filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
It’s the sister who every time she sees you asks, “So are you…?” The aunt who asks at every big holiday gathering, “When are you going to…?” Or the mother-in-law who passive-aggressively wonders out loud when “someone” is going to make her a grandmother. You know,
That one relative who just can’t let it go.
Got one? Tell us about him or her, then tell us what you’d like to say back.
By Lisa Manterfield
I’ve run this post several times over the years, but it remains one of the hottest topics and the question I’m most often often asked. If you’ve been a reader for while, think of this as a chance to look back and see how far you’ve come.
The question is: is it possible to ever get over being unable to have children?
I can’t see far enough ahead to know for sure if infertility and being childless is something I will ever “get over,” but based on another life-changing experience, here’s what I think:
When I was 15, my dad passed away suddenly and everything changed for me. I remember feeling immediately alienated from the other kids in school because I was no longer like them. I felt as if everyone was staring at me to see how I behaved, to see what someone with a dead dad looked like. People didn’t know what to say me, so many just said nothing. Several adults said variations of “This will make you grow up quickly” so I took them at their word and forged a new grown-up path.
For many years, my dad’s death defined me and I saw everything in my life through that filter. I felt angry and rebelled against people who had living parents, especially if they didn’t appreciate them. Unexpected things would trigger my grief and those old emotions would come at me from nowhere.
Over time, this eased. I went about my life and slowly, the fact that I didn’t have a dad no longer factored in. The trigger situations became less frequent and I thought about his death less and less.
It’s now been 30 years since he passed away. His death no longer directly colors my life. It is something I experienced a long time ago and found my way through. I think about him sometimes, but mostly with fondness and only occasionally do I think about the traumatic time around his death.
I have never forgotten my dad, nor will I ever forget him. His memory and my loss are woven into the fabric of my being, but don’t identify me as someone who has lost. I can say that I am “over” the loss of my dad, but I will never forget that he’s no longer here.
So, now if I go back over this story and replace the loss of my father with the loss of the children I never had, I imagine the story will unfold in much the same way. I’m already on the road to healing. Situations that cause my grief to flare up are very rare these days and the traumatic period of my life is blending into my library of memories. I am well on the way to being “over” infertility and the loss I experienced because of it, but it will always be a part of who I am and I don’t expect I will ever forget.
If you’re struggling to navigate the “getting over it” road, you’ll find lots of help and ideas in Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen.
It’s on sale, along with my first book, I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No to Motherhood, for only $2.99 until the end of March.
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.
A TIME magazine cover story awhile ago, “The Childfree Life,” came with an image of an attractive (and color-coordinated) couple lounging on a tropical, white sand beach, seemingly without a care in the world, resplendent in their designer sunglasses. That image prompted this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:
The assumption that if you don’t have kids you have money to burn
Whine away, my friends.
Spring is springing this week, and I am filled with optimism. I’m ready for flowers to bloom, ducklings to hatch, and sunny days to warm my feet. I can’t help myself; this is how I’m wired. I am a hope-full person, one who looks for the best in people and wants the best for people.
I feel this way despite several years of experience to the contrary. We who are part of the LWB community are well aware of the dark side of hope, the promises that kept us pursuing the Plan A lives we wanted for longer, perhaps, than was healthy. We’ve seen the cold, harsh reality as good people were not gifted with good outcomes, and vice versa. We’ve seen the fallout of crushed dreams and expectations.
And yet…
And yet…
In a few weeks, a beautiful young woman from Los Angeles is going to marry a real-live prince. I don’t know Meghan Markle personally, but I’m as excited and hopeful for her as if she were a dear friend. I hope her dress is so perfect it brings me to tears. I’m eager to see her groom beam with pride and joy when he first sees her coming down the aisle to him. I desperately want them to live happily ever after.
I’ve invited a few girlfriends to join me in pajamas and plastic tiaras to watch the festivities in the wee hours of May 19th. As we watch the glamorous and notable guests arrive, maybe we’ll paint our nails pale pink, in keeping with royal tradition. We’re sure to ooh and ahh and giggle over the fashions and fascinators. I am planning to serve scones and champagne, so after the vows are exchanged, we’ll offer a toast to the newlyweds.
I wish for Ms. Markle and Prince Henry that they have a long and happy life together. If they face challenges, may they face them together. If they want children, may they have them without struggles.
Because even if I didn’t quite get my fairy tale ending, I still hope others get theirs. That’s right, I’m still optimistic, even after everything I’ve endured, and I think that’s something to celebrate.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with being childless.
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?
“I’m pregnant!” my friend gleefully announces.
And I think, Well, f*ck me six ways to Sunday, but I instead I jump up and embrace her and say, “Congratulations!!! I am so happy for you!”
Yup, another one has gone over to the Dark Side. My playmate, my buddy, my date for tea and chick-flicks will soon switch discussion topics from the last great novel she read to the merits of cloth versus disposable diapers and the challenges of getting into the “right” preschool/private school/ballet studio. While I bravely continue to pursue political movements, investing options, and the hottest new tapas restaurant this side of the Bay, she’ll be focusing on PTA politics, college funds, and how to get her kid to eat green vegetables.
Before long, the excuses for missing lunch dates (sick baby, sick kid, soccer games) will grow tiresome. She’ll kindly include me in the first few get-togethers with her new friends from the mommies group. I’ll make polite conversation when I’m invited to baby showers and first birthday parties. But eventually I’ll get lost in the mist as she gets sucked into more and more “family” events and senses how much more she has in common with the other reproducers. “Whatever happened to your friend Kathy?” they might ask. “Oh, she never had kids.” “Ohhh,” they will say knowingly. Or so I imagine. This is worse than being the last kid picked for teams. This is being told you can’t even play the game, but if you want, you can watch from the bleachers.
And I’m pissed. But mostly I’m lonely. It’s really, really hard to make new friends when you’re over the age of 40 (and don’t have kids who make making those regular interactions easier). You have to make a determined effort to get out, try new classes, start new groups, and hope to find a connection. It’s not unlike dating, and it can be really exciting, but mostly scary and discouraging. But you carry on, remembering the closeness you once shared with old friends who, over time, could read your thoughts and finish your sentences.
Within the first three years after I moved to my current home city, several of the women who I thought could become part of my new posse became first-time mothers. I didn’t know they were trying; we hadn’t known each other that long, so the topic never came up. A couple had been trying for years, and became pregnant shortly after meeting me. Lisa (our LWB Lisa) found this hilarious and suggested I offer myself out as a fertility icon: Become friends with me, and you’ll be knocked up within 3 months—guaranteed!
After the fourth announcement, I broke down and told my husband how crushed I was, how broken-hearted, how devastating this was to my developing social life. He laughed at me, pointing out how ridiculous I sounded for getting so overly dramatic and self-pitying. And he’s right. Because, really, I was happy for my friends.
But for a short while, I need to lose my perspective and my sense of humor, wallow in self-pity, mourn the loss of my friend, and spend some time on my own Dark Side. Because underneath my happiness for her, I still hurt for myself.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods recently signed up for a 6:00 am Pilates class. She’s hoping to meet other working non-moms there.
A friend of mine went through infertility hell a few years ago. When we learned of one another’s journeys, we were both glad to have an empathetic shoulder to lean on.
Then she became a mother, and developed infertility amnesia.
I’m not begrudging her the celebrations, the constant Facebook posts, or the incessant parenting talk. I get it; I’m sure I’d do the same in her situation. But the final straw came last week.
A group of us gets together about once a year and we’re starting to plan for this year. We usually go out for dinner, or bowling, or drinks and dancing. Several of us in the group don’t have children and those who do are always glad for a childfree night of adult fun.
This year, the new mom suggested we change things up and do something family-oriented and include the kids. “Maybe a beach picnic or Disneyland.” I kid you not.
Thankfully one of the other parents shot the idea down, but I had to wonder how she would have felt five years ago, in the thick of her infertility hell, if someone had made this same suggestion.
She would have felt excluded and she would have been upset. Which is just how I felt when I got her email.
Today is Whiny Wednesday. Who or what has done you wrong this week?
By Lisa Manterfield
I try not to drag regrets around with me. It doesn’t help to dwell on how things might have turned out differently when it’s too late to do anything about it. But sometimes, there are things I wish I’d known before I’d hung my heart on the idea of having children.
I wish I’d know how common fertility issues are.
I wish I’d known what questions to ask at the very start of our journey.
I wish I’d known where to find real support.
I wish I’d known how valuable that support, once I found it, would be.
I wish I’d had a wise mentor to help me see logic when my poor emotionally-addled brain couldn’t make sense of anything.
I wish we had talked more about how long we’d try, how far we’d go, and what we would do if it didn’t happen for us.
And I wish I’d known that we would be okay as a family of two.
What do you wish you’d known before the start of your journey?
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.
~ "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."
