filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
I’ve seen this week’s topic come up a lot in the blog comments, so I know that many of you have experienced this. It’s the topic of caring for aging parents, and whether the responsibility is shared fairly when you don’t have children.
What’s been your experience with this?
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
When I read through Theresa’s answers to the Our Stories questionnaire, I cried at my desk. This is what despair sounds like, I thought. And I totally get it, because I remember all too well what it feels like.
My first instinct was to tell her “You’re going to be okay!”, but there’s no guarantee, and that response is not fair to her. Theresa’s pain is raw and real, and this is where she is today.
At the same time, I believe she will get through it. She’s already demonstrating that she’s brave enough (although she may not yet realize how brave she is) to go to that deep, dark, ugly place of grieving, a stage that many of us know must be experienced before we can begin to move on. And I know from reading so many other stories from this wonderfully safe and supportive community that there is a next stage…and a next.
As you read this, if you see yourself in Theresa’s story, I want you to know, You are not alone. If you see a former self in her story, I hope you’ll reach out to Theresa in the Comments to tell her where you are today and offer some hope or encouragement, if you can, or sisterly understanding, if you can’t.
In any case, please be gentle with yourself today.
LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.
Theresa: Shattered.
LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?
Theresa: Not by choice. I waited, wanting everything to be right. Was told by a gynecologist that it’d be “difficult” for me to conceive naturally. At 39, and never having gotten pregnant naturally, I decided I needed to come to terms with it and thought I had. Nope. At 44, I found myself pregnant. A miracle!!! Doctors were shocked. I was speechless and over the moon. Testing and questionnaires done, on the prenatal vitamins…but at the ultrasound appointment two weeks later, they saw nothing. The doctors took blood and informed me I would miscarry and the baby was no longer viable.
I don’t understand! Then the doctor started probing into my medical history: Had I ever been pregnant or miscarried? NO. Had I ever received a transfusion? NO. Yet here I am with O- blood and anti-Jk(a) antibodies already somehow “sensitized”.
I couldn’t even miscarry properly; I was issued the morning after pill to “flush it out”. “It”?? You mean my dreams? Yes, those.
My ob-gyn says my partner is Rh+ and my already-sensitized blood turned on my dream and terminated the baby. The doctor says I should never even attempt to get pregnant anymore because the rate of miscarriage increases with each, and IF I was “somehow able to carry to term, the baby would either be born with blue baby syndrome, severe deficit, or stillborn.”
It has been two years of heavy medications for anxiety/depression and PTSD, and I’m no closer to coming to terms with this than day one.
LWB: How do you answer “Do you have kids?”
Theresa: I quickly change the subject before the surface is scratched and I begin to tear up without control.
LWB: Where are you on your journey now?
Theresa: Broken.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Theresa: Living.
LWB: What is your hope for yourself this coming year?
Theresa: Somehow finding some acceptance.
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.
With any kind of grief, there comes a point where those around you expect you to be over it. For many of us, that point comes just as the full impact of loss is hitting us and we are far from okay. So here’s this week’s topic:
The pressure to “get over” your loss
Have you felt that pressure from those around you?
By Lisa Manterfield
There are two questions I get asked frequently: How did you come to terms with not having children, and how long did it take?
The answer is something akin to “how long is a piece of string and how many knots can you tie in it?”
Believe me when I tell you that if I could write down ten easy steps to making peace with being childfree-not-by-choice, I’d do it, but the answer isn’t that simple. Yes, there were many things that happened along the way that helped me make some peace, but it took closer to 10,000 steps than ten.
Writing down my story was hugely cathartic, venting about the injustices on this blog helped, too. Realizing I wasn’t alone in this and that people like you were out there wanting to talk through the minefield has helped immeasurably. Drawing a line in the sand and saying, “This is where that chapter of my life ends and this is where I start healing” also helped. And frankly, telling myself a big fat lie that I was better off not being a mother actually helped me to realize that in many ways I was. Setting new goals, appreciating the benefits of not having kids, and allowing myself to feel bitter and badly treated when I needed to. All these things helped.
I don’t think there’s a formula for working your way through this, and it’s definitely a journey of making forward process and dealing with inevitable setbacks.
As for how long the process takes? How long is that piece of string? It’s been three years for me and I consider myself largely at peace with my situation. I have closed the door on the idea that I will have children someday and most days I’m good with it. Everyday it gets a little better and a little easier. Some days there will be reminders of what I’ve lost and sometimes a flicker of a thought of “what if…”
The truth is, in many ways, I expect this piece of string to go on forever. The experience of infertility has changed me. It is one of the most significant and life-changing events of my life, and I don’t think the repercussions of that will ever stop reverberating. It doesn’t mean I won’t find harmony and even happiness in this new life – I already have – but I don’t expect this journey of coming-to-terms to ever fully end.
This post is an oldie, originally posted on April 26, 2012, but I think it’s worth a rerun. You can see what others had to say in the original comments here.
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Zoe’s turning point came during “an excessive attack of the googles,” when she came across a woman on a fertility board with the same stats. Upon closer inspection, Zoe realized the woman had posted seven years earlier, and had endured nine IVF failures since. “I did not want to be that woman,” she decided then and there.
But deciding to stop unsuccessful treatments and making peace with a life without babies are different things. Zoe quotes John Cleese: “I can take the despair. It’s the hope I can’t stand.” In her own words, Zoe says, “Clinging onto hope was not something I was prepared to do indefinitely. I wanted to walk away with my sanity intact.”
Here’s her story.
LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.
Zoe: I always said I’d have a toddler by the time I was 30. My dad used to joke that would mean I’d have to give birth at 28, so get pregnant at 27, be in a relationship by 26, and that I was saying this whilst aged 26, and it “obviously isn’t going to be that moron in the baseball cap you brought round last week, so you better start looking”.
I dreamt of filling a child’s life with music (both myself and my partner are musicians), books, wellies, dogs, silly humour, and doodles. I’d also always been positive about adopting. My parents fostered many kids before we came along, so that was part of my dream too.
LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?
Zoe: Circumstance. I always went out with guys who weren’t ready, and I respected them. I was in a long-term relationship from 26, stopped taking the pill at 30. He responded by forcing me to take the morning-after pill when he forgot to use a condom. That devastated me. Then two weeks shy of my 33rd birthday, he just left, saying he didn’t love me, wasn’t ready for kids and wanted to “free me up”. He is now a father of one with the girl he got with three weeks after leaving me.
I got with my future husband pretty quickly after that—we’d been friends for years. He’d had an undescended testicle till aged 12, and two years in, we confirmed he had very low sperm count and IVF ICSI was our only option. Six months later, when I was just 36, we found out I had Diminished Ovarian Reserve (the ovaries of a 45 year old) and wouldn’t respond to IVF. Double whammy. He can’t have kids without IVF, I can’t get pregnant with it. We did it anyway. It failed drastically.
We don’t want double donor. I have my own very clear feelings about that, and it feels good to actively make a decision together against it. I would adopt, but my partner won’t, and I have chosen a life with him.
LWB: Where are you on your journey now? (for example: still in denial, angry, hoping for a miracle, depressed, crawling toward acceptance, embracing Plan B)
Zoe: Never in denial, as I always thought we’d have a problem and have been pretty realistic the whole way through. I moved from anger (at my ex-partner, who I now realize took the only fertile years of my life) into depression. Currently trying to convince myself of Plan B. Every day I take a huge amount of physical and emotional effort, convincing myself that this is okay, I am okay, a life without children will be okay. Every morning all the hard work I did the day before, getting to a place of acceptance, has vanished, and I have to start convincing myself all over again.
LWB: What’s the hardest part about not having children?
Zoe: The constant exclusion from life’s milestones. I never wanted to live like a 20-something forever. I wanted a family life and all that entailed.
Also I’m particularly upset about the fact there will be no one there to bother about what I leave behind. My legacy, I suppose. I have hundreds of recordings of me singing and playing songs, scrapbooks of band tours I’ve been on, photos of achievements I’ve made, venues I’ve played, and no one to listen to them or read them or look at them when I’m gone. I was looking forward to the exciting “this is what mummy used to do before she had you” conversations.
LWB: What’s one thing you want other people (moms, younger women, men, grandmothers, teachers, strangers) to know about your being childfree?
Zoe: That it wasn’t planned. That it wasn’t my fault. That it’s not a normal thing to go through at 36, and that I am broken with grief and would be grateful for their understanding on that.
Rather than what I want other women to know though, I want to speak to men in their 30s. I want them to know that their decisions to love their girlfriends/wives, but yet dismiss their requests to start a family because they are not ready, until they are 40 in some cases, is not something women should have to bear. We are not being mental or unnecessarily naggy. We are legitimately worried that it will be too late. Men should bear some of this responsibility, they should meet us half way.
LWB: What’s your Plan B?
Zoe: Being an aunt to my one and only niece/nephew, who was conceived at the point I found out I couldn’t have children naturally and was born a few weeks after I found out I can never have children at all.
Getting married, with the knowledge I have already been through one of the hardest things you can go through with a partner, and starting off with the understanding that it will be a marriage without kids. But I am so glad I know this from the outset and am still choosing to do it. That feels empowering to me.
What is your Plan B? Or are your wounds so raw that you can’t even imagine a happy future? We can all benefit from hearing about your experiences, plus we’d like to support you. Please visit the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire, and consider sharing your story with women who truly understand what you’re going through.
Did you know Kathleen Guthrie Woods is getting ready to tell her own story? The Mother of All Dilemmas follows her journey of pursuing being a single mother then embracing a life without children, and explores the reasons our society still presumes to calculate a woman’s worth based on whether or not she’s a mother. Keep an eye on LifeWithoutBaby.com for announcements about the book’s release.
Graduation season is upon us and social media has been abuzz with snapshots of proud parents and their offspring. So it seems like a good time for this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:
Feeling left out when friends and relatives celebrate the milestones of being parents and grandparents.
As always, your other whines are always welcome.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
A friend recently shared this with me on Facebook:
While I strongly disagree, I do feel compelled to share some of my thoughts on this.
Seriously, what would be an appropriate response to this? If you got it, would you simply un-friend the heartless dimwit? Let’s have some fun with this: Assuming you have no intention of sending a reply, but want to get it out of your system, what would you say? (By the way, I did not reply to her. I sat on this for a couple of months, steaming, until I figured out I could vent here.)
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
It’s Whiny Wednesday and this is one that always makes me scratch my head:
“Kids made me grow up.”
So, does this mean I’m not a grown-up? Because if so, I’d like to relinquish all these grown-up responsibilities I seem to have. How about you?
By Lisa Manterfield
This year has been another busy year for travel. Between work-related trips and visits to family and friends, I’m feeling as if I’ve spent more time away from home than at home.
I’m not complaining. I enjoy travel and I’m also aware, if I had children, I couldn’t be doing this. If I had school schedules and missed classes to deal with, or frankly even if I had to find the money for three round-trip tickets instead of just one, it wouldn’t be feasible. Being childless not only allows me the do the fun things without worry, it leaves me free to take care of the other things that are important to me, namely my family—in particular my mother and husband.
There’s a downside to this freedom and independence, too. People often have expectations that a person without children is a person with nothing important to do, which equals the first person to be called when a favor is needed. Do you know what I mean?
Although my geographically undesirable location means I’m usually the last person to be called in for family help, some of my friends are given more than their share of the responsibility because of their childlessness. Quite often they’re called upon to organize family gatherings, take care of sick relatives, or just run errands because the family members with children don’t have the time.
I know that my childlessness affords me more freedom than many of peers who are mothers, but that doesn’t mean I’m sitting around idly looking for something to do. If I had children, my life would be full. But guess what? Because I don’t have children, I’ve made certain my life is still full, whether others believe it is or not.
What do you think? Do family members assume because you don’t have kids you have nothing but time on your hands? Do you feel the lion’s share of family duties falls to you? And what are the advantages of freedom and independence you do get to enjoy?
Facebook has been the topic of many Whiny Wednesday rants, and rightly so. Social media in general has perpetuated a myth of happiness that can make any kind of pain feel worse. So this week, our topic is this:
“Other People’s Perfect Lives”
Let us know how you feel.
~ "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."
