Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

The Power of Voice

By Lisa Manterfield

MP900433193A couple of years ago, I attended the World Domination Summit in Portland, OR, where I spent the weekend surrounded by creative types and some incredible people looking to make a difference in the world. It was truly an inspiring experience.

While I took something of value away from every speaker who presented, every story I heard, and every person I met and talked with, there were, as always, standouts.

One speaker, Shannon Galpin, told her story of traveling to Afghanistan to provide education programs for women and girls in conflict zones. She talked about going into a women’s prison in Kandahar to interview some of the women and girls being held there. She was concerned that these women, already in danger because of their actions, would not be willing to speak to her and tell their stories. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

So many women wanted to talk to her, she ended up spending hours over the course of several days sitting with them and recording their stories. At the end of her time, one woman unclipped her elaborate hair clip and offered it as a thank you gift. “No one has ever cared enough to hear our stories,” she said. This experience prompted Shannon’s wonderful TED Talk on pity, apathy, and the power of voice, which I encourage you to watch when you have 10 minutes to spare.

The sentiment also struck a deep chord in me as I thought more about this idea of sharing stories and having a voice. It made me think about some of the conversations I’ve had about why I don’t have children, how the topic is met with pity or apathy, or handled with platitudes about whether we tried x or y treatment or if we considered adoption. Even people who know and care about me have expressed their own discomfort about the frankness of what they’ve read in my book or one of my blog posts. It has sometimes felt as if no one really wants to hear the story of what happened and how much the loss of not getting something I really wanted—having a child of my own—has rippled into every aspect of my life.

But that isn’t going to stop me talking because, for every person who’s squirmed, I’ve come across ten who’ve said, “I appreciate your honesty” or “That’s exactly how I feel” or “Thank you for giving me a voice.”

Since launching “Our Stories” on this site, we’ve featured dozens of your voices. Firstly, I want to send an enormous hug to everyone who had the courage to share her story. I also want to give a massive shout-out to Kathleen who created the column and works one-on-one with every storyteller.

Gwen shared her story and told Kathleen, “Putting my story out there and reading responses from women who have dealt with the same exact problems and feel the same way as I do… I am comforted and I do not feel so alone.”

And Maria said, “I felt like people connected with my story and it gave them hope. I feel like we are all here for a reason and that is my purpose right now—to take what I have learned and share it with others.”

This is the power of voice. This is why we keep telling our stories, even when it gets uncomfortable for us and even when it sparks pity or apathy in others.

We’d love to share your story. You can find a questionnaire to get you started and details on how to submit on the Our Stories page. I hope this will help you to find your voice, inspire others, and know that you’re not alone.

The Power of Voice

By Lisa Manterfield

MP900433193Last year I attended the World Domination Summit in Portland, OR, where I spent the weekend surrounded by creative types and some incredible people looking to make a difference in the world. It was truly an inspiring experience.

While I took something of value away from every speaker who presented, every story I heard, and every person I met and talked with, there were, as always, standouts.

One speaker, Shannon Galpin, told her story of traveling to Afghanistan to provide education programs for women and girls in conflict zones. She talked about going into a women’s prison in Kandahar to interview some of the women and girls being held there. She was concerned that these women, already in danger because of their actions, would not be willing to speak to her and tell their stories. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

So many women wanted to talk to her, she ended up spending hours over the course of several days sitting with them and recording their stories. At the end of her time, one woman unclipped her elaborate hair clip and offered it as a thank you gift. “No one has ever cared enough to hear our stories,” she said. This experience prompted Shannon’s wonderful TED Talk on pity, apathy, and the power of voice, which I encourage you to watch when you have 10 minutes to spare.

The sentiment also struck a deep chord in me as I thought more about this idea of sharing stories and having a voice. It made me think about some of the conversations I’ve had about why I don’t have children, how the topic is met with pity or apathy, or handled with platitudes about whether we tried x or y treatment or if we considered adoption. Even people who know and care about me have expressed their own discomfort about the frankness of what they’ve read in my book or one of my blog posts. It has sometimes felt as if no one really wants to hear the story of what happened and how much the loss of not getting something I really wanted—having a child of my own—has rippled into every aspect of my life.

But that isn’t going to stop me talking because, for every person who’s squirmed, I’ve come across ten who’ve said, “I appreciate your honesty” or “That’s exactly how I feel” or “Thank you for giving me a voice.”

Last year, we launched “Our Stories” on this site. Since then, we’ve featured more than two dozen of your voices. Firstly, I want to send an enormous hug to everyone who had the courage to share her story. I always want to give a massive shout-out to Kathleen who created the column and worked with every storyteller.

Gwen shared her story and told Kathleen, “Putting my story out there and reading responses from women who have dealt with the same exact problems and feel the same way as I do… I am comforted and I do not feel so alone.”

And Maria said, “I felt like people connected with my story and it gave them hope. I feel like we are all here for a reason and that is my purpose right now—to take what I have learned and share it with others.”

This is the power of voice. This is why we keep telling our stories, even when it gets uncomfortable for us and even when it sparks pity or apathy in others.

Our Stories will be taking a short hiatus in August, as I take my customary summer break and rerun some of the year’s favorite posts. But we’ll be picking up again in September and we’d love to share your story.

You’ll find a questionnaire to get you started and details on how to submit on the Our Stories page. I hope this will help you to find your voice, inspire others, and know that you’re not alone.

I’m “Officially Amazing” But Who Cares?

By Lisa Manterfield

Ever since I was as young girl besotted by the weekly children’s program “Record Breakers”, I’ve had a dream of making it into the Guinness Book of World Records. I’d fantasize about some of the crazy things I could do, given that I wasn’t born exceptionally tall or flexible or fast.

As the years passed, I let go of this childish fantasy and got on with life, but last year, in the middle of re-evaluating my life and setting some fun goals for myself, I created a Bucket List. Along with becoming a New York Times Best Seller (currently working on this) and growing my hair long one last time (working on this also), I included “Be a Guinness World Record Holder” on my list. Then, last summer I got the chance to go for that goal.

I attended the World Domination Summit in Portland and participated in the Great Namaste, an attempt to break the record for the world’s longest yoga chain. You can see the video of the event here.

WDS 2014 | The Great Namaste from Chris Guillebeau on Vimeo.

We succeeded in beating the existing record, but we still had to wait for verification from Guinness. Four months later, we got the news. We did it. I was officially a World Record Holder. And to prove it, I could order (for a small fee) a certificate of accomplishment.

I was so excited at the prospect of have my World Record Holder certificate, but as I sat down to place my order, I had a thought. “What’s the point? What am I going to do with this certificate?”

If I were a mother, I’d do it for my kids. I’d be excited and proud. Maybe my kids would have taken me and my certificate to Show and Tell, where I could have shared what I’d learned about setting and achieving goals, no matter how far-fetched, and about the importance of making life fun.

But I don’t have that.

I sat there imagining my certificate arriving. Maybe I’d show it to Mr. Fab and maybe he’d be appropriately impressed, but then what? Would I frame it and hang it on my wall? Or would I stuff it in a drawer and forget about it?

I almost canceled the order, but then I thought, “Sod it!” I don’t need to do this for anyone else but me. I’m proud of me and that’s enough. Yes, maybe it will get stuffed in a box, but maybe when I’m old I’ll look back fondly and remember that day. Maybe whoever gets to rummage through my stuff when I’m gone will find it and be surprised. Who knows? And who cares?

I remember writing somewhere once, “I’m not dead; I’m infertile” and I need to remember that mantra. Just because I didn’t have children doesn’t mean I don’t still get to have a life. And when I look back on that life, I want it to be full and amazing—officially or otherwise.

The Power of Voice

By Lisa Manterfield

MP900433193Last weekend I attended the 2014 World Domination Summit in Portland, OR, where I spent the weekend surrounded by creative types and some incredible people looking to make a difference in the world. It was truly an inspiring experience.

While I took something of value away from every speaker who presented, every story I heard, and every person I met and talked with, there were, as always, standouts.

One speaker, Shannon Galpin, told her story of traveling to Afghanistan to provide education programs for women and girls in conflict zones. She talked about going into a women’s prison in Kandahar to interview some of the women and girls being held there. She was concerned that these women, already in danger because of their actions, would not be willing to speak to her and tell their stories. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

So many women wanted to talk to her, she ended up spending hours over the course of several days sitting with them and recording their stories. At the end of her time, one woman unclipped her elaborate hair clip and offered it as a thank you gift. “No one has ever cared enough to hear our stories,” she said. This experience prompted Shannon’s wonderful TED Talk on pity, apathy, and the power of voice, which I encourage you to watch when you have 10 minutes to spare.

The sentiment also struck a deep chord in me as I thought more about this idea of sharing stories and having a voice. It made me think about some of the conversations I’ve had about why I don’t have children, how the topic is met with pity or apathy, or handled with platitudes about whether we tried x or y treatment or if we considered adoption. Even people who know and care about me have expressed their own discomfort about the frankness of what they’ve read in my book or one of my blog posts. It has sometimes felt as if no one really wants to hear the story of what happened and how much the loss of not getting something I really wanted—having a child of my own—has rippled into every aspect of my life.

But that isn’t going to stop me talking because, for every person who’s squirmed, I’ve come across ten who’ve said, “I appreciate your honesty” or “That’s exactly how I feel” or “Thank you for giving me a voice.”

Earlier this year, we launched “Our Stories” on this site. Since then, we’ve featured almost two dozen of your voices. Firstly, I want to send an enormous hug to everyone who had the courage to share her story. I always want to give a massive shout-out to Kathleen who created the column and worked with every storyteller.

Gwen shared her story and told Kathleen, “Putting my story out there and reading responses from women who have dealt with the same exact problems and feel the same way as I do… I am comforted and I do not feel so alone.”

And Maria said, “I felt like people connected with my story and it gave them hope. I feel like we are all here for a reason and that is my purpose right now—to take what I have learned and share it with others.”

This is the power of voice. This is why we keep telling our stories, even when it gets uncomfortable for us and even when it sparks pity or apathy in others.

Our Stories will be taking a short hiatus in August, as I take my customary summer break and rerun some of the year’s favorite posts. But we’ll be picking up again in September and we’d love to share your story.

You’ll find a questionnaire to get you started and details on how to submit on the Our Stories page. I hope this will help you to find your voice, inspire others, and know that you’re not alone.

My People

Last week I attended the World Domination Summit in Portland, OR. Despite what you may think from the title, this was a gathering of creative folks and people living their lives along a slightly different track. For four days, I was amongst “my people.”

wds-2013

When people asked, “What do you do?” I could tell them that I’m a freelance writer, that I run a website for women without children, and that when I grow up I want to be a fiction author, and no one went cross-eyed and looked at me as if I was some kind of loser. They got me.

In a crowd of 3,000 people, I think perhaps two asked me if I had children and both understood and respected the fact that I didn’t. I even had an in-depth conversation with a woman who had a biological daughter and was now trying to navigate the world of adoption and learning first-hand that it’s not the quick-fix so many believe it to be. These people got me, too.

So many of the speakers addressed the topic of community. Jonathan Fields included “find your tribe” in his Good Life Project creed; Steve Schalchlin talked about living in what he calls the “bonus round” and brought the entire audience to tears with his story of his friends’ love literally kept him alive. When he sang, “We should all be connected to each other,” I got it. In fact one of the main themes of the summit was “community” and the importance of being among people who understand you was never clearer to me.

After the summit end, I went home via the Portland airport. It was full of families returning home from a long holiday weekend, and never have I felt more like an alien crash-landing on a strange and hostile planet. I wasn’t among my people any more.

But the next day I sat down to write this blog post and I realized that I do get to be among my people, around people who understand me. And those people are you. Here on this blog is one of the few places I can talk about it’s like to live without children, to get blank stares of misunderstanding from people who don’t get it, and to feel as if I don’t belong. Here I am among my tribe and today, I appreciate my tribe more than ever.