Childless but not friendless

I remember reading a childless blogger, years ago, writing that they didn’t think they would ever have good, close friends. I found that devastatingly sad. But it is a real example of how complicated friendships with parents can be when we don’t have children, and how many childless people feel isolated when their friendship group all has children around the same time. I’m lucky I haven’t experienced that. Yes, I’ve had friendships drift away as they have had children. I don’t think they ever understood the reason why, or knew how eager I was to be part of their lives and their kids’ lives, though they never really gave me the chance. In recent years, I’ve reclaimed these friendships, and I’m glad about that, but they have never been quite the same.

But fortunately, I have more friends who have children who have remained friends right through the thick of it. They’ve comforted me, made me laugh, distracted me, and included me in their lives. To an extent. My friends’ children were never the focus of our relationships or their sole topics of conversation – our history as friends and/or colleagues, our relationships, our work, our environments, what we were thinking and doing and reading, were always important to my parent friends too. I was always interested in what was going on in their lives, and that, of course, included their children. I was happy to talk about their worries about their kids, and celebrate their achievements. My friends never made me feel as if my opinions weren’t valued, or that my ear was less important simply because it was childless. And now, years later, our conversations are more likely to be about ageing parents than they are to be about their now-grown children.

My attitudes to friendship have changed too. I don’t need every single friend to understand what it is like being childless. But equally, it’s nice that some do. For years, I’ve known that, just as my husband can’t understand everything about me, and neither can my sisters, no one friend can possibly meet all my needs . Likewise, I can’t be all things to one person, so I don’t expect that from my friends. Accepting that makes friendships easier, and more relaxed. Best of all, it doesn’t limit the levels of intimacy possible in a close friendship.

Perhaps because I am childless, my friendships have always been with the person, rather than being second hand through our children, being thrust together through their friends, schools, and sports teams. So I have never particularly worried about whether friends have children or not. I take each person as they are, find connections in what we have in common, and look for other connections to fill the inevitable gaps. I know not everyone can, and some parents find it particularly hard. But that, I figure, is their loss, not mine. 

I guess I have a rule around friendship. We must both take pleasure in each other’s company. We must care about each other’s lives. And for me, that means that if you get to talk about your children or grandchildren, I get to talk about my life without children too, the good and the bad. What matters most are the realities of our lives, our connection, and our shared humanity. That’s universal, whether or not we have children.