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.
 

 

15 years

This week, on Wednesday, in fact, my little blog turns fifteen years old. Fifteen years ago, I found I needed an outlet for thoughts about not having children, at a time when I was almost daily volunteering on the Ectopic Pregnancy Trust's messageboard, helping and reassuring women who were going through ectopic pregnancies, that they had a 90% chance that their next pregnancy would be in the right place. Ironically, as I think back, three of the five main volunteers over those years did not go on to have successful pregnancies, yet daily we reassured women that the odds were in their favour. It felt good to help them. But it also felt good to help those who were not going to be that lucky. They needed us. They needed me. 

There were no other No Kidding communities where I felt I could go. I searched blogs, and found Pamela's Silent Sorority blog, and Loribeth's Road Less Travelled. Both were women about my age and situation. I could related. But I didn't just want to read. After six years of volunteering, I had all those thoughts and growth of my own, and a lot of gleaned wisdom from my wonderful fellow volunteers, that I felt deserved to be continued to be voiced too. I was finally confident in how I felt about not having children living a No Kidding life that meant I wasn't yet ready just to put it all away and pretend it hadn't happened. 

15 years later, I'm still not ready to do that, although I know my posting has slowed down considerably! But I still have things to write about. I see a comment pop up in a completely different context, and see how it applies to those of us living No Kidding lives, and feel the urge to write about it. That's next week's post (accidentally published for this week until I reverted it to a draft when I discovered it was my 15 year anniversary).  

15 years later, No Kidding lives are talked about a bit more. But pronatalism/natalism is still dominant in our societies. Here in New Zealand, in my peer group, I am thankfully usually free of it. It makes my everyday life easier. I'm grateful for that. 15 years later, my name is now out there as someone who has spoken out for those who don't have children. I'm still not sure how I feel about that, but if I don't think about it, I'm fine! 

15 years later, I have real friends through this blogging community. Some have children. Many don't. We chat on blogs, or via zoom, on whatsapp, or other means. And of course I've been lucky to meet a few bloggers in person - Pamela, Klara, Lilly, and Lesley. I was going to say "in real life" but of course, over 15 years of interactions, I consider this "real life" too. Meeting in person is very special though, when we already know each other "inside out." I hope to meet more of you, here in NZ or on my travels.

Thanks for reading, being here, writing in parallel on your own blogs, being part of my No Kidding life. I'm not sure how much longer I will continue, as blogs seem to fall out of favour, and readers dwindle. But if I can reach one new person, it's worth continuing. And keeping you all in my life is important to me too. I'm not kidding. I love being part of an intelligent, thoughtful, supportive community. Thank you all.

 

Where do I belong?

Loribeth's post here, about a dream prompting questions about where she belongs, got me thinking. As she rightly said, many childless and perhaps even childfree people ask that question. 

I without doubt belong in New Zealand. Right now I belong in my city too, although my affections for it have plummeted these last few weeks, as our house has been battered with spring winds. I was caught thinking about where else I could live. I could move to the South Island where I have another sister and nieces and great-nephews, and one or two old friends. I have a fondness for that area. But my life has been very different, and so I don't think I belong there any more. There are other spots around the country that might be nice to live in, but where I might struggle to belong. A wealthy farming area has a charming wine village we love to visit but might be stifling to live in. Big cities can be thrilling but lonely. At one stage I belonged in Bangkok. I lived and worked there, loved being in an exciting environment, and felt very much at home amongst the Thais, even though I stuck out like a sore tall white thumb! But each time I return, I feel like I belong less and less. A friend has recently returned there, and feels that maybe she was trying to recapture a life that has passed. At one time we belonged, but do we still?

Even when I travel, I feel I belong - maybe as a tourist, rather than a local. But I'm not bothered by that. Sure, there might be some environments when I feel "out of place," but as long as I am engaged and exploring and enjoying myself, it's easy to feel comfortable, to feel as if I belong. Or perhaps I lie. Because when I travel too, on my own, I can feel terribly alone. Though I know it is possible to feel that without leaving home too.

But do I need to belong anywhere? I'm "at home" wherever I am if my husband is with me. We've been together for so long, he is my home. But I now know that's not going to be permanent. So I ask these questions anew. I think I prefer to belong to people rather than places. And that's the area I struggle. I need more people in my life. In the meantime, I have my sisters, nieces, and most importantly on a day to day basis, my friends who have also become my family. 

I remember after my ectopics and final resolution into a No Kidding life, I was desperate to travel and learn a language and spend time living somewhere else. I wanted to escape. I forgot, though, that I could not outrun my grief. I couldn't leave myself. My childlessness would follow me everywhere. 

I think maybe that's why we question where we belong. Because without children, we have always felt on the outside, as if we don't belong. Not in the way many parents feel they do - in their religions, schools, communities, and wider societies. We are always marginalised. I feel it less these days, as I mentioned here. But I still feel it. In all those places where parents feel validated, I feel othered. 

Belonging becomes something I've learned to do without. It doesn't mean I like it. But I've never quite thought about it this way before. As I read Loribeth's post, I jotted down my instinctive answer. I belong wherever I am. I belong in myself. Because that's who I need to survive. A healthy, contemplative, open and objective Mali with all her flaws. I take it all with me, and belonging comes with contentment, with acceptance, and with gratitude. I sometimes have to be reminded to find all those, but when prompted, it's possible. And then I can face the future. That's my answer. Wherever I am, I belong with me. Or perhaps, 

I am, therefore I belong.

 

 

Ageing out of Childless Perks

I'm a member of a social media group called "Childless Perks." This is not a group for the always childfree, but for those of us who might have tried to have or wanted children, and have had to adapt to the life we didn't know we would have. And in that we have looked for the joys in that life, the benefits, advantages, gifts, and perks. I've written a whole series on this, as many of my readers know, that you can find by clicking here. And I have always been determined to embrace the benefits of my life, at the same time facing the realities of not having children.

The thing is, many of the perks that I used to think about are largely irrelevant now that I am older. On a daily basis, my life is not much different to those friends of mine who have children. We all share in these gifts of life at our stage of life: 

• We can all sleep in whenever we like.
• We can all be spontaneous because we have no-one dependent on us (except for those of us who might be caring for elderly relatives) 
• We can all eat what we want, when we want, and we can drink wine and not have to care for children or pick up a teenager from a party/social outing etc afterwards
• We can all go to adults only destinations  
• We can all travel outside of school holidays (except for the poor, dedicated teachers among us), 
• We are all (or will soon be) free of financial burdens, such as school/university fees, sports expenses/music or dance lessons, etc.
• Et cetera 

So I see posts about these "perks" on this social media group, and I am speechless. Especially at the moment. I struggle to name a gift of my childless life that those with children don't share. Rather, it is the opposite.  

Right now, I see others who are ill being supported and wrapped in comfort by their children. (Even though I know they'd rather the children don't have to do it). 

I face a future on my own - not in the immediate short term, but certainly when I am older. So I need to prepare for that, without children to help, to comfort, to be in my life. (And yes, I know that is not guaranteed even if I had had children, but complete isolation from children is not common),

A now-single friend said to me recently that her children are her world. With her parents now gone, and in one sentence, she discounted everyone else in her life. Even though I know she loves and values her friends. But of course I know friends are always secondary - I know that from direct experience, but also because I am not a complete idiot! So I wonder, what does she think my world consists of? Yes, my husband, of course. And I acknowledge how lucky I am to have someone I like being with, and can still converse with about all sorts of things. But long term? Is my world empty? 

Anyway, as I'm writing this, I have discovered one perk that still applies! I was chatting with someone earlier, and I talked about something being romantic. She noted that she and her husband can only talk for about 15 minutes on a "romantic" date, and then start complaining or worrying about her (adult) kids. We've never been able to or felt we had to centre our entire conversation around children, and so my husband and I can quite happily go on a three-month trip, let alone a three-hour date, still have plenty to talk about, and not get tired of each other! 

So even when I feel quite gloomy, I am glad I can still find a gift in my childless life.