Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Locked Out of the Mommy Clubhouse

During August, as I enjoy some travel time, I’m sharing some of my favorite and your favorite posts from the past year. I’ll look forward to seeing you again in September. ~Lisa 

Today’s post was originally run on 7/5/12

 

lockBy Maybe Lady Liz

Last week, I texted one of my girlfriends, trying to throw together a last minute Sunday night dinner with her and her husband. When she responded that they already had dinner plans with two of our other friends, but that we were “welcome to tag along”, I was a little taken aback. I couldn’t imagine why we hadn’t been included in the first place, until later that night when I saw some inside joke exchanges on Facebook about chromosomes. My girlfriend was newly pregnant, and I realized she’d reached out to the other pregnant woman in our group, because she wanted to spend time with someone who was going through the same experience.

It was my first glimpse of being locked out of the Mommy Clubhouse. Up until now, it had always been the other way around. My group was still very active, going out every weekend, and the first person to get pregnant in our group had been the one left at home. Now that more and more of them are starting to have babies, I’m realizing that my husband and I may be the ones left home alone while everyone else attends each other’s kids’ birthday parties, mommy yoga classes or family-friendly barbeques.

Parents seem to have this glamorized picture of the Childfree as partying every weekend night till the wee hours of the morning and then sleeping off our hangovers all day long on Sunday. Admittedly, part of the reason they have this image is because it’s the one being loudly and proudly portrayed on the Childfree blogs and forums. But that’s not really what I’m after. All I want is to be able to spend time with my friends. If that means tame dinners in, or board game nights in lieu of clubbing, I’m all for it. It just hadn’t occurred to me until last week that we might be excluded because they think we don’t want to give up the bar scene. Or worse, that we no longer fit in.

I don’t begrudge my friends the lack of an invite to their dinner. They’re sharing a life-altering experience together and some bonding is bound to take place that we can’t really participate in. And of course, it’s only natural that certain members of a group have smaller gatherings from time to time – everyone can’t be invited to everything. What scared me was not knowing if this was a one-off, or just the tip of the lonely weekend iceberg.

Maybe Lady Liz is blogging her way through the decision of whether to create her own Cheerio-encrusted ankle-biters, or remain Childfree. You can follow her through the ups and downs at http://www.MaybeBabyMaybeNot.com.

New “Finding Peace” Mentorship Program Starts May 21st

Japanese Tearoom 2A new session of the “Finding Peace” Mentorship Program begins May 21st. This is the third session of this program and past participants have found incredible support through working with an intimate group of peers and having a safe space to discuss issues that most of our friends and family can’t even begin to understand.

Registration is open now and you can take advantage of early bird pricing by signing up by next Friday, May 17th.

Over the eight weeks of the program, you will:

  • Acknowledge your loss and learn techniques to deal with grief
  • Create ways to work through, not avoid, emotions
  • Gain tools to deal with issues of family, friends, coworkers, and even strangers
  • Find a way to move through this difficult transition and into a new and fulfilling life, even it’s one that doesn’t include children
  • Meet other women who understand you and get ongoing support from a sympathetic group of peers in a safe and protected environment
  • Be guided by a compassionate mentor who’s already walked plenty of miles in your shoes and speaks your language (that’s me!)

You might be surprised to learn that we even find room for laughter in these workshop and support sessions. It’s one of the many perks of sharing even the most difficult experience with people who’ve been there, too.

You can find all the details and registration information here.

Mother’s Day

heart-pixabayNext Sunday is Mother’s Day, the day that used to be all about showing appreciation to one’s own mother, but which has now become a giant mom-fest, celebrating the glory of motherhood for all mothers, and everyone’s supposed to get on board.

Well, not me. And not because I’m a bitter, jaded, non-mom, either!

Even before I had any clue that I would never become a much-lauded mother, I thought this universal celebration of motherhood was odd, kind of like celebrating a loved one’s birthday by saying “Happy Birthday!” to every stranger on the street. Surely the point of Mother’s Day was to acknowledge my mum, thank her for being a good mother, and treat her to something she’d appreciate? (Such as three bags of compost, delivered to her back garden, which is what she prefers over flowers that eventually die; she’s such the pragmatist.)

During the “infertility years” Mother’s Day was a nightmare. It felt like, for an entire month, the world was making a point of highlighting what I didn’t have, who I wasn’t, and what I would never be. When people wished me a happy Mother’s Day I wouldn’t know what to say. I’d just stare at them open mouthed, while in my head I was thinking, “Happy? What’s to be happy about? You have no idea the hurt and sadness you’ve inadvertently caused me and I have no way to make you understand.”

I think the low point of that period had to be the year Mr. Fab and I unwittingly tumbled out of bed and shuffled around the corner for breakfast at our local cafe. The servers were handing out roses to all the mothers there. When our server asked me if we had children, I shook my head. “Oh,” she said, and walked away with my rose. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so utterly desolate and ostracized in my life. After that episode, we made a point of only eating at home on Mother’s Day.

I know I’m lucky that I get to avoid all the hoopla because my mother and siblings live in a country that celebrates in a different month. I also know that many of you will be forced to go out to family events and celebrations, and put on a big smile, because the day is “about mom, not about you.”

If you need a little moral support and a plan of action to face next Sunday, please take a look at the Dealing With Social Landmines eBook. You’ll see it there on the right-hand sidebar or you can download it here.

If you’re struggling with moving on, or if you feel the need to commune with other non-moms this week, please join me tomorrow for a free video workshop, Letting Go of the Dream of Motherhood. I’ll be tackling the subject of knowing when to let go, and taking the first steps. You’ll also have the opportunity to chat with me, ask questions, and meet fellow blog readers. Even if you can’t make it live, the workshop recording will be sent out the following day so you can watch on your own time.

For now, I wish you strength this week and hope you’ll make certain to be good to yourself, too.

Whiny Wednesday: Equality

Whiny_WednesdayI don’t usually get political on this blog, but the recent Marriage Equality discussions have been pushing my buttons. I am strongly pro-gay marriage and am often dumbfounded by the arguments cited by opponents.

 

One morning last week, I heard someone on the radio saying (and I’m paraphrasing) that the constitution supported equality for like situations, and gay marriage and heterosexual marriage could never be equal because of the inability for gay couples to reproduce.

 

This pushes two of my buttons:

 

1)   As part of a straight couple who cannot reproduce, I take extreme exception to this suggestion that a marriage is only acceptable when it produces children.

2)   I know several gay couples who have reproduced via sperm donor, surrogate, or adoption. Is this person then suggesting that any marriage—gay or straight—that doesn’t produce children “naturally” falls into the category of unacceptable? Surely not.

 

It’s Whiny Wednesday. I’m on fire this week. What’s pushing your buttons?

Hunting for the Old Me

thoughtsI’m doing really well at being at peace with not having children. But some days the darkness comes over me. Do you know what I mean?

Ordinarily, the darkness is a tiny ball. I carry it around with me wherever I go, and usually it’s safely tucked away and I don’t even notice it. Then something happens to flip the lid and suddenly the darkness has crept into every open space within me.

I’m tired of carrying the darkness around and I’m ready to let it go. I don’t want to feel bitter or sad about not having children, because honestly, I’m okay. But sometimes I can’t remember who I am any more. When I look in the mirror I don’t see me. I see a woman who looks tired and overweight, and very, very serious about life. She doesn’t laugh easily or live with abandon, like the real me used to. She’s cautious and unwilling to let herself go. She feels like a square peg in a world full of round holes and it’s lonely sometimes.

Our experiences make us who we are, but what happens to who we were? In a universe where energy remains constant, the old me — the laughing, carefree joyous me — must still be around. I catch glimpses of her sometimes, and like a huntress, I follow her into the woods. And yet, so often, she manages to evade me.

So, all I can do is be patient, keep an eye on her and keep moving towards her. I know she still exists, and one day, if I keep hunting her, I know I’ll catch up with her again. Then maybe we can stand together again and let the darkness go.

It Got Me Thinking…About Parental Complaints

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“I have to spend all day Saturday at soccer games. Gag!”

“I hate wasting weekends at my kid’s swim meets.”

“Wanna trade places with me?”

I’ve heard every variation of the above from friends who for whatever reason think it’s okay to complain to me about the “burdens” of being a parent. My responses have ranged from “Sounds like fun to me!” to “Dogs are so the way to go.” to “I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

I don’t use that last one very often because it pretty much shuts down the conversation, but when I do, I hope it makes them think. It’s bad enough that this person is complaining about something s/he had to know about before signing up for the whole parental gig, and don’t even get me started if this ding-dong complains in front of their sweet child. Most of all, I wish they’d think for a moment about their chosen audience: childfree-not-by-choice woman who loves kids.

I loved playing sports as a kid, I was thrilled when my parents were on the sidelines cheering me on, I have great memories of those years, and I looked forward to the day when I could create similar memories with children of my own. Girl Scout leader, Team Mom, 3rd base coach—I woulda been all over it!

Maybe I don’t understand because I’m not a busy mom, but I do understand how much it hurts to be on the receiving end of a busy mom’s thoughtless complaints.

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

You’re Not Alone: Communication

By Robin

Communication.

It’s an enormous word, or at least its impact is. What a difference communicating makes. It opens up an entire world of reality. It lets people in. This is one of the reasons some people choose not to communicate. Sometimes it’s so much easier to assume than actually go through the process of finding something out. This is something I am guilty of.

After my most recent miscarriage, I pushed my husband away.  I was in so much pain and didn’t know what to do. I had lost hope and wasn’t sure if I’d ever get it back. At one point my husband and I sat down and told each other that, with my outlook (all hope is lost) and his outlook (we can try again when we’re ready), we were wearing on one another. Neither of us could take much more of the opposite. With this said between us I stopped communicating with him. I didn’t want to cause him pain because I was in enough of it for both of us. I was also in fear that he would leave (even though he NEVER gave me a reason to think that.) It wasn’t until I realized by NOT communicating I was making things worse that I decided to try communicating how I felt and tell my husband what he could do for me while I was hurting. First I had to figure out how I felt and what I needed, but then I had to communicate it to the person I wanted and needed.

When I chose to communicate, a world of happiness followed. I realized I had assumed most things wrong. Even the few things I may have assumed correctly weren’t nearly as awful as I’d thought, and most made more sense with a little explanation. My husband told me the reasons behind why he had the outlook he had (way more positive and filled with hope than I could ever muster right after losing my baby) and that he wanted to take away my pain, “fix it”, because he loved me. He reminded me that we don’t get this time back and he wants to enjoy every moment of our life together with or without a baby in it. I realized he can see his future with or without a baby and, even though he’ll be happier with one, he’ll be ok either way. I, on the other hand, still can’t bring myself to seeing a future without one. (Note to self: I need to work on this, just in case.) I needed my husband to remind me we’re in this together, whatever “this” ends up being.

Communication has brought my husband and me closer. It brings us all closer to those we communicate with. It brought back happiness in my life and relationships. Things that used to bother me aren’t as important anymore. They aren’t worth being bothered over. I’ve never been happier I communicated my feelings and what I needed. First I had to figure those two things out which is a struggle of it’s own. BUT when you figure out what you need and how you feel, I highly recommend communicating and sharing those things with the people around you. The people you feel the safest with and know and love you. Also share with them how you need them to respond or not respond to the way you feel. Sometimes all you need is a listening ear and not a solution. Many times the people who care about you want to help you any way they can. I needed to tell my husband there wasn’t a solution to keep me from grieving. I just needed to stop running and feel these emotions right now in order to get through them. I had to let him know all I needed from him was a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. Communication is a wonderful thing and I hope you, too, find happiness or peace through it.

I wish I had realized the importance of communication sooner because since I communicated with my husband, and he with me, we have felt as close to each other as we did when we were newlyweds. We haven’t felt this way for years. I know my grieving isn’t over and who knows what feelings will come when/if we try again or decide we’re through and begin our own life without baby adventure. What I do know is that if we continue to communicate openly and honestly we will be much happier and most likely see the next 10+ years together.

 

About Robin: I live in New Hampshire with my husband of 10 years and our 4 year old dog, Samuel Adams, aka Sam. We have been trying to conceive through IVF for a little over 2 years. We’ve been through 6 cycles resulting in 3 failed attempts along with 1 ectopic pregnancy and 2 miscarriages. We are currently taking a break after our last miscarriage in August 2012. We are taking things a day at a time and trying to reconnect before making a decision whether or not to try again in the New Year. If you’d like to follow my blog as I write about our journey, come check it out at www.miraclesinwaiting.com.

 

Editor’s Note: If you’d like to see your story in “You’re Not Alone,” check out our Guidelines for how to submit.

It Got Me Thinking….About A New Year’s Chero

Girl ThinkingBy Kathleen Guthrie Woods 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A toast to wonderful new beginnings and a world of possibilities!

As a kid growing up in Southern California, I was obsessed with the Tournament of Roses Parade that took place every New Year’s Day. My family secured seats in the bleachers one year, and my college roommates and I sat in the front row when our UCLA Bruins played in (and won) the Rose Bowl, but most years the tradition was to stay in pajamas, cuddle up in blankets, and eat breakfast in front of the TV. I loved the princesses (I’m practicing the wave right now), the horses that marched and pranced, the beautiful, flower-covered floats.

That’s why I couldn’t wait to see what the float designers would do with this year’s theme: “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!” It was inspired by Dr. Seuss’ book of the same name. Dr. Seuss, the clever, imaginative, silly, and prolific creator of classics such as The Cat in the Hat and Green Eggs and Ham. Did you know he and his wife were childfree? That’s right. One of the most beloved storytellers of all time has entertained millions of children, but never had one of his own. We celebrated what would have been his 108th birthday last March with one of our chero (heroes who are childfree) profiles. Read it here.

I don’t know where this year will take me. I hope there will be more ups than downs. I hope to create more joy in my life. I hope that I will become more at peace with my childfree status. I know, wherever my path leads, that it will be a grand adventure.

I hope the same for you. And as we begin this new beginning, I offer to you the opening words from Dr. Seuss’ book:

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

I wish you traveling mercies, my sisters.

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

 

In Consideration of Him

grief togetherGuest post by: Quasi-Momma

I once was blind, but now I see, to paraphrase an old hymn.   That pretty much sums up my perception of Hubs feelings about our inability to have a child of our own together.

I’m probably not the first woman to make the mistake of thinking her husband’s lack of visible and expressed emotion meant they were “doing just fine.”  Nor will I be the last.

Men react to loss differently than women. Men have the need to be strong. They don’t like to reflect.  Instead, they act.  I remember after our second pregnancy loss, my parents flew into town to help us through it. During the first few days, Hubs and Pop were just a whirlwind of household projects. It grated on my nerves.  We were supposed to be grieving, and yet there they were painting and replacing fixtures.  By day three I lost it on Hubs.  How dare he take our time of grief and use it as an excuse to take time off to do chores around the house?  What kind of unfeeling jerk was he?  Why wasn’t he as distraught and depressed as I was?

Earlier this year as I started on the path to accepting that “mommyhood” was not in the cards for me we fought again over my need to put some space between me and a pregnant relative.  I begged to be excused from family events.  In the face of his insistence, I lashed out at him in pain and anger.  “You don’t understand,” I hissed. “You’ve got children of your own.  You’ll never know what this feels like.”

I continued to see that way for some time.   But the fact is that he was and is hurting too.  We just hurt in different ways.  It hurts him to see me grieving the loss of a dream.  It hurts him that he can’t do anything to change our circumstance or make our pain go away.  I know he’d do anything to change things if he could. He even tried by helping me look into the only thing that our resources could afford – foster care – and we were both pained to discover that it was not the right option of us either.

I’m now starting to see how badly he wanted us to have children together.  Over time, chinks in his armor are beginning to show.  Sitting in church when the pastor makes reference to his soon to be born daughter, I can both hear and feel him groan inwardly.  At the mall while viewing Christmas trees decorated with pictures and wishes of foster children, I see him choke up just slightly.   When tiny footsteps announce that the children have returned from children’s worship, we exchange sad smiles with each other. And when the inevitable cute baby or “we’re pregnant” commercial graces our television set, I see out of the corner of my eye him slowly extend a middle finger towards the screen if only to make me laugh.

Now that I’ve opened my eyes to these small and different expressions of his sadness and grief, I feel less alone in this journey.  I also feel terrible that I had not seen this in him earlier.  Being at odds with your spouse during this struggle makes the pain deeper for both of you.  I share this in hopes that someone who has experienced the pain of this perceived gap might also see the ways in which their partner also hurts.  After all, you are in this together.

Quasi-Momma (aka: Susan) is living a childless, but not childfree, life as a stepmom.  Her blog, Quasi-Momma, is a collection of her reflections on pregnancy loss, childlessness not by choice, and not-so-blended family life, sprinkled with a little gratitude and lot of heart.  

It Got Me Thinking…About The Meaning of Christmas

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

For unto us a Child is born. (Isaiah 9:6)

As I heard these words in my umpteenth pre-Christmas service, my first thought was Pfft! Right. I mean, isn’t it bad enough that I have had to endure yet another holiday season being painfully aware of the lack of children in my life? And then at every turn I am reminded that we mark this holiday in celebration of a miraculous birth. Come on! This almost trumps Mother’s Day as the worst day of the year for those of us who are childfree-not-by-choice.

For reasons I still can’t completely articulate, this has been the hardest holiday season for me yet. After a boisterous Thanksgiving with a houseful of young nieces and nephews, I slipped into a depressed funk as I anticipated a painfully quiet December. I forced myself to listen to Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters (so cheery, I wanted to smack someone), I baked cookies and gave them away, I chose to hang lights and make the house festive for me, even though it seemed pointless and pathetic. Several times I considered giving in to the darkness, donating all my keepsake ornaments to Goodwill, and spending today in bed with a jug of mulled spiced wine.

Instead, in a moment of pure inspiration, I chose to get quiet and listen. I lit a candle and prayed for light. I cried out my hurts and losses to a god who has heard it all many times before and still comforts without judgment. Having released some of my grief, I took a deep breath and invited Cynical Me to take a well-earned holiday. Then I invited Holy Me to give me a new perspective. And here’s what she said:

It’s not about a miracle baby, Love. That’s just the symbol. It’s really about the miracle rebirth of hope and faith. 

Oh, my. That’s exactly the gift I needed this Christmas, I just didn’t know how to ask for it. With tears streaming down my face, I asked for forgiveness for my lack of trust. I felt humbled by the abundance of good gifts I do have in my life, and I expressed my gratitude to God who has great things planned for me and delivers in ways I could never have imagined.

If I could give you one gift this holiday season—whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Al-Hirjra, or a tradition of your own making—it would be what I have received myself: a renewed sense of hope, a heart full of love, and peace within.

May you experience unexpected blessings today, dear sisters.

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