filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
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 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?
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
I’ve been thinking a lot about thank you notes recently, perhaps because I received the following from a young niece:
Dear Aunt Kath and Uncle B,
Thank you so, so, so much for the giftcard. I can’t wait to by [sic] something! Love you guys!
P.S. I can’t wait to get you something! Maybe!
That last line cracked me up, but what tugged at my heart was seeing her sweet lettering, in bright pink ink, on which she clearly took her time. I will be keeping this note in my box of treasures.
I am a big believer in the power of saying thank you. When I get excellent service at a restaurant or shop, I ask to speak to the manager to make certain she or he knows they have a great employee. When someone sends a new client my way, I follow up with a note and a Starbucks gift card to say how much I appreciate the referral. When someone takes the time to select a special gift for me, they get a handwritten note, sent through the mail, with a wax seal or sticker adorning the envelope.
I refuse to accept this is a dying art. Certainly most of the messages I receive come through an email or text (“Thx! :-)”), which are fine, but quickly disposable. I am always struck by the intimate connection I experience when I receive something in a dear person’s distinctive scrawl.
And this got me thinking about other people I might thank in more personal and direct ways. The nurse who comforted me as I faced a difficult diagnosis. The mommy friend who includes me in her kids’ activities because she doesn’t want me to miss out. The faraway friend who let me cry over the phone, without offering unhelpful advice, as I told her about a very painful baby shower.
This week I am going to send one note out to someone on my list, and I encourage—okay, I challenge you—to do the same. Think about the people who have helped you on this journey toward healing—perhaps by listening, being supportive, or being your ally when you most needed one—and send a note. It could be as simple as, “Thank you for being my friend through this difficult time.” I have a feeling she or he will be very touched by this small act of appreciation.
Kathleen is telling the story about her journey in The Mother of All Dilemmas. As she shares her quest to become a single mother (and ultimately embraces a life without children), she explores why society still appears to base a woman’s worth on how many children she has. Watch for updates on the book’s release here at LifeWithoutBaby.com.
By Lisa Manterfield
Do you remember the game Chutes and Ladders? In the UK we called it “Snakes and Ladders” and I loved it. I had a nursery rhyme version with Jack and Jill happily climbing the hill on one ladder, and then tumbling down at the next snake (or chute). Humpty Dumpty, Rock-a-Bye-Baby, Little Bo Peep and her poor lost sheep were all there with their assorted joys and disasters.
In case any one is reading and has no clue what I’m talking abut, Chutes and Ladders is a board game. There are 100 squares on the board and you roll a dice and move along, trying to be the first person to reach 100. If you land on a ladder you get to follow the ladder up and jump ahead on the game. If, however, you land on a chute (or snake) you slide back down the board to a lower number. There’s no strategy involved in the game at all, and it’s pure luck as to whether you joyfully climb the ladder or careen back down a chute.
It struck me that life is a lot like chutes and ladders, especially when you’re playing the “coming-to-terms with infertility” game.
Case in point: A while ago, Mr. Fab and I had a great weekend. It was the first one in a while that we’d spent together just relaxing and enjoying one another’s company. We slept late, took a long walk, planned a vacation, and took a long afternoon nap. It’s on weekends like these that I realize all the positive things that have come out of us not having children.
But on Saturday night we had dinner with some friends at their home. They and the other friends who were invited have adult children, so the evening was spent talking about all kinds of other things not relating to the perils of parenthood. But in their hallway were photos of their children as toddlers, sitting in the garden, laughing those infectious toddler laughs, and for a few minutes I found myself just staring at the pictures and thinking about all that I’ve missed with not having children. My happiness hopped on a chute and slid back down a few squares.
I think that my life is always going to be this way, that I’ll keep making progress and moving gradually towards that place of being 100 percent at peace with being childfree, but there are always going to be chutes thrown in my way: the cousin’s pregnancy announcement, the friends celebrating milestones with their children, those moments when I rethink the whole thing and wonder, “What if we got back on the train? What if that risky and expensive treatment worked? What if we adopted?”
But, for every chute that comes along, there’s a ladder that will take me back up. So, the trick to maintaining sanity and finding peace is to keep living for the ladders.
A couple of weeks ago, I asked you to suggest Whiny Wednesday topic ideas. Boy, did you deliver! So this week, I’m going to start posting some them. Let’s kick off with this one:
Running into old friends who now have children
Whine away!
Have you ever been in a conversation with a group of women, only to watch the talk turn to motherhood and feel yourself fading into the background?
That’s the topic of this week’s Whiny Wednesday:
Being excluded from conversations because you don’t have children
Happy Whining!
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
“You are not alone.”
I think those might be four of the most beautiful words in our language.
Not long ago, I was a single, childfree woman who felt like the last single and childfree woman on the planet—or at least among my circle of friends. I rarely talked about my sadness, my isolation, my desperation, and my fears that I would never be a member of the mommy club with my peers. Instead, I pasted a smile on my face and stuffed myself into puffy bridesmaids gowns and nodded with feigned understanding as mommies shared their birthing and child rearing stories at baby showers. It is possible to feel completely alone in a room full of people.
I credit our amazing founder Lisa Manterfield with opening my eyes to a new world of possibilities. Through her and the LifeWithoutBaby site, I became acquainted with Pamela Tsigdinos, author of Silent Sorority; Melanie Notkin, the Savvy Auntie; and Jody Day at Gateway Women. I was introduced to our cheroes (heroes who just happen to be childfree), including Oprah Winfrey, Marilyn Monroe, Sally Ride, Mary Cassatt, and Julie Taymor. Getting to know more about these women has shown me that a childfree life can indeed be exciting and fulfilling.
What has touched my heart the most is how women just like me have shared their stories and offered support. As I’ve (cautiously) begun to tell women outside of our circle my story, I’ve been amazed at the candid responses: “I never really wanted children…I love being an aunt and that’s enough for me…You are so brave and you inspire me…I’ve never told anyone this, but….” Wow. Once I opened myself up, women from all corners of my life opened up to me and told previously undisclosed stories of infertility battles, adoption disasters, and hurtful discrimination—stories we hear on this site every day. All of these experiences have served to remind me that while the circumstances that brought us here may be different, our passion for living our lives to the fullest is a common denominator. I am humbled to be included in these discussions, and awed to sometimes recognize that I have been the catalyst.
If you’re feeling alone, I encourage you to explore this site more fully and look for topics and stories that resonate with you. There are many resources available here. There’s wonderful support and encouragement here. You are—and I am—not alone. Embrace it.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is wrapping up a memoir about her experiences as a temporary single working mom, an adventure that helped her come to peace with her decision to be childfree.
Whiny Wednesday has become such a favorite on the blog and I know that many of you look forward to the chance to have a good rant about what’s on your mind.
For those of you who are new to Life Without Baby or maybe not sure what this Whiny Wednesday thing is all about, I thought an brief explanation might be in order.
Whiny Wednesday came about because many of us felt we were going through our respective journeys alone and that our friends and family often didn’t understand how much we were hurting. Many readers said felt they felt they had to put on a brave face around other people and that the things they wanted to talk about sometimes felt like “whining.”
So, Whiny Wednesday was created as the place where, once a week, you can come and vent about whatever’s on your mind, especially the things you feel you can’t say in-person around others. Most weeks I post a topic for discussion, but the comments are always open for griping about whatever happens to be on your mind.
So, now you know what it’s all about, feel free the have a really good whine this week.
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P.S. Just a reminder: To celebrate the 7th anniversary of Life Without Baby, I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home and Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen ebooks are half price on Amazon this week.
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?
The adults in my family participate in a gift exchange for Christmas, so that instead of giving each person something small, I spend my modest budget on one nice item for just one person. We’ve been doing this for years, with success.
I noticed something this past year as I put together my wish list for my secret giver. My list included a hodgepodge of items: a cookbook, stationery, a gift card to a local running store. These are all things I would like, of course, but I realized that this particular list was less about what I really wanted and more about accommodating the possible giver. My sister-in-law, cook extraordinaire, would enjoy browsing Sur La Table when she shopped for the cookbook. My mom, the queen of social graces, would slip in sticks of sealing wax to go with a box of fine linen paper. My brother, Mr. Fitness, would be pumped to get me something that supported my goal to run a 5K later this year.
This reminded me of something Lisa said to me about how we need to get better about asking our friends and family for help. This is so important as we work through our phases of grief over being childless, and it can be so hard to do. For example, when I haven’t been clear about what I need, I’ve had friends say things like, “You want kids, take mine—ha ha!” (So not helping. And I’d be happy to take them, by the way.) One couple thought it would be easier on me if I wasn’t invited to any gatherings that included children, which, as their family grew, quickly became almost all gatherings. (So I just felt more isolated.)
I, of course, wasn’t much help. When asked, I’d say things like, “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Rubbish. I thought I was letting them off the hook, but really, I needed to be more aware that they genuinely wanted to help in meaningful ways.
So maybe I can do better. The next time someone asks me how she can best support me on this crazy journey, my thoughtful and real response might include:
“I don’t want to talk about it. Just give me a big hug when you see me.”
“Let me come to your daughter’s dance recital, and don’t take it personally when I leave without saying good-bye (because I’ve been crying).”
“Take me to a funny movie so we can laugh really hard for a change.”
“Be patient with me. The real, happy me is evolving, and I’ll be ready to re-enter the world soon.”
By the way, in addition to the wrapped gift-exchange package, I got what I truly wanted for Christmas: face time with people I hold dear and time off from work, i.e., a bit of peace on Earth.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
~ "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."
