The unknown impact of words

I received a lovely email in December from a reader who is giving me a lot to think about. It was a letter of thanks to our whole community, and so I had to share it with you all. In her words,

"I quite honestly could have … contacted Infertile Phoenix, Loribeth, Jess at My Road to Mommyhood, even Sue at Childless by Marriage (even though that was never my precise situation) because I read you all. And all of your encouraging blog posts and comments."

Gateway Women was also a major influence for her as well. But she wrote to me, perhaps because I am a fellow kiwi (NZer). Essentially though, her message is to us all, which is why I am writing this blog, and mostly using her words (with her permission) to do so.

She was wary of writing. She emphasised that we all need to be more sensitive to the other people in the room, not to be person asking or saying “whatabout …,” and leaving us in peace in our respective safe spaces. Because she has children. But she wanted us to know that we had all helped her. She said,

" … what I really want to say is that the vast majority of my healing and growth has come from the profound wisdom and humour and kindness expressed through your community."

This is why I write, and why I love reading all (or as many as possible) writers in our community. Because, even unintentionally, we touch others outside that community. I know I’ve written that bu being part of the ALI community, and through healing and understanding and growth, I know that I have become better able to help others. But here was a concrete example of that!

You may wonder how this is? Her story is not uncommon. She faced infertility, went through multiple pregnancy losses, and (like many of us) had her reasons for not pursuing adoption. So she was exploring the prospects of a No Kidding life, coming to terms with the fact she would not have children, when she became pregnant. This time it stuck. But motherhood has been complicated for her, and not the "ultimate purpose" of her life as we are all led to believe it will be.

That’s when she found the community again. But not to pity us, or to feel grateful for what she had. She wrote:

"It even took me a while to realise what I was doing. Why was I reading about these lives and thoughts that were, at least on paper, shaped so differently to my own (but felt similar)? And I think it was a way to reach back to the pre-parenthood me. I was so profoundly terrified of a life without children when it appeared inevitable – I had no template for it. I imagined that becoming a parent would somehow erase all of those existential crises thoughts, and I’d have my ‘purpose’ and everything would be ok.

And when it didn’t, I needed to see role models. People who had actually been through the fire. People who didn’t have the (too often) default fall back of “my kids” as the answer for the purpose in life. Somehow, reading from the often profound, often wry blogs in your community, I was able to forgive my pre-parenthood self her fears, and accept my current parenting self for her ‘failures’ as a mum. I would have been ok had I not become a parent. I would have had a fulfilling and satisfying life. I will still be ok now that my life involves parenting. It is not my purpose, it was not what I was ‘put here to do’ – I am still me! You and your friend acknowledged this ages ago: there is no purpose in life other than to enjoy the lives we have."

She talks about the cult of motherhood, and the pressure she feels, and in our correspondence she is sparking thoughts on new blogs from me on this too. But ultimately, she just wanted to thanks us all – writers AND readers and commenters of these blogs, and the Gateway community:

 "Thank you for putting your thoughts out there for people like me to anonymously read. It laid the foundation for me to begin griefwork (because fundamentally many of my torments were unaddressed grief from infertility and losses). And it has allowed me to grow and appreciate, to continue to learn, and perhaps counter-intuitively, to be a better parent."

 <Note from Mali: I don’t think it is counter-intuitive at all!>

 She continued, 

“If parenting’s goal is to raise human beings, then what better guide than people who had to accept the intrinsic unfairness of life in ways that are not socially supported? Who had to rebuild and reassess life in ways that our current society does not expect or demand parents to?”

I've often thought that we have a lot in common with parents. That some societal pressures to conform to one way of behaving or one world view are detrimental to us all. My correspondent agrees, and I may write more about that at another time. But right now, one of the things that has given my life joy and purpose has been being able to help others – whether it is simply from a kind word or smile, or a simple donation, from volunteering or from writing this blog. Getting positive feedback is therefore a reaffirmation that my efforts are worthwhile, and encourages me to continue. I suspect it is the same for you all. So I need to thank our kiwi reader for her words too. Thanks for sharing our common experiences, and the completely unintended impact our words can have – in a good way.

Another year gone

We had a good Christmas trip "up north" to see my sister, and joined by my other sister. It was lovely to see my niece open her presents on Christmas morning (and were astounded when she was actually speechless with her one big present). But of course it was a little bittersweet for obvious reasons, but also for her because she is essentially an only child, and feels it intensely. (Her half-sister is in her 30s, and she never knew her half-brother, and she adores being around other kids.) So her aunts bestow love on her, and thanks to technology she was chatting to friends throughout the day. She endured walks in gardens with her parents and aunts and uncle and Jeff the dog, she went surfing (but the waves were disappointing), and was pulled away from her presents to go out on her dad's boat with us all. My husband and I went exploring one day, and she eagerly joined us for sushi and shopping - the perfect combination as far as she is concerned!

For me, there was a memorable moment. The day or so after Christmas, I was sitting at the dining table with my two sisters. I'd mentioned that it was lovely to see bloggers I knew enjoy the photo of my niece (Charlie - the subject of "What Charlie taught me" blogs over on A Separate Life) on Fbk, when they had read about her for years. And somehow the topic of not having children come up. I mentioned some of the comments that friends and bloggers and I have received over the years. One sister said cautiously, "I hope I haven't said anything like that" and I was able to reassure her that she hadn't. Perhaps because she has largely avoided the topic, but she has, I know, been sensitive of it. She's had a friend go through IVF and also come out the other side with no kids, and knows how her friend felt over the years. We talked about it in a matter-of-fact way, and it was just nice. Nice to know that my situation was recognised by them both, to feel seen. Nice to be able to talk about the occasional reality of my life. Nice to be able to move on to the next topic without feeling we needed to out of awkwardness. Nice to know that they saw it was a part of me, but not all of me.

And now we're home. Christmas is over for another year. 2020 has felt surreal at times. As with any year, I've felt my No Kidding status acutely at times, but have also been very grateful for the benefits of that life too, including my relationships with you all. I'm hoping 2021 is a lot better for everyone next year. And send you my heartfelt love and best wishes.

No Kidding in Auckland

This is a heads-up notice for any of my readers who may be based in Auckland. Gateway Women are hosting a face-to-face get-together - the only one in the world at the moment! - in Auckland this Saturday afternoon at 1.45 pm, and subsequently on the first Saturday of the month. Details are on the Gateway Women website here. (It will only open if you are a member and signed in - otherwise it will prompt you to join.) 

The timing of this get-together is great. Gearing up to the holiday season is not always an easy time of it for those of us who are childless not by choice. I always find this time of year a little difficult anyway - today would have been my father's birthday, and it is also the 19th anniversary of my first ectopic pregnancy. So the appearance of the pohutukawa and warmer weather and the sound of Christmas carols always brings back mixed memories.

I wish I could attend, and I'm sorry for the short notice, but hope that some of you can get together, make some new friends, share some wisdom, or just not feel so alone.

Being grateful for No Kidding friends

I had a lovely boozy dinner on Saturday with good friends of ours, who also don't have kids. Instead, we occasionally talk about our nieces and nephews and great-nephews and great-nieces, as we are talking about all sorts of other things. But it is a nice relaxed way to have a conversation. We talk about what to do with all our stuff, and who will clean it up when we go. (She is teaching her niece and great-niece which of her possessions are valuable or historic, and how to tell.) We joked about both needing to stop hoarding, but refusing to stop getting ourselves the occasional treat. Because, as she pointed out, we still need to live and enjoy our lives.

She knows I blog about our No Kidding lifestyle but is busy with a high-powered job, and probably has never read this. It's not her style. She's openly without kids, but not so openly Not By Choice. Both my friend and her partner are great examples of people with a full, busy life without kids. They have family (several generations) nearby, and lots of friends, they mentor young people at work, have hobbies, are active and outgoing, and have an interest in the world. We're lucky to have them in our lives. 

In fact, I often think of a quote of hers when others talk about "having children is the purpose of life." "Rubbish!" she scoffed when I quoted a mutual friend who said this to me as I was between pregnancy losses. 

"There is no purpose in life other than to enjoy the lives we have." 

Believe it or not, when she first said this to me probably 18-19 years ago, I was a little shocked. I hadn't heard anyone else say anything like that before. But gradually the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with her. And every time I remember her quote, I appreciate the lesson. She's right. And I'm glad I get to enjoy life with her in it!

 

Being thankful for connections

I’m thinking it is time to post some positive things about my life, without children. So today, I’m just going to talk briefly about connections.

The first is to thank you all. I’ve made friends blogging here, and on my ectopic site. I often talk about it, but I love it when we cross the barrier from only chatting on No Kidding topics, to being involved (however distantly) in each other’s lives. Sharing book or Netflix recommendations or bread recipes (thanks Klara!), dropping a note to a friend, or meeting each other in real life or real time (eg zoom/Skype/facetime), having already known each other for years. I’ve said many times that internet relationships are real, and I’m grateful for them. It’s a gift that I talk about a lot, but I continue to value you all, and feel the need to express that again today.

Moving on though, I find that as we grow older, we aren’t the outliers in the same way. Many of my friends now have children who are adults and have left home. They have so much more time to spend with us. We are all free and easy (elderly relatives excepting) together. An example was this last weekend, when my husband and I went over the hill (some might say we’re already there! Lol) and spent the night at my friend’s house. We had a lovely catch-up, went out for dinner and a movie (socially distanced), and ended the evening chatting around a fire under a big, starry sky. Their kids are grown, and we chatted about them (my husband actually helped out her son when he joined the same industry years ago) but they were not the focus of their world any more.

Over breakfast the next morning, we got talking about the human need to find meaning in life. Unlike some parents, they did not feel that it was their meaning in life to have children. (Even though they were both devoted parents.) We talked about the need to connect with other humans. At times in our lives it might be harder to do that, when we find many of those people we are around are focused on their children, or when we need support in our later years (and I’ll have more to say about that in due course). But in between, it definitely gets easier, the world feels a bit more inclusive, and there is much fun to be had.

If you’re just starting out in this journey, or if you’re surrounded by people having children right now, know that you’ll find your connections, in real life and online. And it gets easier.

 

 

 

A No Kidding menopause: The emotional issues (Part 3)

There can be so many emotions involved around menopause. We are all different. For many women, the end of menopause is a time to grieve. It’s the loss of something that may have defined them – their biology, their ability (perhaps theoretical) to give birth, their lives as “productive” women in society. Women who identified themselves as mothers may feel bereft, because they don’t know who they are in this new phase of life.

As childless women, we have been through this before. For some of us, menopause may bring more grief. A double whammy, whilst we have already had to come to terms with the idea that we would never be mothers, for some, this is the last straw, the definitive end to the possibility that might have, for some, lingered. Jody Day wrote this in her article about The Childless Menopause:

“I call the childless menopause a ‘death you survive’ as it’s the end of our biological line as well as the end of our dream of motherhood. It can be a real dark night of the soul. And the transformations of passing through this ‘gateway’ can be profound and rather wonderful.”

But this isn’t how I have experienced it. I experienced that “death you survive” back when I first knew that I was never going to have children. I grieved then the end of my biological line and my dream of motherhood. It was, as Jody said, a “real dark night of the soul.” I know that many of you have already experienced this too.

I suspect we’re all different, having come to our No Kidding childless lives in different ways. Perhaps having that cut-off on my 41st birthday, when my tubes were blocked and IVF was not working meant that I was able to grieve what I had lost there and then. If I’d been through a different process, maybe I wouldn’t have felt that it was over so definitively.

For me, menopause (once the physical issues were dealt with) did not cause me to grieve. Instead, it brought freedom. It brought the obvious freedom of no periods. As Pamela mentioned here, the absence of periods is simply “BLISS!”

But it brought more than a physical freedom. (Four years on, that is still blissful!) Menopause also brought me a freedom from any obligation to have children. It brought me the freedom of not feeling biologically different from my peers. We are all (mostly) unable to conceive. It has brought me a freedom from hearing pregnancy announcements from my peers. It has (largely) brought me a freedom from hearing “you could always adopt.” Age has definitely made things easier.

Of course, it isn’t all bliss and freedom. The stigma around menopause is not dissimilar to that of infertile women. There is a stigma about menopause, and the stigma teaches that we are old, pointless, no longer relevant. No Kidding childless women can well relate to that feeling. Likewise, women in menopause complain about feeling invisible. The childless amongst us are also well acquainted with that situation.

And so I wonder if, because we have been through similar circumstances, are we better able to cope with the changes of menopause?

For example, many women talk about the sense of losing their attractiveness after menopause. You don’t see many images or hear of the desirability of older women, of women with grey hair, for example. (You can either embrace this change, or fight it, or – probably the answer for us both – do a combination). For women who may feel that their appearance and desirability define their femininity, this can be an unpleasant change. Outwardly, I am sure, we all go through this to an extent, whether we have children or not. The attractiveness of youth is pervasive throughout our cultures.

I think that there is an added dimension for those of us without children. We have (probably) questioned our femininity, our place as women, when we knew we would not have children. I know I did. A lot of women write about feeling that they are “not a real woman.” I also know that one horrible person actually said those words to a friend of mine. So is this another loss for the No Kidding? That our identities as women are being further eroded? Or have we already done the work and defined for ourselves what it means to be a woman? And so does the (perceived) loss of desirability do less to our own sense of self-worth, our sense of what it means to be a woman, that it would to others who haven’t had to deal with this before. Does our history as No Kidding women who could not have children make this aspect of menopause easier?

The invisibility of older (post-menopausal) women is well documented. (Though that may be changing, as posited by this article that Loribeth highlighted on social media.) Even within the menopausal category of women, childless women are frequently invisible. We are not, and never will be, mothers and so we are not, and never will be, grandmothers. I’m lucky that only a few (so far) of my friends and family are grandparents, and they can and do talk about so much more than that. It might change, of course. But I know many people are not so lucky. Bamberlamb has written recently about being surrounded by women talking about their children and grandchildren. Social interactions remain difficult if we are ignored and invisible. Governments, too, assume that ageing men and women have family around them to assist in their care. They even develop policies on this basis, ignoring the situation of people who don’t have younger family members who can help. Invisibility is real. And it is painful.

But I wonder. Do our experiences as childless women make us stronger and more inured to the invisibility and judgement of menopause? Women who are accustomed to being feted for their biological ability to reproduce, who are used to being the centre of the cult of motherhood, deemed essential to society, might find it harder to find themselves on the periphery of society as they age and their children leave home. It will be more of a shock to them perhaps, to find that they no longer hold such a special place in society. Whereas we have already dealt with that. Does it make us doubly invisible? Perhaps. I’m sure we all feel that way at times.

But I would prefer to ask whether it also makes us doubly strong? We have already dismissed society’s expectations, their judgement and norms, and have decided that they do not matter. That we cannot accept the premise of that judgement. We’ve decided that we will forge ahead living our lives the way we want to live them. We have already been through fire, and have come out stronger. And we are Not Kidding.

Honesty

I am always happy when a new blogger arrives* in our group  because they always say things that make me think, or that describe my own experiences in a slightly different way.

Léa at Des Meandres aux Etoiles has written some lovely posts so far, although I’ve only read a couple as I am attempting to read them in her original French, though Google Translate or DeepL do a good job of translating her posts into English; Léa, like so many Europeans, responds to English comments in perfect English herself.

Léa made a comment that spoke to the heart of my understanding of how to move on, and that is one of the reasons I called this blog No Kidding, when she said,

“ … gathering the energy to keep moving forward in life means to not lie to yourself.”

Making the decision to end the process is a moment of brutal honesty; an honest assessment in the medical (or practical, eg with adoption) likelihood of success if we continue, honest assessments of our own ability (mental, physical, financial, etc) to continue the process of trying to build a family, and honesty in accepting that this will not be our lives. But it also means honesty in accepting that our future lives will be fine, that we will be able to bear life without children, and eventually, the honest acceptance that our lives without children will be good, happy, fulfilled.

She also said that 

“becoming aware of my experience has given me the effect of deliverance.”

I absolutely adore this, because she acknowledges that all this honesty delivers freedom, a release from the burden of trying and failing, a liberation to move forward and live, and love, her life. Brava, Léa, I look forward to (hesitatingly in my schoolgirl French) reading your posts.

* though I am sad for them that they have found themselves here

She was one of us ... but no longer

So, back in October, I noted that our new Prime Minister was one of us, a No Kidding woman. Turns out it wasn't by choice, as she's always said she would like children, and has said that she and her partner had been told they were going to need help to conceive, and that they had put that on hold when she became leader of the Labour Party in the middle of last year.

In case you haven't heard, as the news has gone around the world, she has announced that she is pregnant. Given her openness about their infertility (though I doubt she would use that word), and my desire to see women in all positions, regardless of their family arrangements, I am very pleased for her. I wince a bit that she's going to be used as an example of the "stop trying so hard/just relax and it will happen" brigade, though I doubt she was at all relaxed during the election campaign, which is when she must have conceived (although she found out only after the election).

I also am pleased that the initial public reaction - that I heard or read at least - was positive ... well, except for my SIL, who ranted at me on whatsapp that it was dishonest of her to take the position when she knew she was pregnant, that she'd never cope doing both jobs. I knew I couldn't respond with any of my normal responses, which would have been "if she says she can cope, and has plans for the event, then I believe her," or "you'd never say that about a man," because the inevitable response (either said bluntly, or implicit in a withering comeback) would have been "you've never had a baby, so what would you know?"

So I just said, "well, isn't it good that you're not a New Zealander!"

Defining myself

I've been thinking a bit lately about how weird it is that my name will soon once again be used to represent the opinions of women without children. Yet being a woman without children is only a small part of my life. Sure, I write about it because it is an area I have some expertise - both of my own feelings but the feelings of many other women who have either been through loss or have been unable to have children at all. It helps people, and I feel useful. After all, what a waste to have all that knowledge that could help someone, or could help others understand people in their lives without children, and not use it!

But I don't define myself as a woman who doesn't have children. After all, simply the language we have to use to describe that situation - a woman without children - relates back to the thing we don't have, and implies either loss or lack. For many of us, at some stage of our journey, there is loss and lack. But for most of us, in time and as we learn to embrace our lives without children, to reclaim our lives, we are happy, busy, and content. Normal!

So I prefer to define myself in many other ways. I am a family member and friend and neighbour, a carer, a traveller, a writer, a counsellor, a feminist, a when-I-can-be-bothered cook, a very amateur but enthusiastic photographer, and so many other things. In fact, about five years ago I wrote a post listing 100 things I am, rather than focusing on what I am not. It's worth reminding myself of that again. And reminding anyone else who visits that we are all so much more.

No Kidding women leading New Zealand

Today we have a new Prime Minister. She is one of us, a No Kidding woman. When she was first elected as leader of her party, there was a scandal that she was asked almost immediately whether she intended having children (she's in her late 30s). Fortunately most of the conversation was about the fact that men are never asked that question, so why should reporters ask her, rather than over the issue of whether a woman could have children whilst leading the country. (Though the comment sections on websites were full of speculation about this, of course.)

As our new Prime Minister, she's commented that a personal focus of hers will be to reduce child poverty. She has been involved in this portfolio in opposition, and has said it is very important to her, and so I have no reason to suspect that she is doing this to counter the fact that she is not a parent. Her focus very nicely makes the point that you don't have to be a parent to care.

She's our third female Prime Minister, and our second who lives a No Kidding life. We've had a male Prime Minister for the last nine years, and an administration that was dominated by middle-aged white men. Before that, Helen Clark led the government for nine years, and I had become used to feeling more included in society and government, even when the focus was often on family. I have hope that once again I - and women like me - can stop feeling quite so invisible.