Anxious anticipation, and support

I recently took part in a social media discussion about meeting up with an old friend when we're childless. A poster was nervous - since she had last met up with this friend her long term relationship had broken up, she hadn't had children, and she'd had some difficult times. She was dreading the "what's happened in your life since I last saw you" question. And she felt embarrassed and ashamed about how her life had turned out.

I recognised her feelings acutely, remembering back to the years immediately after my last ectopic and attempts at IVF. I dreaded meeting former acquaintances who had taken on the "earth mother" mantle. I don't have those feelings anymore. If people want to judge me for not having children, or having pursued a different career path, or retiring early (partly by choice, partly not), then that tells me much more about them than anything about me. Because I have had years to deal with this and figure it out, and I'm content.

I said to her that her feelings were familiar. And that the worst of these situations were never how people acted towards me, or reacted to my childlessness (some good, some not so good). The worst was always what I imagined people might say or think about me. This made the anticipation of an event so much more miserable than it needed to be, and always worse than the event ended up being. 

Of course, as I've said here a lot, it was the voice in my head telling me to that they would think I was less, that then made me wonder about it too. But then I realised that I could retrain my brain, ask myself if those thoughts and feelings were true, and then dismiss the thoughts if/when the answer was no. I have written about it, in slightly different contexts, frequently under the label "negative thoughts." With this visual:

 

I reminded her too that she is worthy, worthy of friendship and love, regardless of whether she has children or not, is in a relationship or not, etc. 

There was a lot of good advice for the anonymous poster, and I was so pleased to see social media being used to support and help someone.  Here are some of the best suggestions for her from the others:

1. You are in control of what you tell her and what you don't. Another person said, you don't have to have a deep and meaningful conversation - keep it light, meet over an activity (eg go for a walk) as a distraction.

2. Everyone has something going on. You might be surprised that her life isn't as perfect as it seems.

3. Is the anxiety more about what we internalise from society's expectations of us as women, rather than what she may think of you?

4. Your friend might be feeling nervous too, after such a long gap. "She's going to judge me for being so family oriented," etc. 

5. See it as a low stakes situation. You're just having (insert lunch/coffee/walk etc). If she is judgemental, don't give her any more of your energy, and if she is not, great!

6. Be yourself. You don't need to overshare. Stories can be shared over time. 

7. "Half my friends are single and childless." The social norm is still considered families and mothers, but the reality is different.  There's nothing unusual about you.

8. Highlight the things that make you shine. If she is the right person, talking can be healing. Your friend will be over the moon just to see you again.

 

Looking back on the blog: 2025

This last year my blogging has suffered. I was seriously considering whether I would do a review this year, but I like being consistent, so here goes!

So, looking back on No Kidding in NZ in 2025. I wrote 28 posts here last year, a reduction of almost 50% from 2024, and less than one a week. The reason for that was a major health upheaval for my husband. I just couldn't stick to regular posts. My mind was understandably elsewhere.

It also influenced my theme of the year, writing more about how we give and receive support, as I both received it, and didn't, from various circles. But I also found that coping with diagnoses and treatments and yes, grief and anticipated loss, have similarities with my journey through infertility, pregnancy loss, and childlessness. Many of the lessons from that time have proven to work for me now too. Taking joy in little things. How we want support, and how to support others. (Because life didn't stop, and I had to seriously support a close friend at the same time). And most of all, being kind - to myself, as well as the person I'm caring for. Giving myself permission not to stick to a rigid weekly blogging schedule helped a lot. I'm going to try to blog a bit more this year, but I'm making no promises.

The issues of ageing without children are also topmost in my mind - but perhaps I've articulated those less this last year. I'm sure it will be a theme in 2026. I have a lot of thoughts! 

The end of the year finished on a bright note, when we were able to travel together, once treatments took a pause. We were very lucky to be able to do so. You can find my travel photos on instagram as travellingmali. 

Thanks to those who have stuck by me this year. And whether you comment or not, whether you’re a long time reader or have just stumbled across me for the first time, I want you to know how much I appreciate you. Sending love.

Hoping you all have a very safe and happy 2026!  

 

Happy No Kidding New Year!

Hi everyone! I'm sorry I have been away for so long. But I want to say Happy New Year, and send very my best wishes for 2026, whatever it may bring.

My silence has had two reasons. The first was the continuing saga of a health situation, that really took my attention from almost everything - reading/audiobooks/podcasts/radio listening, interesting TV watching  (other than comfort binges), writing (here and on A Separate Life), etc. Suddenly last year, my No Kidding status was secondary to a grim health prognosis, and a different future than I had imagined. That idea at least was familiar.

But the second reason for my silence has been our decision to live life while we can, and to take a bucket list trip. We hope there will be more. We are by no means confident that there will be. So we took the opportunity, and took off. I'm going to blog about it on A Separate Life. But here are some of the No Kidding thoughts I have about it now that we have returned.

We chose a trip that had two possible timings - December/January, or April/May. Our doctor advised that the first was the wisest choice. It did not bother us at all that it was going to occur over Christmas and New Year. A couple of relatives had been seriously thinking about joining us. Until they knew it would be over Christmas. They couldn't possibly be away from their (adult) kids at the time. We shrugged. This was not a problem or obligation or desire that we had to contend with.

Second, the trip included a cruise. It was on a line we wouldn't normally choose, and in general, the passengers made us feel quite young! Whilst kids were allowed (another cruise line advertises itself in NZ as "No kids, no casinos!" lol), there were only about four or five children under ten, and a bored looking teenager. I'm not sure what their parents were thinking. So all the activities were adult-focused.

Thirdly, as we queued for entry to the ship, we got chatting to an Australian couple. Almost instantly, the woman made us aware of how many kids she had, and where they lived. It was as if she was justifying relocating for her retirement. I was amused and a little sad for her that she felt she had to mention this. It seemed as if she had either faced criticism over the move, or wasn't happy with it herself. And I hoped that they were on the cruise out of sheer excitement for the opportunity and itinerary, rather than as a way to fill the holiday period with activity. (Yes, I can overthink things!)

Finally, and most importantly, we met a lot of people on the cruise. Yet, aside from a younger woman mentioning how much better constructed/lighter/easier modern day prams/pushchairs/strollers are these days compared to 15 years ago (and it was in an appropriate context, though that completely eludes me now, so I just nodded), not a single other person mentioned children or grandchildren. Well, apart from the aforementioned Australian woman. (I'm sure the two or three parents who had children with them would have, but we never interacted.) No-one talked about work either. We talked about cruise lines, and food, and destinations, and where we lived. A few people tried politics, but when they didn't get the reactions they wanted, it was easily dropped. It was gloriously without posturing or judgement. (And considering the obvious wealth of some of the people on the cruise, there was plenty of opportunity for that.)

Actually, now I think about it, one other couple mentioned children. They said, quite simply, in a cautious way that I recognised, that they didn't have children so could retire anywhere they chose. "We're in the same position," I said. We then had an interesting conversation about great places to retire, whether to move away from friends, different considerations, etc. Our lack of children, or how that came about, just was not important. But it meant we had things in common.

I compared that with poor Infertile Phoenix's experience on her trip. I don't know if it is our age (though grandchildren discussions could easily dominate), the fact we didn't provide any openings for children/grandchildren discussions (whereas her travelling companions might have), the nature of the cruise line, the nationalities on the cruise (dominated by Australians and Brits), or the itinerary (very much a destination-based cruise rather than swimming and sun and fun), but it was gloriously child free. 

 

 

Time passing

I have a niece staying for a couple of days. She's come from overseas with a friend, and our house is the last stop on a whirlwind tour of half of NZ. I had my first ectopic, and was still being treated for it, in December 2001. We had planned on going south to my family for Christmas, but doctors wanted me to stay close to the hospital, so we had to cancel. And my BIL and SIL arrived with their four month old baby, to meet the in-laws. I don't have much memory of that Christmas, except the first time I saw them with the baby, my BIL absolutely doting on her. It was hard.

24 years later, this intelligent, compassionate, vibrant, beautiful young woman is visiting. It's nice getting to know her as an adult. She mentioned how sad she was that her only female cousins around her age were overseas, and she has never actually met them. I debated saying anything, and then thought it was timely. I don't know what my BIL/SIL have said to her about my ectopics and how we became childless. So I just said, "well, I'm sorry. We did try to give you a cousin about your age." She nodded, and I think she must have known. But it's worth talking about. She's in her mid-20s now, in a long-term relationship, and maybe starting to think about kids. Or not. Her choice. But she needs to know it's not easy. Not everyone gets what they wanted.  Lifestyles can be very different, but still okay. I hope that's her takeaway from our conversation last night, anyway. 

As for me, because I try not to think about it, it was a reminder of the child we could have had, and the stage of life they are in.

However, childless perk alert! I happily think about things that happened 13 years ago, or even 30 years ago, as not that long ago! Until you have two 24 year olds at the table saying, "13 years was a long time ago!" Ouch. But they'll learn! ha ha. And in the meantime, I can be in ignorant bliss about time and ageing, without the constant reminders from young people that I am old! People say kids keep you young. I think not having kids keeps me young. In my head, I'm still about that age! (Okay, maybe a little older. <wink>) 

Hope vs Optimism

 I was reading something by Rebecca Solnit on social media the other day.  (She wrote "Men Explain Things to Me.") Whilst she was talking about society and politics, something she wrote stood out to me as being totally applicable to infertility and childlessness.

"But hope for me has never been optimism. Optimism is "everything will be fine ..."  

How many times did we have that kind of optimism thrust back at us during infertility and loss? "It'll work out," or "don't worry, it will be fine" comments from either those who got what they wanted, or those who never had to try to have children, or those who were just uncomfortable with the topic and wanted us to be quiet and be happy so they didn't have to worry about us. This is how I see and define optimism, rather than hope. I know not everyone does.

Solnit continued:

"Hope for me is always that there are possibilities. And we have a responsibility to try to realize (sic) them, and to not realize (sic) the worst possibilities."

This is so true, when we apply it to our No Kidding lives. Hope for the childless is hope for something different, for making the best out of our life, for enjoying what we have, for thriving, not just surviving. The worst possibility for us is to always focus on what we lost or never had, rather than our current lives. Because then we will live a life that is sad and lonely. Or to refuse to accept our diagnoses and prognoses, and live on unrealistic optimism which puts our lives on an indefinite hold, until age catches up with us. I also include ignoring our situation or belittling it as unimportant, or being marginalised, is one of those negative possibilities. Someone going through infertility always seems to think that the worst possible outcome is to be childless, but they are so focused on what they want, thinking about an alternative future without children is too scary for them. And so they don't see or (often) choose not to see what other wonderful possibilities there can be in a No Kidding life, or the changes we can make for ourselves and for those coming after us. 

There are so many opportunities to have a good life, to change people's attitudes, to embrace our situations. Simple optimism doesn't really address these.  But hope does.

I tried to explain some of this to a friend a few months ago when talking about our situation now. She was preaching the importance of optimism, and how important it is to recovery and even survival. I am  aware of the studies that show a positive outlook can be beneficial. But to me, you can be positive and feel gratitude, life your life positively and have better quality of life, but at the same time and prepare for the worst whilst appreciating and enjoying what you have. 

I don't agree however that blind optimism is beneficial. It might be fine if you're not aware of realities, of statistics, of science, or prognoses. But if we are people who like information, then we can't ignore science and facts. And so blind optimism goes against our intellects, and even our instincts. It doesn't prepare anyone for what is coming, and most importantly to me, doesn't necessarily allow you to feel gratitude for what you have in the moment, because you're only looking to the future you want, not the future you are going to have. We can be realistic, but still have hope. 

And being realistic doesn't have to be negative either. It winds back around to that idea of acceptance. Acceptance means you're not fighting against a prognosis (eg childlessness), even if you maintain hope that the statistics might fall in your favour. It just means you're not wasting energy railing against things you can't change. That your focus is not negative, but positive on the things you can control, the opportunities that are still open to you, and the life you have left to live and how you want to live it. Hope allows you to make changes that will help you, or others. I believe that being positive in this way improves our quality of life. Optimism doesn't necessarily do that. And I believe that it applies to those with serious or terminal illnesses, just as it applies to infertility and childlessness, and just as it applies to societal attitudes or political situations. 

Interestingly, I searched my blog for the word "optimism." I've used it under ten times in 15 years! But hope - the word "hope" comes up all the time. 550 times, to be exact. Even a post Optimism vs Pessimism really talks about the word and concept of hope! Maybe I shouldn't be quite so pedantic or rigid, though. Maybe I need to simply ask the question, "optimistic for what?" And that's where hope comes in.