Things I Know because I don't have kids

“You don’t understand.” The statement (some) parents make to those of us without children, either to stop any suggestions of advice, criticism, judgement, or as a defensive reaction when they feel they’ve been criticised or judged. But what really do they mean? Do they mean we don’t know how they feel? Do they mean you can’t imagine parenthood with actually being one? Do they mean we don’t know what’s best for children? Do they mean we can never have an opinion on raising children or children’s behaviour? Do they mean our experience of being a child is irrelevant? Do they mean independent observers – whether experts in the field or not – will, if they are not parents, always be wrong? Or do they mean “it’s hard enough being a parent without feeling criticised by those who aren’t also subject to this type of judgement?” As I write this, I’m almost wishing someone would say this to me, so I could ask these questions. I wonder if it would help them see things from a different perspective? Or would it just make them more defensive?

There are things I know about children and child development because I’ve been a child, because I’m an  observant adult, or because I’m interested in psychology, in relationships, in human behaviour, and personal development. Some of this interest is more intense because I was unable to have children. Some of this interest has come because I couldn’t have children, and was forced to look at the world from a completely different perspective. I'm slowly writing a series of posts over at A Separate Life, inspired by someone who thought of the idea before me, about 100 Things I Know. Many of those "things" are a result of not having children, although I am not spelling it out there. But I thought it was useful to do so here.

These are some of the things I know because I don’t have children:

Things don't "happen for a reason." 

You don't have to be a parent for your life to be valuable.

You don’t have to be a parent or even want to be/to have been a parent to have an opinion on how children are treated in an array of circumstances. I’m not saying I would do any better. But as a non-parent, I can see what isn’t working. As an independent observer, a non-parent could play an important part in mediating difficult situations between parents and children, if they weren’t so often dismissed.

I have noticed that many parents automatically see situations from the perspective of a parent, rather than from the perspective of the child. Sometimes that is necessary. Many times, it is not. In fact, it can be detrimental to solving a problem, resolving a difficult situation, or helping a child move ahead. Their overwhelming empathy with parents (or “as a parent”) precludes them from looking at a situation from a more distanced point of view, or a more holistic perspective.

For example, I know that a lot of babies cry on aeroplanes because they cannot regulate their sinus pain by swallowing etc. It’s nothing to do with being “a good child” or not. I’ve experienced a lot of sinus pain on flights. It is agonising. It makes me want to take a drill and bore a hole through my skull to relieve the pressure. But it is my choice to take that flight. The fact that parents, or perhaps everyone, accepts this for tiny babies and little children, is mind-boggling to me. When would we ever permit a parent to torture a child for up to an hour, in any other situation? But society as a whole seems to think this is fine when taking children away on a flight – whether to go on holiday, visit relatives, etc. Sure, they might not remember the pain. But does that make it any better? You're right, I don’t understand that.

Becoming a parent has both selfish and unselfish motivations – wanting to be loved unconditionally alongside wanting to love unconditionally, wanting to pass on knowledge and interests and passions, wanting families around them in their old age, wanting to leave a legacy, etc. I know that because the reasons I decided to try to have children were, ultimately, selfish for me and my husband.

I know that the act of parenting requires a selflessness to those children that not parenting does not require. Unless … we might be caring for an elderly person, someone who is a dependent for any number of reasons, or we are on-call for particular jobs, work long hours to fund ourselves or members of extended families, etc.

But I also know that it doesn’t follow that not parenting means you are a selfish person, just as it doesn’t follow that parents are by definition unselfish. (I know someone living in a hot climate who actually said that their kids’ rooms don’t get the benefit of their poorly functioning air-conditioning, but because the parents’ room is cool, they just don’t think about their kids).

You don’t have to be a parent to have a feeling about what is fair/unfair, right/wrong, selfish/unselfish.

You don't have to be a parent to care about future generations, or about the planet.  

You don’t have to be a parent to see a child in pain, a child who feels neglected, a child whose wishes are ignored, and feel anger and empathy for that child. 

You don't have to be a parent to want to help children - individually or as a group - who are struggling. In fact, I know many parents who are so focused on their own children, they don't care about all the children at their schools, or in their community, or their country. They haven't got the wavelength to do so, and don't see the hypocrisy in that.

I know that parents generally want the best for their kids, but in pursuing the parent's idea of "the best," they often brush aside their child’s wants, needs, beliefs, and principles.

I know that parents' execution of their parenting philosophies are often deeply flawed, and can leave the children as overly-anxious or suffering because of the parents’ belief in harsh parenting being good for the child in the long run. And conversely, I've seen overly indulgent parenting that does not prepare the child for the realities of the world.

I know that we all learn by making mistakes, children included, and that many parents won’t let their children make mistakes, to their detriment.

I know that I, like any parent, would have made mistakes. But I always disagree when I hear, “a parent/mother knows what is best for their child.” I’m sorry, but there are myriad examples of why this is not always true. Anti-vax parents, for example, just to name one. Parents who keep their children in cults, for another.  Two extreme examples, but the list of more minor examples is endless. Parents who don't listen to teachers, just as one.

I know that children often confide in others, when they know their parents won’t hear them. 

And I know that we will always do our best to help them.

What do you know?

Acceptance helps, believe me

I spent much of the winter reading a book, The Believer, by Sarah Krasnostein. Every few days I would dip back into it. Other things were preoccupying me, but I never lost interest in the book. It’s nonfiction, about people who believe things that many of us do not, covering people in various religious sects, UFO believers, ghost hunters, and mentions unexplained events. It’s an exploration of what motivates them, how different we all are, and yet how similar we can be too. It was unlike almost anything I have read, and I’m not even sure what the author’s message was yet (I’ll be thinking about it for a while), but the people she followed and their stories were compelling.

Much of the book was about individuals. Some were parents, some weren't. That was all irrelevant, in many ways. But you never know when a book, any book, will pop up with an explanation or comment that I can equate to our No Kidding situations.

Her final sentences included one about acceptance. I really liked it, as often in this community people rage against the idea of acceptance. I think I probably did too, until I realised that acceptance for me wasn’t a rejection of everything I had been through, it wasn’t betrayal, and it didn’t mean forgetting.

She wrote, “… acceptance is not the euphoric relief one finds on waking from a nightmare …” That explains so much, and I really like it. When we talk about acceptance after loss or grief, I know a lot of people think that it means we have to like the outcome. When for me, it is simply a calm acceptance of the facts.

She went on to say that acceptance is really the solidity that comes from embracing … reality …” I’ve edited out some words at the end, simply because this phrase – “the solidity that comes from embracing …  reality” – says it all for me. It explains the serenity that accompanies acceptance. Knowing, for certain, that this was my life and that raging against it would do nothing to change the realities of that life, brought a degree of comfort and certainty that allowed me to continue to move forward. 

 

I've written a lot about Acceptance. You can find other posts about it by clicking here.

Connections

It constantly delights me to see internet friends meet up. It happens less rarely for me, simply because I’m on the other side of the world from most who read my blog, or who used the Ectopic Pregnancy Trust messageboards with me all those years ago. It’s just a fact that most English-speaking people are in the northern hemisphere. That said, I’ve had several internet friends come to visit and stay (New Zealand is a great tourist destination, and Wellington is conveniently situated for a visit, hint hint!), and I’ve imposed on a few (they didn’t get a choice!) in England in the past too. Or we’ve met up for a wonderful day in sunny Slovenia! I’ve still to venture back to the US and Canada in the last 15 years. I have a bunch of internet friends there I can’t wait to see. I think The Husband is going to have to come over a week or two (or even three) later, to give me the time and space to meet up with these friends. Sounds like a plan, don't you think?

Without exception, it was a joy to connect in real life. Online, I've found that our personalities still come through, and we don’t even have to talk about what originally brought us together to feel that connection. (We often don’t, if there are husbands around who are less open to discussing ectopics or infertility or childlessness, though sometimes they surprise us!) We've often said everything we need to say about those topics, and we can just enjoy getting to know each other again in real life.

Connection – however we find it – is so valuable to our sense of value, our feelings of belonging, and worth, to finding wisdom, and to feeling okay about ourselves. Connection – whether it be in person, or online – is part of what makes us human. It sustains us through difficult times, even when real life relationships might falter. Or it fills gaps, meaning that we don’t expect everything from our “in person/real life” friends and families, taking the pressure off, and allowing us to feel grace. Hopefully, around this week, I am rejoicing in a few connections again. (I'll explain more in due course, if all works out). I hope you have found people for this. If not, this is one of the reasons I am still here. And it is certainly why I cherish the relationships I have with my readers, and with other bloggers.