Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About a Social Media Holiday

A few weeks ago, I ran a little experiment: I took a break from social media. Six full days, in fact. That meant no checking Twitter or Instagram, no liking the comments posted on Facebook by “friends”, no suffering pangs of envy while viewing recent photos of impossibly cute royal toddlers, no keeping up with the Kardashians or anyone else of questionable famousness. I also mostly avoided online news venues, so bypassed updates about local stabbings, weather-related catastrophes, political mud-slinging, scathing diatribes disguised as opinion pieces, and the many bleeding tragedies that lead in the headlines.

It was not easy. I felt out of the loop, uninformed, and maybe even a little bored.

I also did not feel overly stressed or depressed. I sensed my blood pressure drop a couple of points. I swear I slept a bit better.

We usually talk about taking a break from social media around the big triggering holidays, like Mother’s Day and the winter holiday season, when family gatherings are promoted in advertisements and shared by friends and relatives in private missives. So often these postings are not heartwarming for those of us in this community; they’re more likely heart-wrenching. They remind us of all we’ve lost and what we’ll never have, and, dangit, it hurts.

So why do we can continue to subject ourselves to this onslaught? Good question. I supposed I could come up with a number of reasons, from wanting to keep in touch, wanting to be supportive, wanting to live vicariously through my friends’ good fortunes.

But this week I’d like to suggest we shift our perspectives from what supports other people’s happiness to what will allow us to heal and find our own happiness.

I’d like to suggest we try, every so often, to take a holiday from social media. Is this the week you can do it? Will you try it with me?

Oh, but one exception: This site and any of the others you visit for support on your journey don’t count. Stay connected to any community that offers you encouragement, love, and acceptance.

Let me know how it goes. And please be gentle with yourself.

 

Our Stories Update: Karin

As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Karin first shared her story with us in 2014. At first glance, she seemed to be in a good place with accepting a life without babies. Then we read the parts about the fears that plague so many of us: growing old alone, facing more isolation as our friends become grandparents. I was right there with her, yet I took strength from her example.

Has time healed her wounds? You’ll find out when you read the update below her original story.

•   •   •

Although she came from a very close extended family, Karin didn’t really think about motherhood until she experienced infertility in her early 30s. Then it became a “dream.” Now 41, she and her husband of 19 years find themselves in a place of mostly acceptance, but she feels somewhat alone in her concerns about the future. If you can relate, please reach out to her—to all of us—in the Comments.

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

Karin: We were first childfree by chance and now it’s by circumstance. After years of unexplained infertility, various drug treatments, one horrific miscarriage, and lots of ovulation kits, my husband and I decided to stop trying for children. At that point, I began a very intense hatred of my body. My [menstrual] cycles were very long and painful, and as I grew older, they got worse and worse. This only intensified the self-loathing I was carrying around. It got so bad that the only option I had left was a hysterectomy. Knowing that I was not going to be able to conceive without massive medical intervention, and knowing that path was not for us, I decided to go through with the hysterectomy. It was the best decision I have ever made. I feel like I got my life back! Thanks to mindfulness training, yoga, and that surgery, I’ve been able to accept my body again and, more important, regain peace.

LWB: Where are you on your journey now?

Karin: I’ve been in the acceptance phase for quite some time. I have a wonderful husband and a very fulfilling job. But the residual feelings of isolation and fear of the future are what dominates my infertility issues now.

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

Karin: The fear of who will take care of me when I am old. My grandparents were in wonderful assisted living facilities toward the ends of their lives, but they were still attended to by my mom and my aunts—everything from shopping for basic needs to handling the finances. I cannot think of anyone in my life now who I could rely on to help us in our old age. My husband is an only child, and my sister has only one daughter. I do not have the nieces and nephews that many others have and will hopefully rely on when the time comes. And this truly terrifies me. This is, by far, the most difficult issue for me now. I feel quite alone in this. I don’t think many other people who are childfree have this worry, or, if they do, it is not as intense as mine. Also, I am the only person in my immediate social circle who does not have children. I feel like all the feelings of loss and isolation will resurface when my friends become grandparents.

LWB: What have you learned about yourself?

Karin: That I’m stronger than I thought I could ever be. You read that going through infertility will make you a stronger person, but until you actually feel it, it’s hard to believe. I’ve also learned to live life as consciously as I can with as much compassion as I can muster. Living a life with as little harm as possible toward others, including the environment around me, is rewarding and purposeful. I didn’t feel it this intensely prior to trying for children.

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

Karin: I say “NOPE!” And if they ask why not, I simply say “We tried and it didn’t work out.” That usually stops people. Occasionally, people will ask why we didn’t adopt, and I say adopting does not cure infertility and we believe adoption is a calling that we just didn’t have.

LWB: How has LWB helped you on your journey?

Karin: It was the first community that got it!! Besides Pamela Mahoney Tsigdinos’ book Silent Sorority, what else did we have? LWB has been so incredibly integral in my journey that it’s hard to put into words. I would, however, like to see more information or discussion by others about being childfree in old age and the new dynamics that will come into play when we are not just non-moms but non-grandmothers!

•  •  • 

LWB: Where are you on your journey today?

Karin: I never would have guessed 10 years ago, or even five years ago, that there would come a time where I do not think about my childlessness daily. As much as it consumed me years go, it is now just a small piece of me. I think about so much more than childlessness these days. As cliched as it sounds, time really is the ultimately healer. But I do believe that there is more to it than that. I guess my childlessness is part of who I am. It is a part that makes up my whole, and this is not a bad thing at all. I think this comes from deep acceptance. At some point, I accepted my life situation, stopped fighting against it, and once that truly happened, childlessness ceased to be that all-consuming problem in my life.

LWB: What would you like to say to the you of 2014?

Karin: Well, I still think about the same issues involving who will take care of me in my old age. But reading over the post I wrote at that time, I used the word “terrified” to described it. I kind of chuckled when I read this, because that is exactly how I remember feeling. But that feeling is much less raw and emotional than it was then. Now I think about my old age with the feeling of privilege. It would be a privilege to live into old age. And I have feeling that I will be able to take care of myself much more than I gave myself credit for.

 

We’d love to hear your story! Go to the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.

How Not to Say the Wrong Thing to Someone in Crisis

By Lisa Manterfield

Recently, Jane P reminded of this article by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman that I posted some time ago. It’s a good reminder 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.

Talking About the Grief of Childlessness

By Lisa Manterfield

I’ve been writing and talking a lot about grief—here on the blog, in my fiction, in my personal life, in the novels I’m reading, and in the Life Without Baby book. Even when I got chatting to a stranger on a plane, the conversation turned to the topic of grief.

Over paper cups of tea, this woman—who had lost her brother to suicide—and I talked about how grief stays with us long after we’re “over it”, how the shape of grief changes with time, how it can change us, and how everyone carries around their own personal grief.

My only regret in the discussion is that it didn’t begin sooner on our journey, because I would have liked to hear more about what she had to say on the subject. But eventually we parted ways, she to her office and I to catch another flight, and I didn’t have the opportunity to ask her more about her grief.

So, I’d like to ask you instead.

  • How has your grief changed over time?
  • How has your loss changed you?
  • In what ways has your grief crept out, even when you’ve tried to keep it under wraps?

As a society, I don’t believe the topic of grief gets enough attention. We’re uncomfortable with grieving people, no matter what type of loss they’ve suffered, but it’s especially true when the loss isn’t understood.

So let’s start the conversation now. Let’s talk about this grief. I’d love to hear what you have to say.

World Childless Week

 

This week is World Childless Week, a week-long international awareness campaign hosted by Stephanie Phillips.

Between September 10thand 16th, you’ll find a full calendar of articles, live discussions, awareness events, and other ways to participate. Each day has a different theme, including comments that hurt, finding acceptance, and self-expression through letters and art.

WCW Calendar of Events

 

There is also the social media #IAmMe campaign to show the face of childless individuals. The aim of the campaign is to raise awareness and eliminate the stigma surrounding childlessness. Here is my #IAmMe post:

 

You can learn more about the event and find out how to participate at WorldChildlessWeek.net   and by searching #WorldChildlessWeek on social media.

Whiny Wednesday: The Baby Shower and Gender Reveal


This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is that old chestnut:

The baby shower!

A reader wrote:

I would like to know how others handle baby showers. I have vowed to not go to any more baby showers after leaving the last one in tears and disappointed in myself because I felt so strong before I went. Do others have emotional issues about other people’s baby showers or am I alone?

After assuring her that she definitely was not alone in feeling this way, I thought I’d turn the topic over to you. And I’m adding to it the newest horror, the gender reveal party.

Please whine, rant, empathize, and even advise on this most delicate of topics.

Creating an Ending After Infertility


Recently, a reader commented that she’d had an idea to write a letter to the child she never had, and she asked if I thought it was crazy.

Here’s what I told her (edited slightly to maintain her anonymity):

“Writing a letter isn’t crazy at all. One of the things that makes infertility grief so unique is that there is seldom a finite end to the journey. There’s almost always some option still open and the loss is more of a gradual moving away from the dream, rather than a sudden end. It makes it really hard to acknowledge the end and grieve that loss.

Doing something tangible, such as writing a letter, creates a kind of marker that says, “this is the end.” And the other ladies [in the program] are absolutely right about not being silent. If you need to find a time to be alone, close the door to your room, and just let it all out, do it. It’s exhausting, but it’s amazing how much grief you can purge with a good cry.”

I told her I would write a post on this topic so that you could share your experiences with creating an ending to something that has none. So here it is.

In order to start moving on with your healing process, did you need to create an ending with something symbolic and meaningful to you? Please share any “crazy” ideas that helped you find a stopping place and begin coming to terms with your life without children.

It Got Me Thinking…About Holidays for One

I’ve been cleaning out old financial records, shredding old receipts, tossing old files. In the process I came across a calendar from 12 years ago. I took a break from sorting to flip through the pages and remember weddings, first projects with now-cherished clients, and play dates with friends who have since passed.

It is so interesting—sometimes inspiring, sometimes heartbreaking—to look back at who I was, then catch my breath and acknowledge who I’ve become in the past decade. This hit home when I flipped to December 24th, Christmas Eve, and read the only two items on my to do list for that day:

  • Shop for dinner
  • Read

I felt like that woman stepped out of the storage box and punched me in the arm. I knew her so well, for some of her still lingered inside me. She was so self-protective, so determined to not be hurt again. By staying home (alone) for the holidays, she told herself, she was saving money for more important things, with no clear idea of what those things might be. She was avoiding the hassles of travel. She was dodging all possibilities of feeling the sting of being an outsider as “family” gathered to celebrate the holiday.

She was mostly successful.

The painful truth was that she would have felt lonely no matter where she was or whether she was solo or surrounded by other people.

If I could reach back in time to offer advice, would I tell her to do things differently? Probably not. That was such a tender time, when each slight felt more like a stab, when each off-hand comment felt like an insult. She needed that time to tend to her wounds, to build up her shields, and to be able to pull herself out of that all-consuming malaise.

Eventually she did heal, and I did reach the point where I could again be in mixed company for the holidays. Sometimes I’ve been able to join in the fun with other people’s little people, other times I’ve relished a quiet day of rest (and an excuse to spend a few hours reading) with just my family of two + dog. This past December, I joyfully participated in a large festive gathering with extended family members. “Joyfully.” Wow. Twelve years ago I couldn’t have imagined saying, let alone, feeling that word.

I share this with you now because we are coming up on a holiday this weekend, and the Big Holidays are close on its heals. This is going to be a difficult time for many of you, and I am sorry about that. I wish I could make it easier, but I know from experience that you need to go through the hurting and the grieving. My hope for you is that you come out on the other side less than 12 years from now.

If this is your year of celebrating Holidays for One, please be gentle with yourself. If this is your first year diving back into the family mix of things, be brave, and be gentle with yourself. Know that you are not alone and we are here at Life Without Baby if you need a place to vent, rage, and be supported.

Owning Your Childlessness

By Lisa Manterfield

I like to tell this story about a conversation I once had with a group of people I had recently met. I remember one of the women was telling a story and tossed out that she was unable to have children.

Then she went right on with her story.

She didn’t pause for people to give her sympathetic looks, she didn’t elaborate on why she couldn’t have children, and she didn’t explain that she’d wanted to have them or tried to. She said it matter-of-factly, as if she’d been telling us she didn’t care for the taste of liver and onions.

I was in awe.

Later that day, we were talking about confidence and she told me that it has taken her a long time (she’s in her 50s) to own who she is. “You just can’t entertain that voice that tells you that you’re less than or not good enough,” she said.

How many of us hear that voice and how many us pay attention to what it tells us?

What if we stopped apologizing for who we are? I think we could be very powerful.

Do you have a voice that tells you you’re less than? Do you listen to it? How do you shut it up and own who you are?

It Got Me Thinking…About Happy Endings

My friend Patti* announced to our group of mutual friends that after a long period of trying to decide if she really really wanted kids, she was pregnant. We raised our glasses of nonalcoholic sparkling cider and toasted her future, then Ellen, one of our childfree friends, leaned over to me and whispered, “Well, I guess she got her happy ending.”

It’s been weeks since this scenario, and I can’t get it out of my head. Why is it that for so many women, a “happy ending” means the over-the-top wedding with the fairy princess bridal gown or a baby? Just look at movies geared toward women—“chick flicks”—and you’ll see what I mean. Stressed-out career gal lands hot leading man and looks forward to blissful domestic life. Cinderella gets her Prince. The bridesmaids finally all get along. Soft-focus on a pink, pudgy baby as happy parents gaze lovingly at each other and fade to credits.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my journey, is that there are no happy “endings,” but lots of new beginnings. I mean, if you think about it, Patti’s ending is actually the beginning of a new chapter in her life, one that I hope will be mostly happy. And if there’s another thing I’ve learned, it’s that there are as many definitions of “happy” as there are people.

Some of my happy beginnings include finally getting married in my mid-40s because I loved the guy (versus needing to find a father for future children), discovering the satisfaction of a challenging and thriving career, having the time and energy to be a devoted friend and the world’s best aunt, and doing some things that are fun and are just for me.

Happy ending? Pfft! I’m just getting started!

 

*Not their real names, of course.

I’m experimenting with trying new things, trying to figure out what I’ll include in my next chapter. Taking a class (or going back to school?), engaging in potential new hobbies, challenging my mind and body in new-to-me ways…all are on the to do list. I’d love some inspiration and hope you’ll share your ideas/plans in the Comments. xoKGW