want, when we want. I lean on that when I feel bad for myself.

 

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

“Our Stories” is taking a short hiatus until September. If you’ve enjoyed reading the column and would like to add your voice to the conversation, we’d love to hear from you. Sharing your experience with others makes you realize you’re not alone, and your story could help someone who is struggling to feel heard.

Please visit the “Our Stories” page to find more about the column and get information about how to share your story. ♥

Whiny Wednesday

Whiny_WednesdayThanks to everyone who has contacted me with Whiny Wednesday post ideas. I have a good list now, but keep them coming. You can send topic ideas through the Contact page.

This week’s topic is another tender subject:

The constant struggle of feeling my life is imperfect because of not having children.


How do you feel about this? Has that feeling changed with the passing of time?

As always, the floor is open for any other whines and rants you need to get off your chest.

Whiny Wednesday

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

The baby shower!

A reader wrote:

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

After assuring her that she definitely was not alone in feeling this way, I thought I’d turn the topic over to you.

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

Our Stories: Lee

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Our StoriesLee is in a painful phase of her journey. She always wanted children, but was never able to conceive. Now 49, she describes her current feelings as somewhere “between sad and depressed.” Read on for more details, then, if you’ve been in her shoes and have made some progress toward acceptance of a life without children, please take a few minutes to offer her encouragement in the Comments.

LWB: Please briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Lee: I was the oldest of five children, and we had many foster children in our home over the years. I always knew I’d have children, most likely a combination of through birth and adoption.

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

Lee: By chance, I was never able to get pregnant. We [she’s married] did not pursue any fertility interventions.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Lee: I’d say I vary between sad and depressed, but resigned, angry, and attempting to embrace Plan B.

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

Lee: There are so many facets to the sadness I feel. Sometimes it is things like not getting to feel a child growing inside of me, never getting to take those lovely baby bump photos, not having a baby shower. At other times it is things like missing the chance to raise children the way I think is the best, breastfeeding, baby wearing, co-sleeping, teaching my children to be confident and independent, compassionate and caring.

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

Lee: I was never able to have children. I do have a foster daughter who started living with us when she was 17. She is now 25.

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

Lee: The freedom to get up and go whenever and wherever we want, not having to worry about children in this changing and often scary world.

LWB: What’s one thing you want other people (moms, younger women, men, grandmothers, teachers, strangers) to know about your being childfree?

Lee: The fact that I did not bear children does not mean that I do not have knowledge about children. I babysat from the time I was 13 years old, and I have spent 28 years as a pediatric physical therapist. I have a lot of knowledge to offer.

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

Lee: To get my house and life in order so that I can do my crafts and have people over without stressing over my house!

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

Our Stories: Justine

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Our StoriesSerious back problems (including surgeries and a year spent in a body cast) in her youth caused Justine to never be able to carry a pregnancy, so she didn’t think much about becoming a mother. Then the gestational surrogacy option became a media darling, and she started to think about new possibilities for creating a family. Justine and her husband endured two rounds of IVF, two transfers, and the loss of three potential babies. She’s 34 now. They have stopped all treatments, know that adoption is not an option, and are actively working to accept a childfree life together. Here’s some of her story.

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

Justine: Always fighting this feeling of not belonging. In every sense of the traditional woman my age, I will not belong because I am not a mother. However, I have learned that I will always belong, even when I do not feel I fit in, because that is my right and worthiness.

LWB: What’s the best advice you’ve received?

Justine: That I will always be a mother. I mother and parent my dogs. I mother and parent my clients as a therapist. I mother and parent all the children in my life. I just mother and parent in a different way, and in a lot of ways, I have a bigger audience than I would have if I’d had my own children. I also get to have different—not necessarily better, but just different—relationships with all of the children in my life because I am not their actual parent.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Justine: I’m a lot stronger and braver than I thought I was, especially in owning my story with courage.

LWB: What’s one thing you want other people (moms, younger women, men, grandmothers, teachers, strangers) to know about your being childfree?

Justine: I think a lot of times we are considered to be sad and bitter women, or people feel major pity for us. I think after we do our work of recovering from struggles we can actually have better and happier lives. It took major work to get to this side. My sad and bitter moments are few and far between, but I have to stay on top of my recovery.

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

Justine: I hit people with the truth and take the teaching moment. I usually say something to the effect that we tried to have our own children but can’t. I might say that we are learning to accept a childfree life, but we have a lot of children in our lives through our friends and family.

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

Justine: Continue my recovery, especially getting stronger in it. I will continue to work on my blog, Ever Upward [see below]. I hope that it can reach more and more women and continue to open up the conversation to the other side of infertility.

 

On Ever Upward, Justine shares more of her story and addresses how we can “really own” our own stories. Learn more about Justine—and about her upcoming book—here.

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

Our Stories: Kay

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Our StoriesAfter a first marriage to a man who was “never stable enough for us to have kids,” Kay* met her current husband when she was almost 42. They got busy trying to create their family, but three pregnancies were lost early, and adoption didn’t work (they weren’t against it, but the reasons it didn’t work were “complicated”). Now 52, Kay still struggles with being childfree by chance and circumstance. After reading her story below, I hope you’ll take a moment to offer her some encouragement in the Comments.

LWB: Please briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Kay: Oh, the Waltons. I wanted a big family with lots of children, maybe with foster kids as well.

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

Kay: My parents didn’t have a clue how to show love and fought a lot, and we children felt truly unloved and unwanted. From a very young age, all I wanted in life was to be a mama. That I will never have that is crushing. We are not close to any of our nieces and nephews. We have tried, but we live too far away from them to be very involved.

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

Kay: I don’t have to discover that I am just like my parents in parenting, in spite of my best intentions.

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

Kay: I really, really struggle with this because I so want/wanted to be a mama, and I want to relate to other people. Trying to explain, however, becomes complicated. I frequently get, “You could always just adopt,” which is a more complicated conversation. I’ve found it best to just answer, “No.”

LWB: What’s your Plan B?

Kay: I still very much want children in my life, and it doesn’t matter to me now that they won’t be my own. We unofficially mentored a family for a while. We called them our “Rent-a-Kids” and they liked that. But they moved away, so now I’m looking for something similar. I would like to find a way to connect “aged out” foster kids with people who would be family for them, to give them someone to care about them and a place to go for holidays and other momentous occasions. I don’t quite know how to get this started, but I’ve recently come across a couple of possibilities.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Kay: I still struggle with hearing pregnancy announcements, and frequently give a big sigh when I read stuff on Facebook about friends’ kids/grandkids or their parenting stuff. Early on I told myself, “This is not how your life will turn out. You will not have this.” It was an attempt to work for acceptance, but I eventually gave it up as it was turning into a self-pitying whine instead of acceptance. Sometimes I’m angry, more often I’m wistful. I frequently quote Agatha Christie: “Life is badly arranged.”

 

*To protect respondents’ privacy, we allow each to choose a name for her profile. It may or may not be fictitious.

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

Creating an Ending After Infertility

journalingRecently, a member of the Road Map to Healing program said she’d had an idea to write a letter to the child she never had, and she asked if I thought it was crazy.

Here’s what I told her (edited slightly to maintain her anonymity):

“Writing a letter isn’t crazy at all. One of the things that makes infertility grief so unique is that there is seldom a finite end to the journey. There’s almost always some option still open and the loss is more of a gradual moving away from the dream, rather than a sudden end. It makes it really hard to acknowledge the end and grieve that loss.

Doing something tangible, such as writing a letter, creates a kind of marker that says, “this is the end.” And the other ladies [in the program] are absolutely right about not being silent. If you need to find a time to be alone, close the door to your room, and just let it all out, do it. It’s exhausting, but it’s amazing how much grief you can purge with a good cry.”

I told her I would write a post on this topic so that you could share your experiences with creating an end to something that has none. So here it is.

In order to start moving on with your healing process, did you need to create an ending with something symbolic and meaningful to you? Please share any “crazy” ideas that helped you find a stopping place and begin coming to terms with your life without children.

Also, a new session of Road Map to Healing begins February 5th. There’s no cost to join the program, however I will be offering some additional opportunities to join support calls as well as work one-on-one with me. You can find out all about it here.

 

 

A New Life, Without Children

If you could wave magic wand or be given the secret elixir that would give you a baby tomorrow, would you do it?

For many of you, I know the answer would be a resounding yes. And it would have been for me, too, once. When I was in the thick of trying to have to a baby, and for a long time after we stopped trying and starting trying to come to terms with the idea of not having children, magically having a baby was the thing I usually wished for whenever I blew out birthday candles, broke a wishbone, or had some other imaginary chance to get exactly what I wanted.

But here I am now, a few years removed from that time and my desires have changed. It’s been a long, bumpy journey of acceptance, of coming-to-terms, and of finally making peace. And now I find myself making plans for a future that children won’t easily fit into.

There are some who’ll say that I can’t have really wanted children that much in the first place if I feel this way. These are the same kinds of people who implied that my widowed mother couldn’t have cared as much for her late-husband as they did for theirs because she went on to find love again. What those people don’t seem to grasp is that part of healing, part of moving on, is taking the life you have and shaping it into the best it can be. If that means falling in love and marrying again, that takes nothing away from the first, lost love. And if it means building a full and happy life that doesn’t include children, that in no way diminishes the original desire and the subsequent loss.

Recovering from loss isn’t about dragging the weight of what’s missing around with you forever. It’s about finding a place in your heart for what was lost and building a new life new around it.

For me, the fact that my plans no longer have room for children of my own signifies that I’m making excellent progress down that road of recovery.

Whiny Wednesday: Water Baby

This post was originally published on January 25, 2012.

My water cooler has sprung a leak. I put a black plastic bowl underneath to catch the drips.

The next morning the water had formed a perfect sonogram-like fetus-shaped pool.

I hate that something so stupid can still cause such a sharp reaction in me, and that I’m still thinking about that peanut shape days later.

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What’s making you want to kick something today?

P.S. The following day, the “water baby” had changed into a heart. Interpret that as you will.