Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About “Thank You” Notes

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.

 

 

It Got Me Thinking…About “The Wall”

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I love my gynecologist. She’s smart, she’s about my age, and like me, she’s childfree. So, yes, I believe she “gets” me.

That’s why it continues to gall me that her office still doesn’t “get” how devastating each of my visits are. I make a point of not making eye contact with anyone else in the waiting room. I don’t want to know—I don’t want the possibility of sensing—that the woman sitting across the room from me is in the full bloom of pregnancy. I also don’t want to know if the woman four seats over is falling apart because she’s about to get confirmation that another round of fertility treatments has failed to produce a longed-for baby. Honestly, I have enough on my plate just keeping my own emotions in check as I telepathically beg the nurse to call my name next.

And I’m pretty successful until I walk past the gatekeeper and enter the hallway where I’m once again faced with The Wall.

Technically, it’s one long wall with three bulletin boards overloaded with healthy baby and family photos. Hello, knife to the heart! There’s no avoiding it. It’s literally IN MY FACE as I make my way to the scale, then to the ladies’ room, then back into the hallway and to the exam room. I get one last look as I head out, and I typically manage to hold myself together as I ride down the elevator (sunglasses on, just in case), exit the building into the glaring sunlight, and all but crawl into my car where I let it all go.

Failure. Loser. Incomplete Woman. Freak of Nature. These are all the labels I give myself as I process my annual confrontation with The Wall.

With this being National Infertility Awareness Week, I wish my doctor and her staff could be more, well, aware. For the sign on their office does not read “Health Care for Mommies Only” or “Doctor of Pregnant and Breastfeeding Women”. It’s supposed to be an office that provides health care for all women. Although my reproductive system may have exceeded its best if used by date, I am still going in for my routine physical checkups, I continue to be a paying customer, and (dangit) I’d like to be represented on The Wall.

So, here are my suggestions:

  • In the waiting room, post images of a variety of women, such as prints of famous works of art from different eras. Maybe one is a classic Mary Cassatt mother and child painting (By the way, did you know Cassatt was childfree?), then choose from the abundance of works by Botticelli, Michelangelo, Berthe Morisot, or Annie Leibovitz.
  • Or go abstract and hang a bunch of prints by Georgia O’Keeffe, you know, those floral images that subtly represent healthy female reproductive organs.
  • On The Wall, post photos of healthy women, all women. You don’t need to take out the babies and families—they have their place here too—but add to the mix your other patients, the single women, the lesbian women, the families of two, and the post-menopausal women who are still kicking, who tell their whole life stories in the lines on their faces.

I hope that I’ll see some changes on The Wall when I go in for my next checkup. But honestly, I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to look.

 

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

 

Our Stories: Nora

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Nora endured devastating abuse from her parents and from a former husband. With such dysfunction in her world, becoming a mother wasn’t something she dreamed about. Then she discovered she was pregnant. “I wanted to keep the baby very much,” she says, “but the situation was too dire.” So she made the heartbreaking decision to end the pregnancy.

With the help of therapy and work in creative fields, she has survived her youth and has healed herself “to the point of being able to live in a loving relationship” with a wonderful fiancé. “I can finally do something productive with my life,” she writes, yet at the same time, feelings of doubt and failure pop up as she wrestles with the results of her choices (oh, how I hate that word).

I hope you’ll offer her words of compassion and encouragement in the Comments, especially if you can relate to her story and have escaped an abusive situation yourself.

LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.

Nora: I honestly never pictured myself as a mother. The whole idea felt too foreign to me, as I came from a religious family that was profoundly dysfunctional and had no internalized positive image of motherhood. I came to terms with the reality of being an orphan after I disowned my abusive parents and cut contact with my younger siblings who were my only other relatives. I started therapy as early as I could, driven also by the fear that if I didn’t arrive at a point of healing soon enough, I might be too old to create a loving family of my own when that day finally arrived. I have found this to be common among victims of child abuse.

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

Nora: Circumstance. I believe if I had had a semi-functional family background, I would have made better relationship choices in my 20s and I´d feel encouraged to plan for a family with my fiancé now.

I had an abortion at 27 when I unfortunately became the victim of a serial fraudster, a foreigner who married me and then took all my money. This man took advantage of my profound longing for family and for love. I wanted to keep the baby very much, but the situation was too dire. He was threatening me, and I was in danger of developing serious STDs, which could have affected the child, too. It all happened so fast.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Nora: Sometimes I think about that abortion, that somehow I “could have made it”, living in a shelter house, alone in a foreign country. But then I come back to my senses and realize it was the best decision. I would never want to bring a child into the mess I grew up in. The possibility of having a family is fading in front of my eyes when I realize that nothing is going to happen unless I put substantial effort into creating a suitable environment for a child—and I feel too hollow and tired to pursue it. I never really expected to become a mother, so it doesn’t surprise me. It just feels of empty and out of reach for me.

LWB: What was the turning point for you?

Nora: When I moved in with my fiancé, into his one bedroom apartment, it finally dawned to me that it’s never going to happen. He is a bachelor, 10 years older, and looking forward to his military pension. But I think we both find the fantasy somewhat comforting, that we “still can change our minds.”

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

Nora: Feeling like a failure, like I am not “good enough”, normal, natural, whatever. But I guess it’s cruel to measure oneself against other people’s standards. None of them has walked in my boots.

LWB: What’s the best advice you’ve received?

Nora: Somebody related the question of motherhood to a form of immortality, and said it is viable through creating children or something else of lasting value, like art.

LWB: What’s your Plan B?

Nora: I want to become a writer and documentarist. I find art and writing very fulfilling, but also it asks for your full being to be present. Sometimes I feel I have already given up some of that creativity by entering a close relationship, but I don’t regret that. I love my fiancé, and I can picture living a happy life together.

 

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.

What Mothers Say About Childless Daughters

By Lisa Manterfield

Yesterday was Mother’s Day in the U.K.. I know it will have been a very difficult day for many of you. For me, the small upside to living on the opposite side of the world from my mother is that I can cheerfully celebrate her without needing to protect myself from the celebrations swirling around me. Come May 14, Mother’s Day in the U.S., I can keep a low profile without feeling like I’m neglecting her. I’m grateful for that.

During a visit to the U.K. a couple of years ago, I was my Mum’s date at a senior social night she wanted to attend. Aside from the organizer’s son and grandchildren, I was the only person under 70. It was great.

At the event I ran into the mother of an old school friend I haven’t seen or heard from in 20-plus years. When I asked after him, she regaled me with a running inventory of all his successes—his well-paying job, his lovely wife and her lovely job, their lovely house, and, of course, their two amazing children.

“And do you have children?” she asked.

“No,” I told her. “I don’t.”

And I swear to God that was the end of our conversation. No questions about my husband, my work, where I lived, or what I’d done with the last 20 years. Nothing.

I can imagine the conversation she’ll have when she next sees her son.

“I ran into Lisa the other week. She doesn’t have any children. Poor thing.”

My overriding feeling is this: She is a very nice lady, but I’m glad she’s not my mother.

My mother was sad for me that I couldn’t have children, but she’s never made me feel like a failure as a daughter because of it.

I’m honestly not sure what my mother says when people ask her if I have any children. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t drop her eyes from the shame of having to tell people her only daughter is barren. I hope she sees me for all the things I am, including the fact that I’m not too self-important to go with her to a senior social night and sing songs with the old folks.

I hope I give my mother plenty to be proud of, even if I didn’t give her grandchildren.

Whiny Wednesday: Infertility Amnesia


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?

Why Childlessness Does Not Make Me Less of a Woman

Women having fun at Golden Gate Bridge

By Lisa Manterfield

“I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.”

~Anaïs Nin

There’s an idea going around that not having children somehow makes us “less of a woman.” I don’t subscribe to this idea.

As this quote by author Anaïs Nin states, I am many, many women, and “mother” is only one element of me.

I am a writer, friend, wife, cat mama, reader, thinker, curser, fighter, nature-lover, spider catcher, traveler, cook.

All these women are fluid. They ebb and flow in me as needed. And when one of them isn’t able to fulfill her purpose, the others quickly rally to fill the gap, so I am always whole.

I am never less of a woman.

Knowing Who I Am

By Lisa Manterfield

MP900255381There was a time when I found it difficult to be around mothers of young children. It was hard to listen to them talk about their kids when I felt I had nothing to contribute, and it was painful to know that I’d never be able to share those experiences with them. I couldn’t bear to hear their sweet or funny stories, and it made my blood boil to hear them complain. What I wouldn’t have given for the chance to be kept awake all night by a colicky baby.

As I’ve progressed on my journey and begun to heal, it’s become easier for me to spend time with mothers, to listen to their stories, to speak up when I have something to add, and even to commiserate about the hard stuff, without feeling resentful.

I’m listening to what they say about motherhood and I’m hearing a common theme: Motherhood chips away at them until they lose touch with the women they once were. They love their children, they love being mothers, but they resent how all-consuming the job is and how much of themselves they lose to their families, until they know longer know who they are.

There are always two sides to every story, pros and cons, gains and losses. When we don’t get something we want and deserve, it’s easy to focus on what’s lost—the experiences, the opportunities, and the stories we won’t get to tell. But what about what’s gained? And what about what’s not lost? What about the sacrifices we didn’t have to make and the women we now get to be?

I may not be the woman I’d once hoped to be—a mother—but I know who I am now, and a part of me is grateful for what I didn’t have to lose: myself.

Whiny Wednesday: Parental Milestones

Whiny WednesdayBack-to-school 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.

Remembering to Honor Your Mother

By Lisa Manterfield

Mum

Mum and I on the water

Next Sunday is Mother’s Day in the UK, which, let’s face it, is about the worst day of the year to be childless. I think the UK is still catching up with the States as far as turning this quiet, “honoring of one’s mother” into an all-out Hallmark bonanza, but given the recent surge in popularity of Halloween and Black Friday sales, Mother’s Day is unlikely to escape.

As I live on the opposite side of the world from my own mother, I can usually escape the Mother’s day madness that happens here in the US. I’ve sent a card and gift and I’ll make a phone call, and my mum will be appreciative of the gesture. She doesn’t want or need any more fuss than that. But come May, I know that many of you here in the US will be facing far bigger expectations, so let’s take a breath before the madness begins and start with a little history and perspective.

The modern idea of Mother’s Day here in the U.S was started in 1905 when Anna Jarvis, a woman who wanted to honor her own mother and her contributions to Anna’s life, fought to make it an official celebration. Mother’s Day as we know it was made official in 1914, when President Woodrow Wilson designated it as a national holiday celebrating mothers. It was quickly adopted and subsequently commercialized.

Anna (who was not a mother herself, by the way) never intended the day to be a celebration of motherhood, but a way for people to honor their own mothers in their own way. She was so enraged by the twisting of the quiet commemoration she’d envisioned that she actively protested the holiday that she’d fought so hard to create. I think poor old Anna would turn in her grave if she saw what Mother’s Day has become.

Keeping some perspective on the original intention can help you get through this difficult day, especially if your own mother is still in your life. You’ll need to find a way to celebrate her that’s appropriate for your relationship and your own need for protection. Perhaps you can send her a card or flowers. If you like to take her to lunch, suggest doing it the week before or after Mother’s Day, when it won’t be so crowded and you can enjoy your time together. Use this as an opportunity, if you can, to create a more meaningful tradition with your mother. This isn’t about poo-pooing Mother’s Day and all mothers, including your own, but it is about protecting yourself and honoring your mother in a meaningful, rather than a wholly commercial and meaningless, way.

Mother’s Day is still a couple of months away here, but taking a few minutes now to think about the challenges you might face and come up with a plan will help you get through the day. So what’s your plan? How will you spend the day? How will you honor your own mother? And how will you deal with the challenges you can’t avoid?

Guest Post: Shadow Lives

By Paula Coston

Image courtesy of Ideago/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Image courtesy of Ideago/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I’m 60 now, and over those six decades I have mapped out in my mind an entire web of paths untaken. Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve. And for that reason, Chapter 7 of Jody Day’s book Rocking the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Life without Children chimes with me. (Jody is the founder of Gateway Women, a British-based website for women childless by circumstance.)

The chapter’s first two sections are headed “The shadow of the life unlived” and “The dark side of daydreams.” She shares her own experience with searing frankness:

“For many years I’d been living two lives: one in which I was hoping for a baby and making the best of things till then, the other in which I had succeeded and had become a mother….

“At no point in that time… did I fully and completely embrace the life I was actually living—that of a childless woman….

“I think of the ‘shadow life’ as the life you dreamt about while your ‘real’ life was happening and … which … depleted the life you were actually living.”

We all have our path forks. A few of mine happened when:

– Somewhere in my childhood, I believed my family was encouraging me in the single, career-driven life, not a life of love and family.

– Over the years a couple of men proposed to me, both in fun. Friends laughed too, hearing about it.

– It became clear to me that one special lover had serious issues about parenthood, so when the option came up for us, I knew I had to forgo it.

– Neighbors and colleagues at work became grandmothers, and, like a photograph gradually developing, I soon saw that I never would.

Slowly, I’m coming to terms with these losses. These days, what fascinates me more is the way we persist in tracing and re-tracing these ghosts of roads untaken.

I wonder whether, once we surmount the pain, their rehearsal can bring us comfort. Why not trust that we’re living our shadow lives somewhere else close by, if it helps? Maybe the psyche is instinctively drawn to the idea of alternative realities. And if you’re a writer—like me—well, it’s unavoidable.

In 1964, a TV soap, Another World, started on NBC, set in the fictional town of Bay City. It was so popular that it ran till 1999! The co-creator Irna Phillips explained the idea behind it: “We do not live in this world alone, but in a thousand other worlds.” Bay City and its happenings represented to her the difference between “the world of events we live in, and the world of feelings and dreams that we strive for.”

In recent years, my best therapy has been to struggle with, and beat, writing a novel. On the Far Side, There’s a Boy tells the tale of a woman who doesn’t know that she even contemplates having children until she begins to dream—of one particular boy in Sri Lanka, whom she has known only through letters, so only half-known—and to see that he is what she wanted: even, what she may still want. It’s a kind of fantasy experience, parallel to her real life.

Aptly, her story echoes much that has happened to me. So these days, I’m learning to live with my shadow lives, to let them be and wend their ways, sometimes even to enjoy them.

I think I’ll term myself an AMo. Meaning “I love” in Latin, it also suggests that I’m a kind of Alternative Mother, somehow living both lives, the one I have and the one I didn’t, in harmony.

Paula Coston’s On the Far Side, There’s a Boy is available in paperback and e-book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/paulacoston