filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
Last week I asked you to share topic ideas for Whiny Wednesday. Quite a few of you were glad to oblige. Thanks for the great ideas.
So, this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is:
Other People’s Pity
As always, you’re free to vent on your own topic, too.
If you have Whiny Wednesday topics you’d like to see voiced, please drop me a line.
By Paulina Grace Hay
One thing I’ve felt and heard many times is about being locked out of the “Mommy Club”—a club we felt we had a natural right to join, no special requirements necessary. Then infertility, illness, age, or time black-balled us. We stand wistfully outside trying to get a peek of the mothers inside living their ideal lives. We imagine all the judgment about our “child-free” lives will be washed away once we walk through those golden Mommy gates.
I live in an odd situation where my life straddles having no kids and having one kid. I have a teenage stepson. He was a toddler when I started dating his father. I am not a full-time stepmother and my son’s mother is very active in his life. Due to this unexpected loophole, I have been granted a “special guest pass” into the Mommy Club. But with restricted privileges. I’ve been outright ignored, given the once over, and warmly greeted. Sometimes by the same person.
I found my place at the club in the fly-on-the-wall seat. I’ve done my share of listening and observing over the years from this post. From the moment a woman is pregnant, people have lots of opinions to share in front of her face and behind her back. I’ve watched the awkward “Congratulations” and subsequently more awkward baby shower for the 19-year-old who got admitted too soon. I’ve watched one mother look down her nose at another for paying for lunch milk rather than packing it. I’ve heard one mother refer to another’s young child as “homely”. In return came an insult about their son’s need for a haircut. I’ve watched smiling faces drop like lead balloons after having an unexpected insult directed their way. I’ve heard the voices lower and eyes begin shifting as a group insult gains momentum.
If anything, admittance into the Mommy Club only ramps up your potential areas of judgment. Some are the old stand-bys. Your age. Your weight. Your hair. Your outfit. Your car. Your house. Your husband. Your ex-husband. Your job. Your decision to stay home. Then multiply all of those things by your child and husband. Possibly your parents and your dog, too. How you raise your kids has the highest potential for conflict of all.
The Mommy Club is not for the faint of heart. Often I saw these women enter with full armor on, even if it looked like yoga clothes, in the chance a battle may begin at any time. Very different to the rose-colored version I imagined, where a new mother would be greeted with open arms and loving support once inside the club walls.
My biggest lesson from access into the Mommy Club is this: Being a mother does not make you automatically connect with another person. I’ve found the same holds true for infertility. It just might give you something to talk about for a few minutes or a few get-togethers. We are more complex and interesting than our children. Or lack of them. I choose to instead consider that we are all part of the Human Club. And for that, there is no special admittance required.
Paulina Grace walked away from the infertility roller coaster six years ago. She hopes to help other women let themselves grieve and then let themselves live. Outside of running her own business, Paulina fulfills her need to nurture by being an involved aunt and caring for her aging parents.
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Gwen*, now 44, has endured a rough journey of loss and infertility treatments, but she still hopes for a miracle. Like many of us, she dances around the pros and cons of being childfree as she considers what her Plan B might look like. Do you see yourself in her story? If so, take a moment to reach out to her in the Comments.
LWB: Please briefly describe your dream of motherhood.
Gwen: I told myself that if it didn’t happen by 36 I would not pursue it. It wasn’t until I was 39 and reconnected with an old flame—who I eventually married—that I wanted to try for a family. My husband had been a victim of parental alienation for over a decade, has had no connection with his own children for over eight years, and it was very important for me to be able give him a child we could raise together in a very loving family.
LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?
Gwen: It was by choice until the age of 39. Then, after three years of trying and having over a dozen conceptions/zero pregnancies/one early miscarriage, I sought infertility treatment. Two failed IVF (in vitro fertilization) cycles into two failed IUI (intrauterine insemination) converts; the doctors could do nothing for me. We can’t afford and are not morally on board with egg donorship. We are too old to adopt a young child, and I do not to want to put myself or my husband through the grueling process of rejection through adoption.
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, all of the above.)
Gwen: All of the above. I still hope every month, still time intercourse for a possible miracle while fully knowing the eggs are bad and the outcome will most likely never change. Just this month we had a conception that failed. I now joke that my uterus is made of Teflon.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Gwen: Feeling like a social outcast. I just cannot get past that one. I’ve never followed the status quo my entire life, was a “late bloomer” with all things social growing up, and became a statistic as a child of divorce and divorced twice over myself. So giving up the battle and becoming yet another statistic is the hardest part for me. “Everyone else can have a child, why not me?” is what goes through my head every day.
LWB: What’s the best part about not having children?
Gwen: Not having to dedicate the next 18 years to being responsible for another human being. I can continue to “do my thing”, come and go as I please, work on my crafts whenever I want, enjoy life on my terms, and not lie in wait for what my offspring needs right now. Oh, and being able to get a full night’s sleep every night. That’s a biggie.
LWB: What’s your Plan B?
Gwen: As I am just coming to terms with being childfree forever, I guess it is wait and see. After three years of marriage we could apply to be a licensed foster home and hope to find an older child who will fit into our life. But that is another year waiting, and my thoughts on adoption might change by then. I’ll leave that in God’s hands.
*To protect respondents’ privacy, we allow each to choose a name for her profile. It may or may not be fictitious.
Won’t you share your story with us? Go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
I am a huge fan of watching kids of all ages participate in just about any kind of sporting or performing event. I don’t care if a player is running toward the wrong goal or if the opposing team scores the most points or if the knight in tin-foil armor has to have his lines whispered to him from the teacher behind the curtain. I applaud and enjoy it all.
Watching my own kids was one of the activities I most looked forward to participating in as a proud parent. Alas…no kids for me. And since it would be weird if I showed up to watch a random game at the park, I put the word out to siblings and friends to let me know when I could come watch their kids.
“Send me the game schedule,” I said to a friend after she complained to me about how much time she spends chauffeuring her boys to practices. “When’s the next match?” I texted to another friend after getting a video clip of her daughter scoring a game-winning point. Despite multiple requests, I rarely got a response. Finally I pinned one friend down. “I’m serious!” I said. “I really really want to go watch your daughter play.” “Really?” she said. “We didn’t send you the schedule because we didn’t want you to feel obligated, we didn’t want to burden you.”
What followed was an open chat about how much I loved watching kids play, how much I missed being able to watch my own kids play, and how I hoped I could ease my feelings of loss by watching her kids at play. She got it. She finally heard me, and a couple of weeks later I had a seat in the bleachers.
It’s not easy or fun putting ourselves out there like this, but if you’ve been sitting on the sidelines too long, I encourage you to persist. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be part of the fun.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.
I’m finding that I don’t have much to whine about these days. While I’m thrilled to be in this place of peace, I’m not sure it’s doing much for Whiny Wednesday. I’m concerned that I’m not touching on the topics that might be at the forefront of your lives right now.
So, Kathleen gave me a great idea: Why not put a call out for guest whines?
If you have a topic you’d like to voice or a conversation you’d like to start, drop me a line. Just send me a couple of sentences with your whine and I’ll turn it into a guest post. Let me know too if you’d like to include your first name, a pseudonym, or be anonymous.
As for this week’s whines, feel free to unleash in the comments below.
By Katrina Blaydon
I will be 34 in a few months and my husband of 3 years and I have been trying to have a baby for the past year and a half. I have PCOS and do not ovulate. He, however, is just fine. So, if I take a course of fertility drugs every month on particular dates, I ovulate. Problem solved. So, it was a very frustrating process to learn that every four weeks, we would face another heartbreak, despite physically being “able.” And it was less than comforting, when our wonderful doctor, whom we trust, said point blank, “I’m sorry you aren’t pregnant yet. I’m frustrated about this too, and I can’t explain it.”
Every month, we would anxiously and silently go out of our minds with a mix of excitement and sorrow, hope and heartbreak. Then one day, as I got teary eyed by myself at work in the bathroom stall discovering once again that I was not to be a mother, I decided that I could not do it one more time. I spoke with my husband, who is wonderful, who loves me and wants me to be happy, but who also wants to a father. We decided together, for our sanity and health, we needed to consider a way for us to “move on” and pursue other plans.
That entire time of hope and heartache, I had to live in a state of “maybe” and “what if.” Could I take Advil for a headache if I’m possibly pregnant? I had a cold this past winter, and I couldn’t take Dayquil, in case “maybe” I was pregnant. I couldn’t plan a beach trip with my girlfriends because maybe I would be pregnant by then and wanted to save my time off for maternity leave. I couldn’t plan my life; I couldn’t even cure a headache… That’s when I realized: I need to learn to move past “the maybe” of it.
It was a feeling of pure anger and fury over the situation. I likened it to seeing myself as a child stomping my feet and pumping my fists at God, saying, “I want this and you won’t give it to me!” And to be honest, those feelings were worse than feeling sad every four weeks because after that sadness, I could find hope again. But knowing that, after this anger would come bitterness for friends and coworkers who announced joyfully planned pregnancies, wasn’t easy to grasp.
As with anything, it got worse before it got better, and it took a few months to reach a point of not feeling red hot at the thought of it. I started attending church after months away, as if I were being the stubborn child who rebelled, saying, “I’ll show Him!” The truth was, I was too angry and too bitter to pray. I couldn’t praise a God who decided that a homeless teenager, or a crack addict, or a single mom who couldn’t feed the six children she already had, was destined to be a parent, instead of us. I couldn’t understand that, and I still don’t. I still get red cheeked when I think about that, but it’s not 24 hours a day anymore of anger. It’s not a sleepless night every single evening of the week anymore, and it’s not a daily breakdown in tears anymore. I’ve made great progress.
Learning to move past the state of maybe, was the only way I could allow myself any peace. I am not going to lie and say that I don’t feel those same feelings when I get invited to a first birthday party or the worst of them all, the baby shower. And yes, something like a bomb explodes in my chest when someone unknowingly asks me, “Are you two going to be next?” or “So, when are you two going to start a family?” And yes, I still cry sometimes, just because I feel sad about it. But, overall, my general day to day life is not consumed by it.
By working to accept a childless status, it’s brought me peace and a feeling of knowing the pressure is off. I can make other plans. I’m finally able to let go and feel “lighter” somehow without this unfinished agenda constantly in the back of my head. I try to be thankful for a good night’s sleep, or to have a free weekend to get away with my husband, or spend Saturday mornings gardening instead of dashing to and from soccer fields. We enjoy a spontaneous date night on a Wednesday without worrying about a sitter and bath time routines. We are thankful to have time to enjoy our friends. I enjoy quiet time for myself and yet, I still cry about all the silence in our house. But learning to move past “maybe” has let my heart rest and it’s let my mind relax, and it allowed me to pursue a greater health and wellness plan for my body. Maybe that’s when it’s time to move past the maybe and learn to consciously enjoy the life you are living. After all, the “maybe” will be there whether you are planning on it or not. And as one of my most encouraging friends told me, “Plans can be changed.” Yet another thing for which this infertile woman is thankful.
Katrina has her B.A. from Penn State University. She lives in central PA with her husband of three years.
If you’re new to the site, welcome. You may be wondering what this Whiny Wednesday thing is all about.
Whiny Wednesday is the place you get to grumble—judgment free—about whatever’s on your mind. No one will ask why you’re not over it yet and no one will think less of you for speaking the truth, warts and all. And, within the boundaries of appropriateness, no topic is off limits either.
So, if you have something on your mind you’d like to unload, here’s the place for it.
Whine on!
It’s Memorial Day here in the U.S. and Mr. Fab has asked that we go to the cemeteries where his relatives are buried. One of those cemeteries is also the place I had my big epiphany when I realized I was never going to have children.
I haven’t been back there since that day more than five years ago and I know it’s potentially a loaded place for me, but I think I’m going to be okay. Going back there will mark another milestone on my road to recovery and each one gets a little easier.
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On the topic of milestones, this site passed its own milestone last week, with the 1000th post on this blog! I haven’t done the math, but I’m guessing 1000 posts equates to about 400,000 words. So, if you ever find yourself bored, feel free to browse what’s probably the equivalent of five books of posts!
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And speaking of books I have finally managed to get all your book recommendations up on the site. How long has it taken me? It took me way longer than it ought to have done and I finally found an easy way to do it. You can find the Books page here.
You’ll notice that the books are listed through the Amazon Affiliate program, which means that if you click through and buy the books from the links on this site, LWB will receive a small commission. This will help to offset the cost of providing the private community and keeping the site ad-free. (Those of you who were here in the early days may recall the site was housed on a free platform that had Google ads offering diapers, fertility clinics, and baby products.) If you’re not comfortable using the affiliate links, you can simply use the page as a list and then go directly to your preferred bookseller.
The Books page is still a work in progress and I hope to add more as I go, so please let me know if you come across a book that you think other readers would find helpful.
How are you doing this week? If you’re here in the U.S., hopefully you’re looking forward the long holiday weekend. Got anything fun planned?
Today is Whiny Wednesday, so if there’s something, almost anything, you need to get off your chest, go for it.
When you realized you were never going to have kids, did you reassess your lives and make any big changes that you never would have made had you had kids?
I was asked this question recently and it caused me to stop and think. Much of the past five years has been spent healing, coming to terms with a life without children, and learning about myself again. And while I’ve done a lot of reassessing about the kind of life I want to live, I’m not sure much has changed.
When we thought we were going to have a young family, Mr. Fab and I had planned to buy a house in the neighborhood where we rent. The schools are good, and the city is family-friendly. But now we won’t be having children, that’s no longer a priority and we’ve talked a lot about where we’d like to live now that we’re free to live almost anywhere. Buying a house is no longer a priority. In fact we have our eyes on a sailboat instead.
But aside from that, not much has changed in the way we live. Much has changed in the way we thought we were going to live, but when I step back and reassess, life really has just gone as before.
Sometimes I think we feel pressure to do a major life overhaul when we realize we won’t have children, but is that true? Yes, I have more freedom to take opportunities and make changes, but after all is said I’m done, I’m still the same old Lisa and the things that were important to me before are largely still important to me now.
How about you? Have you made big changes now that your life won’t include children?
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