filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
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?
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Meltdowns are no fun, and they’re especially painful when they happen in public.
Last year, I attended a friend’s daughter’s first dance recital. It was beautiful, it was funny, it was entertaining. Nothing cracks me up quite like a row of four-year-olds in pink tutus doing their best to tap on a beat.
Except this time I wasn’t laughing. Every tiny dancer made me long for the one I could have had, should have had. I sat in the semi-darkened theater, surrounded by parents, grandparents, siblings, and every form of video camera and cried. Big tears rolled down my cheeks, my nose ran like a fire hose, and when the lights came up, I doubt anyone thought my swollen face was due to seasonal allergies.
I took my first dance class when I was five and tapped, kicked, twirled, and leapt my way through childhood. I loved the magic, the music, the costumes, and even the discipline. I looked forward to one day watching my own daughter glide across a stage, and as I watched my young friend steal the show, I thought about how sad I was to to miss sharing these experiences with a mini-me.
’Tis the season of holiday performances: children’s choirs, reenactments of the nativity (I love Lisa’s description of the drive-through nativity she discovered a few years ago), pageants, caroling, The Nutcracker. I loved them all when I had parts in them, and I still love them. It’s just a little bit harder these days to keep my emotions to myself when I’m in the midst of the family fun.
So, if you notice a gal sniffling in row 12 during the curtain call, kindly pass her a tissue.
The holiday festivities can bring up all sorts of painful emotions when you’re childfree-not-by-choice. If you could use some inspiration and encouragement to get you through the tough times, check out the Life Without Baby Holiday Companion available here and on Amazon.
This topic came up on the community forums a while ago and I thought it was a great topic to explore here on Whiny Wednesday.
Not being treated like a “real” adult because you’re not a parent.
I’ve certainly experienced this myself and talked to friends who say they’re still treated like a kid because they don’t have children of their own.
How about you?
By Lisa Manterfield
“Are you the adult you dreamed of becoming?”
I laughed when I read this question on Facebook. No! Of course I’m not. The adult I dreamed of was an international engineering consultant, living in a large house with a circular driveway, with a fabulous husband and four beautiful children, including one set of twins.
Aside from the fabulous husband, that adult is almost the polar opposite of the adult I am now. I’m a writer, who works from my very small rented beach cottage, and of course, there are no children in my picture. And yet, once I stop to consider my friend’s question, I realize that I’m a lot happier as this adult than I would have been had my expectations been met. I’ve met the person I’d once dreamed of becoming; she wasn’t a very happy person and she definitely had more grey hairs than me.
Half the battle of coming-to-terms with a life without children is letting go of our expectations—and creating new ones. This is never more true than during the holiday season, one of the most difficult times of the year to be childless.
When I think of my expectations of what Christmas should be like as an adult, those four children are always there, gathered around the tree, gathered around the dinner table, and then gathered around me as the day comes to a close. Even when I realized that children wouldn’t be part of my life, I still strived to make Christmas live up to my expectations. Consequently, Christmastime was very sad time for a number of years. I knew there was no way my expectations could be met, and eventually I stopped making an effort to celebrate.
The worst year was when my husband and I found ourselves sitting at home, with no Christmas tree, no plans, no celebration, and we knew we’d allowed our lack of children to take over our lives. We also realized it was time to set new, more realistic expectations.
When I took a step back and looked at what I really wanted for Christmas, not on the surface of gifts, family, and decorations, but on a deeper emotional level, I discovered that my spiritual wish list included love, peacefulness, companionship, and a good dose of silly fun. I needed to explore new ways to get what I really wanted.
It took a couple of false starts to find a new way to celebrate Christmas, but a couple of years ago we nailed it. Mr. Fab and I rented an apartment for three days in a nearby beach town. We celebrated on Christmas Eve with a lovely dinner at an historic hotel with an enormous Christmas tree, roving carolers, and even an outdoor ice rink (in Southern California!). On Christmas Day, instead of sitting at home feeling sad about a pathetic Christmas for two, we went to the zoo, like a couple of big kids, and had a whale of a time. I even got to feed a rhino and have an ice cream. We both agreed it was the best Christmas we’ve had for a long time, plus there were no tantrums or mountains of dirty dishes to deal with.
It’s hard to let go of our expectations, especially when they’re often so deeply engrained, but if you’re struggling to find your holiday cheer this year, I encourage you to look beneath the obvious losses and examine what’s really missing for you. Even if you can’t meet your tangible expectations of what the holidays should be, you might be surprised to find you can satisfy your true needs in unconventional—and unexpected—ways.
Last Christmas, I sat down with Jody Day of Gateway Women to talk about how we’ve adjusted our expectations and reclaimed the holidays. You can find the interview at Gateway Women.
By Lisa Manterfield
As I continue on my own journey of healing, I find it hard sometimes to write about the issues that used to cause me such discomfort. It’s amazing how the human brain can dull past pain. So I appreciate when readers contact me with ideas for topics they’d like to see discussed.
Recently, one reader sent me this question about envy within families:
“I see a lot of people post about the joy of having nieces and nephews. Well, my brother’s wife is pregnant and I’m feeling completely pushed of out the picture. It may be because I reacted with shock and sadness over their first pregnancy. But I did write a lengthy, heartfelt apology and when that resulted in a miscarriage, my husband and I were the first to make it to the hospital and we stayed 11 hours with them. Now, my sister-in-law is being really removed from me.
I really want to have the connection with my niece or nephew, but I’m afraid I won’t. And honestly, I’m envious.
I wonder if others have similar experiences?”
A new baby in the family is a really difficult situation to navigate. There’s such a mixed bag of emotions involved. You’re trying to deal with your own grief, while also feeling alone because others don’t understand what you’re going through. Then a cause for celebration gets thrown in on top of that and, as much as you know you’re supposed to be happy for the new parents, all you can feel is resentment and envy that it’s not you. So, guilt and shame for being a bad sport get piled on top of that.
I also know that other people don’t know how to handle us when they have good news. I recall a friend being extremely uncomfortable about telling me she was pregnant. She dealt with it by sitting down, explaining that she knew this was difficult for me, and asking me how much or how little I wanted to know or be involved. I really appreciated her being open and it allowed me to be honest with her about how I felt. I’ve also had the experience of a friend saying, “Guess what?!” and then launching into every detail of how she found out and how it feels to be pregnant, while I sat and squirmed. Often people don’t know what to say or how best to handle us “volatile” folks, so they pull away and say nothing.
How about you? Have you experienced jealousy over new babies in the family? How have you dealt with it? Have you had a good experience with a friend or family member handling their news with aplomb?
If you have a topic or question you’d like to see discussed on the blog, please drop me a line. You can email me at lisa [at] lifewithoutbaby [dot] com or go through the Contact page.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
I had a great life. I’d started and was running a successful business. I had a tribe of smart, funny, and supportive women friends. I was healthy and fit. Furthermore, I was coming to terms with the possibility that I would remain single and childfree, and I was becoming more confident that I could create a fulfilling life for myself, by myself. I had everything I needed and I was happy.
Until.
During an extraordinary two-week period, I took care of my 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents traveled. We danced, we laughed. He threw tantrums, I stressed about keeping the house together and keeping him from getting hurt. Everything was somewhat under control. Then one night, while I was in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes, he came up behind me, threw his arms around my leg in a tight hug, kissed the back of my calf, then toddled back to the living room.
“Thanks, Jake!” I managed to get out before tears locked up my voice. A current of love surged from my leg and throughout my body as I sobbed into the soapy water. I was struck by the realization of how touch deprived I had been for so long. Sure, friends greeted each other with a light hug and peck on the cheek. It wasn’t even the passion of a romantic relationship that I longed for. It was the daily human interaction, the hugs and kisses, the gentle caresses, the genuine affection, the skin-to-skin contact, something moms get (and have even been heard to complain about).
At that time in my life, I had none of that in my home. What made me a bit scared was that I hadn’t even noticed. It had become my “normal” and I hadn’t thought anything of it until Jake reawakened the need in me.
When I got back home, I brainstormed how I might create more physical affection in my life. I ruled out engaging in one-night stands and, well, hiring male escorts, both of which lacked the “genuine” aspect I needed. I thought about scheduling more frequent massages. I lavished my dog with belly rubs, which helped some. Was it enough? Would it be enough?
The one answer that made sense to me was that in order to receive, I needed to give. I could visit elderly residents of retirement homes, providing them with conversation, attention, and gentle touches. I could become more huggie with my friends, especially my single friends. I could offer to babysit, giving my mom-friends breaks they needed and getting some cuddling time with the children who inhabit my circles.
Are you aware of this need in yourself? If you’ve come up with creative solutions, please share them with us in a comment. Meanwhile (and I know this is just a tidbit), please consider yourself cyber-hugged.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
I grew up in a Norman Rockwell painting. White, upper-middle-class, staunchly Republican. Parents still married to each other (for more than 50 years). Dad worked for the same company for 47 years; Mom stayed home to raise three all-American kids. Look at a snapshot of any holiday celebration, and you’ll see us gathered around the dining room table, with flowers from Mom’s garden in the centerpiece, a golden turkey nesting in a great-grandmother’s platter, and everyone dressed with a smile. Picture-perfect.
The flowers, turkey, and smiles are the same in contemporary photos, but we’ve added a few new players. My brother married his college sweetheart and they introduced four beautiful daughters. My sister went off to college and came home a Democrat. Then she went off to graduate school and finally figured out she was a lesbian. A few years later, she joined her partner in a commitment ceremony, and they welcomed two boys with contributions from a sperm donor, a “donor daddy.” I was the lone ranger for many years, the only single person at the table, till I met and married my husband in my mid-40s. He is African-American, and we are childfree.
While growing up and well into adulthood, I never imagined there was any other kind of family for me outside of the traditional model that raised me. I had every expectation that I would follow in my mother’s footsteps and create a home and family in her image. I held tightly to that illusion, through many unfulfilling relationships and socially awkward encounters (“Why aren’t you married?” “Don’t you like children?”). I think it’s a miracle that my “right” family was revealed to me and that I am able to embrace it.
I would argue that our society’s definition of a “traditional” family is flawed. Certainly census statistics show that single-parent homes, adults living alone, and mixed-race families are more the norm than marketing directors would have us believe. I look down our street here in San Francisco (and, admittedly, we are a liberal and open community), and I see this reflected back to me through our neighbors’ homes where multiple generations, languages, races, and genders commingle without special notice.
Here in the childfree community, we’re often made to feel that our families are “nontraditional,” which translates to “less than” or “incomplete.” This way of thinking is so judgmental, so hurtful, and so unnecessary. If you’re single, you can create your own family among close and supportive friends. If you’re married or in a committed relationship, you know that it takes only two to make your family. Other people expand their families to include caretaking of nieces and nephews, elderly relatives and friends, or beloved pets.
The “nontraditional” extended family I am part of today is a beautiful thing, defined by love, acceptance, and respect. In my own home, I feel blessed to be one of a family of two, which we augment by sharing our table with friends who have become family. This is my family, this is my new traditional, and I think it’s perfect.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
Mr. Fab and I got rid of our TV when we first moved in together and—apart from on a handful of occasions—we haven’t missed it at all.
One of the things I definitely don’t miss is the topic of this week’s Whiny Wednesday:
Kid-centric advertising
I’m sure you know what I mean—those ads selling products you might actually use, but which start out with lines like, “We know your family is important to you that’s why you use [fill in the blank product].”
It’s Whiny Wednesday and open season for any topic that’s on your mind.
This Saturday is Bonfire Night in the U.K. As a child, it was one of my favorite nights of the year, second only to Christmas Eve.
We’d have a bonfire in the backyard, and my dad would bring home a box of fireworks to set off and a couple of packets of sparklers. We’d have baked potatoes and roast chestnuts, and my mum would make parkin and gooey, delicious bonfire toffee. It was an evening spent outdoors, clustered around the fire. It was about friends and food and a little bit of danger.
It’s one of the many things I miss about my homeland, and it’s one of the traditions I would have enjoyed sharing with my children. And that’s the topic for this week’s Whiny Wednesday:
Traditions you won’t get to share with your children
Happy Bonfire Night and happy whining.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
“Come trick-or-treating with us!”
I cried after I got off the phone with my friend Irene*. She had extended an invitation for me to join her and her two small children for some revelry on All Hallow’s Eve, and the ask brought on my waterworks. But not for the reasons you think. It wasn’t because I was once again feeling sorry for myself, heartbroken that I’ll never get to:
No. I was crying out of sheer gratitude.
You see, a while back Irene and I had a frank talk about some of the things I’ll miss most because I won’t get to be a mom. Ballet recitals, baseball games, the Tooth Fairy, Santa. And…are you sitting down?…she listened. Not only did she listen, but she heard, and a few months later she did something about it by inviting me to be part of her family, so that I get to experience some of the joys I otherwise would have been denied.
I have been waiting a looooong time to find a friend like this.
I had to decline Irene’s invitation, but I’ve already booked out next Halloween to spend with her and her kids. Oh, and the reason I declined was because I’d already accepted an invitation from another friend to come over to her house and help hand out treats to the neighborhood kids. Look at that: Someone else heard me.
For the first time in ages, I am feeling hopeful again.
*Not her real name. I don’t want to embarrass her, and she knows who she is.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
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