Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Our Stories: Teresa

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Oh, how I want to offer you HOPE as we embark on fresh starts in this new year! I want to tell you everything will be okay, that you will be happy again, that everything will work out for the best.

But here at Life Without Baby, we’re about being real, and sometimes reality sucks. Some days we feel numb from our losses and grief, or we feel that our partners would be better off without us (because we’ve “let them down”), or we give up on ever experiencing any kind of miracle.

Teresa articulates these raw truths so well. At 34, married to a “wonderfully loving and strong husband”, she is struggling to come to terms with the end of her dream of motherhood. She’s also got some ideas about how she might start healing and moving forward in life.

Here’s her story.

LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.

Teresa: At first, my dream of motherhood was to make reparations for the parents I had, I wanted to be a better parent than my own. I wanted to build children that would step into the world as self-assured, confident, wacky, loving individuals. My children were named, spoken of, talked about. We’d send them to this school, or that school. We’d introduce them to this or that; we’d teach them this or that. Our nonexistent children were loved in every way.

LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?

Teresa: I am childless by circumstance. Even though my husband and I knew I had PCOS [polycystic ovary syndrome], I thoroughly believed that I would get pregnant. I thought the medications and procedures would work for me, and we both thought kids were in our future. A few months ago, we chose to stop fertility treatments. We were not interested in IVF [in vitro fertilization], and the doctors told us that my body was not responding to anything else. There was nothing more they could do for us.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Teresa: I am numb. My little sister will bring the first grandchild into my side of the family early in 2018. My heart and soul jump with joy for her, but at the same time, they battle the sadness that strikes me to my core. I thought the treatments would work, and when I visited her in the spring to see my new nephew, I would be able to share that my own baby is on his or her way. This is no longer the case. I do not understand why this is my path. I have given up on God. There will be no miracle, just this emptiness. I need to find a new purpose; the only thing I ever wanted will not come to pass. I am directionless.

LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?

Teresa: The knowledge that I am disappointing my husband. Now, this isn’t how it really is, but it is how I feel. He frequently repeats that he loves our life together. He is here for me. What he doesn’t realize is that I watch him when he cares for his sister’s children. I watch him around babies, toddlers, with kids in junior high. He’s amazing. He would be a perfectly imperfect dad. I am unable to give him this.

LWB: How do you answer “Do you have kids?”

Teresa: A long time ago, I decided to stop skirting the issue. Infertility is often taboo because it has to deal with sex and emotions. No one knows what to say or how to act when they speak with an infertile couple. People feel uncomfortable when I say “My husband and I cannot have kids.” As soon as those words come out, people feel like assholes to have asked a question that is none of their business. In my feeble attempt to raise awareness, I am honest. Hopefully, one day, we’ll all be able to have a real conversation about it and acknowledge that infertility is a tremendous loss.

LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you?

Teresa: It’s going to hurt for a long time. You’ll find that as you age, you won’t fit into a group anywhere. You don’t fit in with parents with kids. You don’t fit in with 20-somethings. You’ll find that a lot of your friends are retirees. You’ll hang out with elderly people, especially if you live in small towns. Your family will not know what to say or do.

LWB: What’s is your hope for yourself this coming year?

Teresa: That my husband and I can heal together. He has been my rock, but I find myself pushing him away because I do not want him to be beholden to me. He can have children and should leave me and find a woman who can give him what he wants. My other hope is to stop all this silly thinking and embrace my wonderfully loving and strong husband.

LWB: How are you moving forward?

Teresa: I looked into my partner’s eyes. I wrapped his love around me. I breathed him in and asked him to never let go. I fight with myself daily over whether or not I should just leave him, give him the “out.” But he loves me, and he can handle this. So I let him love me, no matter how difficult.

Someone once told me to collect moments of joy. Everyone gets sad. Remember to count the moments of joy because they do come along. Then, after all the crying and disbelief, for a brief moment, your heart will be full. Hold on to that feeling because it will have to last you through the desert.

 

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.

This Year, Aim for Progress Rather Than Perfection

Well, here we are in 2018, and I think it’s safe to say that most of us are ready to see the back of last year. Between political craziness, the loss of too many creative icons, and a general feeling of uneasiness in the world, I’m ready for a fresh start.

I do love the New Year for the potential it brings in terms of a clean slate and the chance to make big changes. And yet, in the past, I’ve ended up putting pressure on myself to fix all the things that are wrong with me. My goals have included losing weight, exercising more, doing a better job of keeping in touch with people, and on and on—a long list of things I’m doing wrong.

But a couple of years ago, I started to change my outlook. Instead of treating myself like something broken that needed fixing, I began looking for my potential and making progress with the things I’m doing right. I wrote a post about it a while back, Looking for Potential. Do take a look as I think you’ll find it a kinder, gentler way of approaching the New Year.

So, as we go into this year, I want to encourage you to be kind to yourself, too. Instead of trying to fix a laundry list of shortcomings, perhaps you could look for where you’ve made progress over the last year and focus your energy there.

For example, let’s say you have a friend who you’ve avoided because her children are the same ages yours would have been and you can’t bear to see her. Maybe you ran into her last year and realized you’ve missed her company. Could you set a goal to reach out to her, give her a call or send a quick email note, maybe broach the topic of getting together?

Or perhaps you’ve been reading this blog for a while or working your way through my, or someone else’s, book and you’ve hit a spot where you feel stuck. Maybe a goal would be to find a therapist, counsellor, or support group and get some additional help.

This healing process takes time. Oh, man, does it take time! But progress is made by inching forward a little at a time. So, don’t try to take giant steps forward. Instead, be kind to yourself and take the tiniest, most doable step possible, something you can actually accomplish and feel good about.

How could you inch forward on your journey this year? What’s the smallest, no-sweat step you could take? Let us know in the comments, and if you need a little encouragement to take it, just ask.

For now, I wish for you a genuinely happy new year.

Our Stories: Ann B.

 

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Grieving is not a rational act, although I sense many of us try to treat it as such. “If I act ‘as if’…if I will myself to…today will be different!” And then we get hit with a fresh wave of loss and feel as though all of our sanity is washed away.

Ann B.* understands this all to well. Even though she and her husband made very reasoned choices about why they are childfree, she continues to be knocked down by the weight of her lost dreams and to feel ashamed of her sadness.

I get that. I think you do too.

Ann’s hopes for the new year may sound a lot like yours. If you’ve been in her shoes, I hope you’ll share some of your journey with her in the Comments. If you’re in her shoes today, I hope Ann’s words remind you that you are not alone.

I want to wish you all a Happy New Year!, but that doesn’t feel quite right. Instead, my wish for you is that this new year comes with healing moments of gratitude, grace, and peace.

LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.

Ann: I always wanted to be a mother. I work in elementary school education. I am surrounded by children in my personal and professional life. Most of all, I wanted to hold to my husband’s child in my arms. It was not to be.

LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?

Ann: Chance and choice. By chance: I have a medical condition, which, when well-controlled, does not interfere with my ability to live a full and happy life. By choice: I decided that the risk to my health (of pregnancy, which may exacerbate my condition), the risk to a fetus of birth defects (caused by medication I take for the condition), and the risk to my husband (of potentially caring for an unwell wife and a baby with special needs) was too great. We consulted many doctors and, ultimately, realized that having children was too risky.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Ann: I am in denial about the need to grieve the loss of motherhood. I feel ashamed of my sadness, which comes in waves. I don’t believe I deserve to grieve because this was my decision, and life does not owe me anything. I know that life is full of hard choices and varying circumstances. I choose to stay busy to keep the depth of sadness at bay.

LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?

Ann: It changes. I go through phases of mourning losses. For example, never experiencing pregnancy or childbirth, never naming a baby, never seeing my husband’s character strengths passed on, never feeling pride at a concert, and the lack of rituals/milestones that accompany children. Other times, I feel less significant, less loving, less generous, and less deserving than women who balance the demands of motherhood. I find myself apologizing and downplaying my life experiences in conversation with mothers.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Ann: I’ve learned that feelings are illogical and can’t be controlled by planning, research, or intellectual reasoning. It’s possible to feel guilt and shame about something that I still believe was the right and responsible decision. I’ve learned that feelings of loss will keep resurfacing until I am brave enough to face them and feel them.

LWB: What’s one thing you want other people to know about your being childfree?

Ann: “I have the humanity, compassion, and time to be your village. I have skills, experience, and knowledge to support your parenting journey. Don’t underestimate my capacity to love or serve your family. Please trust me and let me lighten your load.”

LWB: How do you answer “Do you have kids?”

Ann: “No”. Sometimes, this is followed by an awkward beat of silence because I haven’t prepared a short, socially appropriate 10-word explanation. I don’t want to make others feel that they have caused offense. I know it is a form of small talk; it is a friendly, genuine inquiry. I want to honor their intentions and guide the conversation to a place that is comfortable for all. However, I’m not there yet. I feel pain every time I hear the question.

LWB: What is your hope for yourself this coming year?

Ann: I would like to face my grief and stop denying the pain. I would like to use the grieving process to move towards healing.

 

*We allow each contributor to choose another name, if she wishes, to protect her privacy.

What are your hopes for yourself in this coming new year? 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.

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

 

 

Hang in There. It’s Almost 2018!

My overarching message around the holidays has always been this:

Do what you need to do to protect yourself when your emotions are still raw. Back out of the holidays all together, if that’s what feels right. Create new traditions that suit who you are now. And most of all, hang in there, because it does get easier, and eventually you’ll find a way to make the holidays joyful again.

But, this year, I want to make an amendment. Because, the truth is, for some of you, the holidays might keep sucking for a long, long time, and my being all Pollyanna about it, isn’t going to change that.

For years, I have followed my own guidelines for holiday survival. After a couple of years of trying to force the Christmas spirit, we chose to opt out of Christmas because it was too sad. Then, for a number of years, we made a point of going away and doing something totally non-traditional. It wasn’t “Christmas” as I’d envisioned it, but it felt right for us, and we enjoyed the season again.

I thought I had a different attitude about Christmas. Mr. Fab and I like staying at home, just the two of us, and keeping it low key. We put up a tree and decorated the house. We’ll keep up our new tradition of celebrating on Christmas Eve and it will be a “nice” Christmas, not perfect, but good enough.

I’ve talked to several friends, fellow bloggers who, like me, are several years into being at peace with not having children. They each talked about plans for a quiet celebration, of an adapted holiday experience. And each of them also added that some part of their plans had triggered the old sadness or poked at a tender spot. Not one of us gushed about the jingly joyful celebration we were planning. Instead, we talk of an “almost-but-not-quite” Christmas.

As I was rooting around in my mind, trying to find a point to this post, I suddenly thought about my dad. My dad hated Valentine’s Day, not because of the commercial tackiness, but because his own father had died on February 14th. Even two decades later, he couldn’t find joy in the day, and none of us expected him to. I tiptoed around him and, by February 15th, he was his old self again. As a young girl, hoping to get Valentines in the mail, I couldn’t understand why my dad felt this way. But, of course, I understand it fully now.

I stand by all my guidelines about the holidays: It does get easier. You will find a way to get through the holidays and even enjoy them again. But, odds are, they will always tap a sore spot and serve as a reminder of what’s missing. It might always be “almost-but-not-quite” Christmas.

But, before you know it, it will be January again, a new year and a fresh chance to live the life you do have to its fullest. I don’t know about you, but the New Year is fast becoming my favorite holiday of all.

It Got Me Thinking…About the Gift of Kindness

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“So…why are you going?”

My sweet friend, let’s call her Ashley, had just told me about how much she was dreading Christmas. She and her husband are traveling halfway across the country to be with extended family, a family of loud, funny, sarcastic, in-your-face, mostly well-intentioned people who she knows will be needling her about why they don’t have kids yet.

“I can hear your clock ticking!”

“Your cousin got pregnant on her honeymoon—and you two have been married how long?”

“I swear I’m going to croak before this one gives me a grandchild!”

What they don’t know is that Ashley had another miscarriage last month. So she is going to suffer through all the questions and smart-ass comments in silence, with a half-smile on her face and a crack that is growing deeper in her heart.

But she is going because family gatherings are fewer and farther between as busy lives take over. And the older generations aren’t getting any younger, so she feels like she’s on borrowed time with them. And her favorite aunt was widowed earlier this year, and Ashley doesn’t want her to feel alone over the holidays. All valid reasons, but oh how my heart aches for her as I anticipate and imagine what she’s facing this coming week.

I asked her to put me on speed dial, so that if things get really rough, she can step outside or lock herself in the bathroom and call me for emotional support. Even though she and her husband are still trying, still hopeful (and I’m hopeful for them too), I sent her some classic LWB posts about dealing with social landmines and getting through the holidays when you’re childless-not-by-choice. I hope I helped her, and I hope I can continue to help her get through this season with some dignity and grace.

After our chat, I started thinking more about how no one in her family knows what she’s been going through. I know better than to encourage anyone to break a silence on something so emotionally devastating as multiple miscarriages, especially in a large and rowdy gathering, but her sharing her confidences made me think about the fact that all of us are dealing with things that aren’t fit for announcing to the general public—or sometimes to our immediate and extended family members.

So, while I’ll be dealing quietly with my own hurts, as I gather with loved ones over the holidays, I’ll be approaching them with a new awareness. I might give slightly longer hugs, I might reach across a room with a smile, I might keep an eye out for someone who is left out of the conversation or looks a little more isolated than usual. Whether or not they choose to give me their confidence, I can give them something: the gift of kindness, the gift of compassion. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get that gift in return.

 

 

Whiny Wednesday: The Holidays


Even the most festive among us has to hit holiday burnout at some point. And if you’re trying drum up your holiday spirit and keep coming up empty, you may have hit this point sometime around Halloween.

So this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is simply:

The Holidays

Feel free to unleash your inner Grinch…or not.

Whiny Wednesday: Staying Busy to Fill the Hole Left by Children


When a reader suggested this week’s topic, I spotted myself immediately. The topic is:

Staying busy to fill the hole left by children

Work, hobbies, school, projects, friends in need, volunteering: Have you packed your life with busyness in order to fill a gap?

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What’s on your mind today?

Sideswiped by Sadness

By Lisa Manterfield

My friend was recently sideswiped by sadness. Like me, she’s been off the “baby train” for several years and has truly come to terms with the fact that she won’t have children.

Then she had a birthday and found herself totally sideswiped, caught off-guard by her grief, and in the kitchen having a meltdown.

What happened?

She’s not sure and neither was I. Maybe her birthday signified moving one step closer to menopause and the final loss of the possibility of motherhood. Maybe spending time with a friend’s son reminded her of the missing part of her life. Maybe she was feeling alone in her family-oriented community.

The point is that sometimes, even when we’re sure we have it together, even when we’ve done the grief work, even when we’ve cried an ocean and think there’s nothing left to resolve, sometimes we just get sideswiped.

Has this happened to you? What unexpected trigger has caught you off-guard?

It Got Me Thinking…About Surviving Today’s Meltdown

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I really thought I was healed, or at least was very close. I had mostly released what I felt I’d been cheated out of and was actively embracing a Plan B. I felt like a trailblazer, a role model, a success story.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

It was late on a gloomy, wintry afternoon when I came across a photo on Facebook of a dear friend, her wonderful husband, and their two beautiful children decorating their Christmas tree together. Something I will never get to do. One look at that image of perfection—my idea of perfection—and I lost it.

We’re talking throwing-family-heirloom-ornaments-in-the-trash kind of lost it. All the anger, bitterness, hurt, shame, heartaches, sadness, unfairness, why-not-me-ness I thought I’d worked out of my system came down upon me like a devastating avalanche. It was epic. It was ugly.

Fortunately, I got talked back out of my hell-hole by an understanding husband and compassionate friend. The tossed ornaments were retrieved, my body was hugged, my spirit was soothed. (But, no, I was not able to bring myself to decorate my home for merriment I could not fake.)

Humbled, and more than a little embarrassed, I took a fresh look at myself and again was reminded that the whole grieving-to-healing journey is not as straightforward as traveling from A to B. It’s crooked, jagged, with obstacles, speed bumps, and small triumphs followed cruel “family” holidays. Recovery is a process.

My friends who have battled alcohol addiction know quite a bit about what it means to be in recovery, and I think we can benefit from their wisdom and experience. When the temptation to slide back down into the deep, dark holes of depression and despair grows strong, when our resolve is weakened, when recovery seems like too much work or unachievable, we can borrow some of their slogans and tell ourselves:

Keep it simple.

Easy does it.

First things first.

Just for today.

How important is it?

Keep an open mind.

Live and let live.

Let go and let God.

One day at a time.

I now keep these reminders on my desktop, within reach for when I need a boost or in case I feel a new meltdown coming on. Perhaps one of them will help you today.

 

During the holiday season, Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a little less at peace with her child-less status.

It Got Me Thinking…About My Very Own Holiday

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

If you’re in the U.S., you just got through or are in the midst of one of our biggest “family” holidays of the year. Feeling thankful? Yeah, me neither.

We’ve officially kicked off the holiday season—yes, a whole miserable season—that often feels like a series of slaps across the face for those of us who are childless-not-by-choice: the pageants with the impossibly adorable miniature angels, the onslaught of family photo cards and newsy letters, those awfully festive reunions that bring together multiple generations (and unwanted questions), the traditions we’ll never get to share, every little slight and hurt that reminds us of what we wanted and didn’t get to have. I’m all wrung out just from the anticipation!

But this year I have a plan for how I can get through the next several weeks with a bit of calm and brightness. In my schedule, between the shoulds and the musts, I am going to book out some time for myself. I am going to prepare now to welcome a most special guest into my home for the holidays: Me.

Think about it. If your dearest friend was coming to stay, how would you treat her? I might:

  • Fluff up the pillows on the bed and add a cozy throw blanket.
  • Arrange fresh flowers on the nightstand.
  • Pull out the “nice” towels, then pour out some of those fancy bath salts I’ve been saving for a long, soothing soak.
  • Place a couple of chocolates on her pillow at bedtime, and warm her PJs in the dryer just before she slips them on.
  • Serve her breakfast in bed—it can be as simple as tea and a muffin served on the special occasion china and presented on a tray.

How might you treat your most honored guest? Share your ideas in the Comments, then let’s commit to creating a true bit of holiday for ourselves.

 

If you’re struggling this holiday season, I encourage you to explore the Life Without Baby site for resources. Check out the Forums and Groups, reach out to others through Comments, or pick up some of the recommended Books. We may not be able to guarantee merriment, but we can offer compassion.