Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About Why I Can’t Grieve

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

It’s impossible to put on mascara when you can’t stop crying.

I learned this little truism the day after we put our sweet 14-year-old dog to sleep. I’d spent the day intermittently sobbing and whimpering—set off by her empty bowl, her favorite spot in my office, now vacant, and tiny reminders of my everyday companion. I had pushed off most work-related tasks, but still had to pull myself together for an evening event I needed to attend. With a lot of deep breathing, as well as promises to myself that I could continue crying my eyes out later, I managed to make myself presentable.

I’m not new to devastating losses. Almost daily, I still think of the best friend who died tragically when she was just 20, my beloved grandmother and “hot date” for movies who passed in 1993, and my father-in-law who left us before he could be an honored guest at our wedding. But the outpouring of emotions I experienced after losing Scout was a new breed of grief. Guilt, gratitude, longing, regret, relief, loneliness, heartache. At times it consumed me, as, I think, it should. And that got me thinking….

As a woman who is childfree by circumstances, I have never fully grieved the loss of my dream of motherhood. For 25 years or so, I’ve been in this crazy dance between longing and hoping, praying and wishing, denial, regret, jealousy, despair, having faith and losing faith. I used to beg God for a neon sign—seriously—a message so clear that said either “You will have children, so stick it out!” or “You aren’t going to have children. Get on with your life!” And the years went by. And the years went by. And here I am. I am childfree by circumstance (don’t you dare accuse me of making a “choice”), and I describe myself as “mostly at peace” with my status. But there are days when I still think “What if….”

I won’t trivialize the pain of our sisters who are childfree by infertility. I’ve held too many friends and sobbed with them over miscarriages, failed IVF treatments, and the loss of their dreams, and I know too well that their paths are filled with heartbreak. But because LWB is a place where we can safely share our deepest hurts, please allow me to say that there are times when I’ve envied their ability to grieve. My friends had defining moments when they could let it all out, when they could ask for support, when support was offered even when it was not asked for. Think of my journey like the quiet drip-drip of a faucet; it’s imperceptible, so no one calls in the plumber, but over time it causes the same amount of catastrophic damage as a flood. I have never had a moment of finality, never experienced that intense period of grief, and on some very deep and possibly damaged level, I wish I could.

Selfish? Perhaps. But hear me out. I know that grieving is necessary. The sobbing period winds down, you put your experiences into perspective, and then you move on. For I so would like to be able to move on. I want to embrace this path I’ve been given and find new purpose in my life. I’d like to feel that the wanderings of my childbearing years were not just wasted time. And I fear that, if I skip past the crucial grieving phase, I’ll never get to the phase of accepting and, ultimately, to that day when I can feel content with my circumstances.

Writing My Way Through Infertility

typewriterToday is the final stop on my blog tour and I’m very pleased to take you to France to visit Bamp.fr.

Bamp.fr is a collective of infertility bloggers who have been making some giant strides forward for the infertility community in France. They launched an infertility awareness week and recently lobbied for paid time off for infertility-related appointments, such as tests and procedures.

My post today is about writing through infertility and how sharing my story helped me to heal. My piece appears in both English and French and was translated with the generous help of Life Without Baby reader, Lara. You can read my post—Writing My Way Through Infertility—here.

Bamp.fr would really like to expand their reach to women who have come to the end of their infertility paths and are looking for the kind of support and community we offer here. If you happen to speak French and would like to write on the topic of living childless-not-by-choice, please get in touch as they would love to have more voices speaking out.

*A note: Many of the articles on Bamp.fr are aimed at women still trying to conceive and some of you may find this triggering. Most articles are in French, however one or two have been translated to English.

Claiming Your Right to Grieve

Self-compassionDealing with grief is a topic I find myself talking about again and again. It’s one of the most overlooked and misunderstood aspects of coming to terms with a life without children. It’s such a critical part of healing that I devoted four entire chapters to it in my new book.
Today, I’m paying a virtual visit to Mali at No Kidding in NZ to talk about this topic of giving ourselves permission to grieve in our own way. Mali has been a long time supporter of Life Without Baby and you’ve no doubt already met her in the comments section.

During our e-mail exchanges, we talked about the grieving process and how our experiences have made us more compassionate to other people who have suffered losses. I suppose it’s one of the silver linings to this story.

You can find my post on Mali’s blog today (which is really tomorrow in New Zealand). Please drop in and say hi to her. I know she’d love to hear from you on her turf, so to speak.

 

Knowing When It’s Time to Let Go of the Dream of Motherhood

Lesley PyneToday I’m continuing my blog tour with a visit to Lesley Pyne in the UK. Lesley has been a wonderful supporter of Life Without Baby and has created a really valuable source of support on her own site.

I wrote a post for her about knowing when it’s time to let go of the dream of motherhood, perhaps one of the most difficult decisions any of us have ever had to make.

Lesley has a free ebook on her site about taking the first steps after this decision, so please drop in on her, read what I have to say on the topic, and grab yourself a copy of Lesley’s ebook.

 

 

Our Stories: Holly

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Our Stories“I need to start doing something with my life,” Holly, age 36, wrote, “otherwise it’s all just a waste of time.”

Holly is in that horrible ugly weird limbo in which she’s grieving her loss of the dream of motherhood, kinda still “hoping for a miracle a little bit”, while also trying to work through her anger and figure out a Plan B. Sound familiar? I thought so.

Read on to see how she’s doing, and consider sharing some of your journey with her in the Comments.

LWB: Please briefly describe your dream of motherhood.

Holly: I have never been a particularly child-orientated person, meaning I didn’t obsess over other people’s children or coo at strangers’ babies. But there did come a point in my life when I just felt ready to have my own. It felt natural and not at all scary.

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

Holly: Circumstance: I ran out of time. I have been with my partner for 17 years. He is 22 years older and has four grown-up children. At first, he said he didn’t want any more children and it didn’t matter to me because I was young and didn’t know that I wanted them myself. At the start I was so in love, I couldn’t contemplate life without him and I thought it would work out somehow. I realise now that I should have thought ahead.

More recently, though I still love him, I have considered leaving him. But I know it would take me a long time to get to a point where I can start a family with somebody else. I might even have to go through a few somebodies before I find “the one”, then I would need to wait until we’re at the right stage of our relationship before starting a family, and then how old would I be? Although there’s still some sliver of possibility, I made the decision to stop believing, stop wishing, and start accepting a life without children.

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

Holly: A lot of my friends are getting married and having children. When they break the news to me, I have to look all excited and interested. I’m not doing either of those things. A friend of mine who had been trying to convince her husband to get a cat told me she had some news. “Ooh, are you getting a cat?” I asked. “No,” she replied, “I’m having a baby!” I just replied, “But you can still have a cat, can’t you?” It’s knee-jerk reaction for me to find something jokey to say when I get that kind of news because I’m concerned that if I just say “Congratulations”, they’re going to hear the insincerity in my voice.

What I hate most is the ease with which they do it; most of them fall pregnant a few short months after getting married. It’s like they say, “What shall we do now? Have a baby? Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.” Like they’re just deciding to walk through a fucking door, and they don’t seem to appreciate that some people are bricked in.

LWB: What’s the best part about not having children?

Holly: I always dreaded the baggage that came with having children. I am very glad to have escaped having to be friends with parents who have no personal identity and talk constantly about their children; having to go to (or host!) children’s parties; and being forced to talk to strangers and give them updates on my son/daughter.

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

Holly: Never take anything for granted. Younger woman should not take it for granted that they are going to have children and start thinking about a Plan B. Mums and dads should not take it for granted that everybody can have what they’ve got. (And try to exercise a little tact rather than parading their children around like they’re the second coming, or saying “you’ll understand when you have children”.)

Also, this pain isn’t that of wanting something that I cannot have; it’s more a loss, a grief. Years ago I imagined that my baby already existed somewhere and I was just waiting to meet him. I bought a little jumper and an elephant toy for him, things that I had seen when out buying things for my sisters’ babies and thought I would save for the future. So there were already traces of him in my life. When it became clear my boyfriend did not want children with me, I sat and held these items and talked out loud to my baby. I told him that I loved him and that it wasn’t his fault. I’ve never said any of this to anybody and I know why: it sounds ridiculous. What I mean by this is that I’m not coming to terms with not being able to have a baby, rather I feel I am having to lay my baby to rest. I would never want to compare myself to a grieving parent, as that must be the worst imaginable nightmare, but I do feel this is loss I am feeling.

LWB: What’s your Plan B?

Holly: I don’t have a Plan B. I’m still trying to work that one out. Right now I am not living my life like somebody who is free of children. I don’t travel, I don’t follow my hobbies or my passions. I need to start doing something with my life, otherwise it’s all just a waste, but I don’t know what that’s going to be yet.

Where are you on your journey? Are you angry? Grieving? Outlining a Plan B? All of the above? We’d love to hear from you so we can better understand our own journeys and so we can 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.

You can find more of Our Stories here.

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

Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen

By Lisa Manterfield

Lisa _Book1I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I first acknowledged that motherhood would not be part of my future. The idea started as a knot in the pit of my stomach, a fleeting thought of “What if this doesn’t happen for me?” It put out little tendrils of doubt that manifested in sadness and frustration that I couldn’t get this thing I wanted so much. But even as doctors shook their heads and test results showed over and over again that I could not conceive, the idea that I would never be a mother was unimaginable, and the possibility that it might not happen was drowned out by hope and my blind determination that, if I just kept trying, it would all work out in the end.

But it wasn’t naïve denial that kept me pursuing my dream of motherhood. It was the completely blank canvas of the unknown that lay beyond if I made the decision to give up. I had no idea what the future would hold for me, and it was easier to stay in that awful place of painful possibility than to cut my losses and step into an uncertain future. Despite being surrounded by loving friends and family, I felt completely lost and alone, carrying around with me a deep grief that had no outlet. I’d never met anyone like me before, and I didn’t know where to turn for help or even what kind of help I might need. I didn’t even realize I needed help. I just pushed along on my own, taking it one day at a time, and trying to figure out how I was ever going to make peace with the enormous loss I felt. I honestly wasn’t sure I ever would.

Book_CoverIt was a long process that didn’t come with a roadmap. There were no books to guide me through the process and no one to help me understand the sadness and confusion of losing something that I’d never had in the first place. I wrote about what I was going through, first in a journal, then as exercises in a writer’s workshop, which became chapters of a memoir. When I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No to Motherhood was published in 2010, I felt as if I was laying out all my shortcomings for the world to see—assuming anyone would actually read it. But a funny thing happened: As I began to write publicly, in the book and on this blog, I found you, a community of women—each with her own unique story—all struggling with the same issues and trying to find acceptance in the life you’d been dealt. For the first time, I felt as if I wasn’t stumbling through this alone.

Some you are like me and have dealt with infertility and never been pregnant, while others have suffered miscarriages or delivered stillborn babies. Some of you have dealt with health issues that forced you into a decision not to pursue motherhood, and others are dusting yourselves off after the blow of a failed adoption. Some of you have watched your dreams of motherhood dashed as the search for the right mate kept turning up the wrong man. Others have found yourselves facing divorce or the death of a spouse, or a partner who had a change of heart about parenthood. Each of you has your own story about how you came to find yourself watching the window of opportunity for motherhood slowly close—and yet we all share so many common issues. What I’ve discovered through you is that, when I wrote openly about the tangled emotions and “crazy” thoughts I’ve had, you keep responding with “Me too.”

I realize how important it is to walk this path with others who’ve been there and how sharing my story helps me to feel normal again. I’ve learned a lot from my own experience and from your comments on this site. I’ve come to understand the importance of grieving something that never existed, even if my immediate family and closest friends couldn’t fully understand my loss. I’ve learned the value of a compassionate community and the power of knowing I am not alone. I’ve also learned to look forward toward a future I hadn’t planned and to find joy and passion in my life again. I’ve learned not just how to survive, but how to thrive in a life without children.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve been collecting all that I’ve learned into a book. I’ve released sections in the Life Without Baby Workbook series and now (drumroll, please!) the complete book is finally finished!

It’s called Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen, and it’s available March 7 in both print and digital formats. (You can pre-order the ebook version here if you want to be among the first to get a copy.)

So before I get too wrapped up in all that’s involved with publishing and promoting a book, I wanted to say a big thank you to all of you—for your ongoing support, for teaching so much about myself, and for taking such good care of one another. I am truly honored to be part of this community.

Holiday Blues and a Celebration

By Lisa Manterfield

That’s me, learning to sail.

Every year it seems I get caught out with a bout of the Holiday Blues.

After a really fun and non-traditional Thanksgiving with wonderful friends, I headed into December ready to celebrate the holidays my way. Then Bam! I came down with the Holiday Blues.

There will always be things I wish were part of my festive season, like hand-delivering gifts to my family, shopping for small children, and creating the kind of Christmas I had as a child. But it wasn’t theses losses and what-ifs that gave me the blues this year.

Maybe it was the rainy weather that kept me indoors for much of the week. Maybe it was the end of year racing towards me highlighting the things that didn’t get accomplished this year. Or maybe it’s that Christmas doesn’t really feel like something to celebrate anymore.

Finally, I took my own advice, and that of a couple of friends, and dusted myself off. I bought a tree, made plans for Christmas Eve dinner at a favorite restaurant, and wrote and sent my cards. And then I made myself a cup of tea and sliced off a chunk of proper English fruitcake, and I curled up in a chair and wrote in my journal.

I made a list of everything good that happened this year—all the fun things I did (see photo, for one), the challenges I overcame, the goals I reached this year, the friends I spent time with, the family I visited.

And guess what I discovered? It’s been another great year this year. I have lived my life, perhaps not always to the fullest, but to the best that I was able. And I had a good time doing it.

That, I think, is plenty of reason to celebrate.

Whiny Wednesday: Spouses Not Dealing

Whiny_WednesdayHappy Whiny Wednesday! I hope you’re doing okay today. If not, this is the place to get it off your chest.

This week we turn to spotlight on the men in our lives and discuss the topic of:

Spouses or partners who aren’t dealing or healing

If you have one of these, we’d like to hear to about it.

Whiny Wednesday: The Holidays

Whiny_WednesdayEven 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.

Holiday Self-Preservation

By Lisa Manterfield

Woman Giving Gift, Portrait, Blurred.Imagine you have a good friend who experiences a death in the family right before the holidays. She’s dealing with funeral arrangements and in among the holiday cards that people sent before they got the news are sympathy cards and notes of condolence. She has her loved one’s belongings to go through and her mind is anywhere but on the holidays. She is mourning and there is little or no room in her grief for festivities.

You understand this and so you forgive your friend when she doesn’t send a card or a gift this year. You don’t expect her to attend the annual get-together you usually have with your group of friends. Instead, you check in on her to make sure she’s okay and you let her know that you’re there for her if she needs anything. You both know next year will be different, that she’ll be back celebrating with you, even though this will always be a difficult time of year for her.

If you’re in the earliest stages of your journey, where perhaps your latest round of IVF has failed or you’ve just come to the realization that children aren’t going to be part of your plan, you’re also grieving a great loss. The difference is, most people around you aren’t going to understand why you aren’t in the holiday spirit and they’re going to expect you to attend events, show up with gifts, and contribute to the merriment. They probably won’t make the same concessions you would make for your friend, so it’s up to you to treat yourself as kindly as you would treat her.

If this year feels too difficult for you, consider taking the year off.

Seriously, what would happen if you didn’t send out cards this year? What would happen if you mailed gift certificates instead of subjecting yourself to the mall and all its triggering festivities to shop for gifts? Do you have to decorate? Can you make excuses for parties you don’t want to attend? Could you even take a year off from whatever family obligations you might have?

It’s just one year. Will the people you love disown you? Some might be upset and yes, there’ll be that relative or friend who’ll never let you not forget, but odds are, most will forgive and forget.

We often try so hard to be there for other people, to meet their expectations and give them the holiday experience they want. But maybe this year you could give yourself what you need instead.