filling the silence in the motherhood discussion
Happy 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.
By Lisa Manterfield
Recently a friend posted this question of Facebook:
“Are you the adult you dreamed of becoming?”
I laughed when I read it. No! Of course I’m not. The adult I dreamed of was an international engineering consultant, living in a large house with a circular driveway, with a fabulous husband and four beautiful children, including one set of twins.
Aside from the fabulous husband, that adult is almost the polar opposite of the adult I am now. I’m a writer, who works from my very small rented beach cottage, and of course, there are no children in my picture. And yet, once I stop to consider my friend’s question, I realize that I’m a lot happier as this adult than I would have been had my expectations been met. I’ve met the person I’d once dreamed of becoming; she wasn’t a very happy person and she definitely had more grey hairs than me.
Half the battle of coming-to-terms with a life without children is letting go of our expectations—and creating new ones. This is never more true than during the holiday season, one of the most difficult times of the year to be childless.
When I think of my expectations of what Christmas should be like as an adult, those four children are always there, gathered around the tree, gathered around the dinner table, and then gathered around me as the day comes to a close. Even when I realized that children wouldn’t be part of my life, I still strived to make Christmas live up to my expectations. Consequently, Christmastime was very sad time for a number of years. I knew there was no way my expectations could be met, and eventually I stopped making an effort to celebrate.
The worst year was when my husband and I found ourselves sitting at home, with no Christmas tree, no plans, no celebration, and we knew we’d allowed our lack of children to take over our lives. We also realized it was time to set new, more realistic expectations.
When I took a step back and looked at what I really wanted for Christmas, not on the surface of gifts, family, and decorations, but on a deeper emotional level, I discovered that my spiritual wish list included love, peacefulness, companionship, and a good dose of silly fun. I needed to explore new ways to get what I really wanted.
It took a couple of false starts to find a new way to celebrate Christmas, but a couple of years ago we nailed it. Mr. Fab and I rented an apartment for three days in a nearby beach town. We celebrated on Christmas Eve with a lovely dinner at an historic hotel with an enormous Christmas tree, roving carolers, and even an outdoor ice rink (in Southern California!). On Christmas Day, instead of sitting at home feeling sad about a pathetic Christmas for two, we went to the zoo, like a couple of big kids, and had a whale of a time. I even got to feed a rhino and have an ice cream. We both agreed it was the best Christmas we’ve had for a long time, plus there were no tantrums or mountains of dirty dishes to deal with.
It’s hard to let go of our expectations, especially when they’re often so deeply engrained, but if you’re struggling to find your holiday cheer this year, I encourage you to look beneath the obvious losses and examine what’s really missing for you. Even if you can’t meet your tangible expectations of what the holidays should be, you might be surprised to find you can satisfy your true needs in unconventional—and unexpected—ways.
I sat down recently with Jody Day of Gateway Women to talk about how we’ve adjusted our expectations and reclaimed the holidays. You can find the interview at Gateway Women.
By Lisa Manterfield
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.
By Lisa Manterfield
This week we celebrate Thanksgiving here in the U.S. and, for the first time in a long time, I am looking forward to it. We are bucking tradition this year and spending the day with good friends, including another childfree couple. Mr. Fab is cooking a decidedly nontraditional Thanksgiving dinner, so all I’ll have to do, aside from a few sous chef duties, is show up and have a good time.
I know for many of you, Thanksgiving might not be such a fun time. Traditionally, it’s a holiday when families gather, which might mean facing insensitive relatives and prying questions about children. It also marks the beginning of what can often be the most difficult time of the year, with social gatherings, kid-oriented activities, and constant reminders of the many ways we don’t get to celebrate the holidays.
I love that this community includes new readers and seasoned pros, so let’s help one another out this year by sharing ideas on getting through the season with our hearts intact.
What are some of the issues you know you’ll face this holiday season? What events are you dreading? What’s going to be hardest for you?
And perhaps most important of all, how to do plan to get through the season with minimum emotional damage?
For more tips, inspiration, and support, check out the Life Without Baby Holiday Companion, available now at Amazon.com and in PDF format at Gumroad.
By Katrina Blaydon
I’m in my mid-30s 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.
This Saturday is Halloween, which for many of us means streams of cute children knocking on our front doors.
Love it or hate it; it’s hard to avoid it. So the discussion topic for this week is:
How do you handle this difficult holiday?
As it’s Whiny Wednesday, there’s room for your gripes here, too.
By Lisa Manterfield
One of the big changes I’ve seen since starting this site more than five years ago, is that the topics of infertility and childlessness are being brought out from behind closed doors and are being discussed in more public forums.
Whereas once I felt as if I was the only person talking openly about this, I’ve since found an incredible network of fellow bloggers and authors writing very intimately about their stories. Last week, the NotMom Summit was held in Ohio, where more than a hundred women discussed many of the issues we face and explored ways to follow a new path.
I’ve also received several requests to complete surveys from researchers who are exploring the effects and issues of unplanned childlessness. I’ve posted details about the two most recent studies below.
In your corner of the world, you may still be feeling that NO ONE is talking about this, that no one understands what you’re going through, and even your closest confidants don’t want to talk about it. Sadly, I think this is still true for most of us. But the tide is turning, and the more we talk about this topic and the more we venture out and start these conversations, the less taboo it will become.
Even if you’re not ready (or feel as if you will never be ready) to start your own campaign for understanding, you’re already part of this quiet revolution. You’re here, you’re talking about your experience with others, you’re sharing comfort and encouraging other readers. Even if you’re doing all of this anonymously and even if you’re coming here in secret to contribute to these conversations, you are part of the change that’s coming.
This issue is never going to go away, in fact I believe that our segment of the population will only continue to grow (but that’s another post for another day), but perhaps in the future, our sisters who need help will be able to pick up a leaflet from their doctors or walk into a local support group or sit down with a friend over coffee and feel comfortable talking openly about what it feels to not to have the children you wanted.
***
If you’d like to contribute to a research study, here are two I received recently:
Sarah Spear, M.A. from the Wright Institute in Berkeley, CA is conducting a study of women age 60 and older who identify as infertile and as involuntarily childless. You can find more about participating in her study here.
Livia Cremona-Bellizia of Victoria University is conducting a survey into how childlessness affects self-esteem, self-silencing behavior, life satisfaction, and depression/anxiety. You can participate in her online survey here.
Please note that both studies are confidential and anonymous.
One of the earliest posts I wrote here was about the trend at the time in baby doll tops that, on me, looked like maternity wear.
This week, a reader offered this Whiny Wednesday topic about shopping for new clothes. Her whine is:
“The need to go shopping for new clothes and trying to find something I feel good in vs. something I think screams ‘infertile and has a poor sense of style.’”
She may not have a great sense of style, but at least she has a great sense of humor.
It’s Whiny Wednesday. What can you laugh about this week?
By Lisa Manterfield
I absolutely love this article by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman about how not to say the wrong thing to someone in crisis. I wish it was mandatory reading for everyone, and I especially wish it came with a note explaining that it applies when talking to infertiles and the childless-not-by-choice.
The gist of their Ring Theory is that the person in crisis is at the center of the ring and those next closest to the person occupy subsequent rings. In the case of someone coming to terms with not having children, she would be at the center, her spouse or partner on the next ring, perhaps closest family and friends on the next, and more distant family, coworkers, and acquaintances beyond that.
The rule is that that if people have something mean or insensitive or opinionated to say, they say it to someone on a bigger ring. When speaking to someone on a smaller ring, they can only listen or—if they must say something—offer help, support, or comfort. No advice, no miracle stories, no blame or shame. No offering of their kids, no suggestions to adopt. “I’m sorry” is all that needs to be said. If they want to dump, dump outwards, not inwards.
I wish people would understand that someone who has just acknowledged she won’t ever have children is in crisis, and what she needs more than judgment and unhelpful help is for people to say to the right thing.
Great news: The final book in the Life Without Baby ebook series comes out September 22. Writing Thriving in a New Happily Ever After showed me just how far I’ve come in making peace with my childlessness. I’m looking forward to sharing it with you. It’s available now for pre-order at Amazon, along with the first three books.
As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
“For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a mother,” Ann writes. “I could picture the children more clearly than I could picture any partner.” Now 49 and divorced, Ann still wonders if there is a way for her to become a mother. Here’s what she has to say.
LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?
Ann: I am childfree because my ex-husband and I had three traumatic pregnancy losses—a full-term stillbirth, a termination due to chromosomal abnormalities, and a miscarriage. We were diagnosed with infertility and found ourselves in a vulnerable enough state in our marriage that it didn’t seem right to adopt.
LWB: Where are you on your journey now?
Ann: I am amicably divorced. I am mostly at peace with my childless state, though I still have times when I think of adopting.
LWB: What was the turning point for you?
Ann: The turning point for me—and it took a long, tangled while—was realizing that my marriage and my desire to be a parent were separate. I needed to address the state of my (unhappy) marriage before I could address the idea of becoming a parent. I have never wanted to go into parenthood as a single parent, and this still mostly holds true now that I’m divorced.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Ann: The hardest part about not having children is that I feel as if my natural state is to be a mother, and I’m not (except to my dog and very occasionally to my nieces, nephews, and friends’ kids). This is confusing and makes me feel as if I’m denying who I really am. Then I get all worked up about why I don’t have children. My decision to not be a parent has more logical reasoning behind it than maybe it should.
LWB: What’s one thing you want other people (moms, younger women, men, grandmothers, teachers, strangers) to know about your being childfree?
Ann: I used to view people who were childless as kind of limited and selfish. I want the world to understand that being childfree for many of us is not by choice. Even though we live in a world where we have a lot of choices, there are many very legitimate reasons why we remain childless. This does not mean we do not care about children as much as the next person. This does not mean we don’t or can’t understand love. I hate it when people say they didn’t understand what love was until they had children, as if those of us who don’t have children don’t know what love is. I hate hearing about groups such as Moms For or Against…whatever the cause is. Why can’t they be People For or Against…. I hate it when parenting queries are addressed only to parents, as if all the time I have spent around kids doesn’t count. I also hate the doubting part of me that worries that I am limited and selfish by not doing all I can to have kids.
LWB: How do you answer “Do you have kids?”
Ann: Mostly I answer “No.” Sometimes, depending on the context and the company, I answer “None living.”
LWB: What is the best advice you’d offer someone else like you? (or What advice would you like to give to your younger self?)
Ann: The best advice I’d offer someone like me now is not to be too hard on yourself and to find ways to make yourself happy. It is hard to live a different life than you envisioned yourself living. Give yourself time to sort it out. There are many ways to positively influence kids without being their parent. The world needs us all—parents and non-parents.
The advice I would give my younger self is different. I would encourage my younger self to get started on the parenthood quest sooner. My older sister had a life plan: She wanted her first child by 30. I had no such plan. Perhaps if I had, my life would be different now.
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