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>) 

Thinking positively: A Guide

A decade ago, I made a note in my blogging drafts folder of a series of posts written by Hope at A Crack in Everything (still online, but not added to since 2015) that talked about an “encouragement card” issued by an IVF clinic, in an attempt to ease the stress felt by those undergoing the process. The card was inspired by a study showing that positive thinking helps relieve stress, and its ten points basically said, “think positively.” Not bad advice, but not terribly helpful. Do read all three posts. They’re really wonderful. And I hope that Hope is doing well, wherever she is.

She included a great list of things that would have helped her at the time, and at the end of the posts, she asked, “What would be on your personal encouragement card?”

It's taken ten years, but I’m finally getting around to writing about this. All these years later, I’m not thinking about the IVF process, of course, but rather the life that came after. I guess my whole blog has been a personal encouragement card. It reflects what helped me, and what I say to myself to keep going, regardless of the situation that has got me down. These messages both apply to No Kidding situations, but also to many other life experiences too. And although I completely agree that thinking positively helps me enjoy life, feel compassion, and feel fulfilled, we sometimes need a guideline on how to get there.

So my personal encouragement card would include the following:

1. You’re allowed to feel crappy. Let yourself. Forgive yourself for this too.
2. But you won’t feel like this forever. Know that it is true, until you can come to actually feel it and believe it. You will be okay.
3. You’re also allowed to feel good. Smile. Laugh. Feel bliss. It’s not a betrayal. It helps. And anything that helps is worth it. 
4. Try some mindfulness, consciously enjoying the little things of life. Good music, something funny, a good cup of coffee or tea, the sun on your face, good food, a hug from a friend, a warm bath or hot shower, etc. Fleeting feelings of comfort or joy is a great start, and can grow into a practice.
5. When you are ready, let yourself think about what might be the positives in your life. You’ll need to teach yourself – or maybe even force yourself, at first – to look for them though. Trust me – they will be there. There is a positive side. 
6. When you’ve found it or them, let yourself enjoy the positive side.
7. Remember that just because you enjoy on the positives, it doesn’t mean you deserved this, or brought it on yourself. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. This life may not be what you planned. But it yours. The positives are there, they’re real, and it would be a waste to ignore them.
8. Learn to challenge the negative voices – your own, and others. Once you’ve disputed them, don’t let them back in.
9. Love yourself, and feel compassion for yourself. Give yourself comfort. Stop beating yourself up. It helps more than you can imagine. 
10. Know you are enough. You will come to believe this.

What would be on your personal encouragement card?

 

Perspective in a No Kidding life

I have been struggling with what I might post today. I know what I'm going to write about next week. But today, I have been drawing a blank. As a result, I've been doing a lot of reading - of my drafts document, of previous posts, and of articles that have been referenced, discussed, and debated in the wider ALI blogging community. It has been interesting. The key theme that keeps coming up is that of perspective. 

It comes up because so often there is a lack of perspective. Too often parents are unable to put themselves in our shoes, to see their comments from our perspective. Or we might be angry at others, unable to fully understand their perspective, or understand what motivates their comments. Equally, it might be that we can fully understand the perspective from the other side, but equally, not agree with their conclusions. After all, I might hear and understand someone's perspective and the points they are making, but still, on balance, disagree with their statements or analysis or judgements or approach.

But when there is perspective, there is better balance. By trying to look at things from the perspectives of others, I understand that life is not always greener on the other side, that our "what-ifs" focus only on our dreams, not the myriad possible realities of life. Perspective therefore is really important to me. Developing it has helped me heal, it has helped me better understand others (including someone close to me), and it has helped me become more compassionate and forgiving. Though I've always had it (I credit that for being a middle child!), my approach is much more conscious these days. As a result, it has changed the way I think.

Perspective grounds me. It gives me balance. It helps me understand and appreciate my life. It also gives me more confidence in my own views, knowing that I have tried to consider the positions of all involved. That is liberating to someone who has always been more hesitant about volunteering my views.

Perspective is particularly valuable in our No Kidding lives, allowing us to legitimately mourn what we have lost, and at the exact same time, allowing us to embrace and enjoy what we have as a result. There's such freedom in that.

Other relevant posts include:

• Balance
• Pathways, not Barriers

Bittersweet Silver Linings

A lovely chat this morning with some friends reminded me that all our lives have positives and negatives. It's been three years since my father-in-law died, three years where my husband and I have been able to (within reason, and Covid restrictions initially) do whatever we want, without the duty and obligations of looking after the elderly in our family. I have to admit, this morning I was struck anew by the lifting of that obligation. That I do indeed feel lighter and calmer and freer. Of course I am. We were glad to be there for the in-laws, but equally appreciate the opportunities life now offers.

One of my friends had also been looking forward to the freedom of having no children living at home, opportunities to perhaps travel, or just to see what she can now do with her life. But elder care issues are coming into her life now too, perhaps posing some restrictions or at the very least, a degree of concern and worry about what's next. Her window between caring for children and caring for parents didn't last long, she said. I feel for her. That's really tough. I hope things get better for her.

And of course, we hear about the middle-aged squeeze too - when people are still caring for children and yet have to care for elderly parents too. 

So yes, I am lucky that this isn't my reality. 

But equally, as others talked about their parents too, the conversation once again got me thinking about our old age. We might not have made too many decisions yet. But we do need to make them, and before it is too late. We have time. But there's one thing I can do now. Swedish Death Cleaning - you're (almost) next on my list of things to do!

Family visits

 On a day to day basis, I don't get too many "triggers" about not having children. I don't get nasty comments, I'm not around a lot of kids - most of my friends and family now have adult children who have left home, are working elsewhere maybe, or are raising their own children. The "No Kidding" factor of my life is not up in my face 24 hours a day. Most of the time.

The last few days my sister, niece and brother-in-law visited us. It was lovely. But I saw again the difficulties of life with kids. Especially the difficulties of life with a teenager, and a child who has special health needs. My niece is, I can hardly believe this, about to turn 15. Old enough to feel independent and that she knows best, but too young to know what she doesn't know (just about everything!). We had a very nice time. It was nice to talk to her about school, and chemistry, her new favourite subject. I showed her around the university (well, until I got lost) and we talked about decisions she'll have to make in just a few years. We had some good conversations, and I got to be a good auntie. We went shopping together, and the niece mentioned she loved going shopping with me. That was nice to hear, although of course it might have been motivated by the fact that Auntie (Mali) is - to quote my sister - a bit of a soft touch, and usually buys my niece something! I did this time too. More than I intended to spend, but then her mother ended up doing that too! Teenagers know how to work the system.

But I saw the challenges of my sister's daily life. On top of the normal issues of raising a teenager, she has a constant battle to get her daughter to remember her medications (and there are multiple - morning, night, nebulisers, medication with every single thing she eats). Now, with a new life-saving medication available, there are strict time frames in which to take it. And it needs to be taken with food - separate to the medication that helps her digest the food. But does the teenager care? She wants to be "normal" of course. She's thrilled that she's feeling more healthy with this new medication, after only a week. I could hear the difference in her lungs. But she is at the age where she's always pushing back, so if her mother reminds her to take the pills, she almost deliberately waits to do it later. Then, because she's a teenager, she forgets! So they are always at loggerheads.

It's exhausting for all of them, but it must be so difficult for my sister. It must be heart-breaking at time, to have to do this. She's doing a great job, and they still have an excellent relationship, which is lovely to watch. (Even if it makes me a bit wistful.) But it was a good reminder too that it is not easy at all to be a parent. And I will admit, after they left yesterday I enjoyed curling up on the couch with my ipad, reading a book, then having a bit of an afternoon nap on a warm autumn Sunday afternoon. It may not have been my preferred life. But it gives me freedoms and positives in this life, just as my sister has positives in her life. And I am thankful for them.

Yeehah, the No Kidding life: a repost

This month I'm taking a break from active blogging, unless something really needs to be said! So I thought it would be an idea to revisit some posts written in May in previous years, and add anything that time has suggested to me.

Here's one from May ten years ago about the things I was doing (and loving) because I don't have kids. 

"Let’s face it.  We often feel guilty because gradually, we find that we enjoy our life without kids.  We might question ourselves – “how much can we really have wanted children if we are happy in our lives without them?”  And, we might feel that enjoying the good parts of being childless/childfree means that we don’t deserve to feel bad when we notice what we’re missing.  But perhaps that’s because we beat ourselves up as often – no, more often – than anyone else.  But this is the life I have, and I think we’re allowed to embrace it.  I for one think I should celebrate the good things in my life, the things I can do now that I wouldn’t be able to do if I had children. 

So pop a cork, (or screw a top)  pour a glass, and gloat with me.  These are the things I love doing, because I don’t have kids:

Blogging.  I love blogging.  I doubt I’d have time, I doubt I’d be in the mental space where I can sit, think quietly, contemplate issues.  Not to mention have the time to read others’ blogs.  Which leads me to ...

Writing.  I have a few projects on the go.  I enjoy writing, but I need the time and mental space to do it.  And of course, for every writer, it is important that we do enough ...

Reading.  I’d probably read.  I can’t imagine not reading.  But would I, could I, do as much as I wanted?

Volunteering.  Again, I might have time, as plenty of people with children manage to volunteer.  But I’m not sure I’m one of those with the energy to focus in all those different directions.  I know I wouldn’t have AS much time to do what I do. 

Eating out.  My husband and I love eating out.  We don’t like “family” restaurants – they hardly deserve the label “restaurant.”  We like all sorts of food, and wine too of course.  We eat out spontaneously.  Last night, we went out because Monday night is half price champagne night at a good bistro.  We decided at about 4 pm.

Movies.  We go to the movies regularly, trying to compromise between his choices and my choices.  We go on the weekend, after work, if we’re bored.  We decide usually about an hour or two before we go.  No babysitters required thanks!

Sleeping in on the weekends.  Not just sleeping in, but lying in, with my iPad and a cup of tea, reading books, checking emails and blogs or magazine sites or the news.  And if it’s raining out – I’ll be there all morning.  Bliss.

Enjoying our home.  Our house is not child-proofed.  And we don’t intend child-proofing it.

Drinking.  We can drink, and over-indulge, any time we want to.  (Age may stop us, but kids won't!)

And last but not least:

Travelling.  Travel is a great interest, and a very important part of our lives.  We know we wouldn’t be indulging if we had children.  In many ways, our frenetic travelling the last few years has been a consolation because we couldn’t have children.  We’ve always liked travelling, and now we’re not paying for private schools or school uniforms or doctor’s visits or sports subs, we’re investing in seeing the world.  We know that:

• It would be a struggle to afford to travel with children.
• It would definitely be a struggle to get on a plane and go anywhere with children, especially as New Zealand is so far from anywhere else.  I can cope with 12 hour flights to Asia, and although I grumble about longer flights to South Africa or the northern hemisphere, I do them without thinking.  I couldn’t do that with children.
• I wouldn’t get to have trips away on my own (like this one) in the same way.
• We wouldn’t be able to go to civilised Adults Only destinations like Bedarra.  Or consider the particular cruise we’re planning for later in the year.  Or go on safari – well, not till they were 12 or so.

• Unlike a friend of mine, who manages to do much of the above, our parents are not young, and we couldn’t farm the kids out to them while we jetted off overseas.  Now though, we can just go."

I'm not sure I'd write the same post today. Ten years on, my kids would be 18 and 19, possibly living and studying away from home. Active. Independent. So I'd be possibly be doing all the things I listed anyway. Except perhaps for travel, as - even with kids moving into adulthood - my travel style might be different, focused more on their interests than our own, if I could even afford it, given redundancies, difficulty in finding work in our 50s etc. It's yet another reminder that those kids are at home for such a short time before they fly the coop.

Accurate thinking

 I was just listening to an interview on our national radio station. It was aimed at how to help anxious children (and parents) but there were many points that were equally relevant to us. My favourite point, though, was:

"Don't teach positive thinking. Teach accurate thinking."

Isn't that perfect? (And not only because it has given me a topic for today! lol)

I'm not overly negative or cynical (despite being told by a colleague once that I was "quite cynical for one so young" when I made a comment that he agreed with) but I'm also not someone with a glass-half-full attitude all the time either. I like to think I'm realistic. (Though once again, this comment is tempered by remembering friends of friends on Fbk who think that they are politically objective, then spew all sorts of hate. Sigh!) Perhaps all these qualifications about who I am or am not just back me up. I hope I'm realistic. I think I was realistic when I saw the infertility and loss statistics for and against my age and my history (first after one ectopic, then after a second) and the evidence we (me, my husband, and my fertility guy) were faced with during IVF cycles, and assessed these without emotion (or rather, with emotion put aside) to determine what if any our next steps might or might not be. It doesn't mean that I didn't have hope. But hope - and for a while, despair - were tempered by evidence, science, and brutal (from each of us at different times) honesty.

I think this is what we ask for when we ask that the "think positive never give up" brigade understand our positions. We don't want our positions dismissed, or the evidence to be ignored. We just want people to understand or at least, to accept our situations. 

In exactly the same way, it is not accurate to assume that a life without children will be never-ending gloom, loss, or sadness. Neither is it accurate to say it will be perfectly happy, and that everything we've all been through will be forgotten. Of course not! It is accurate to say that our lives can and most likely will be good, happy, with some wonderful experiences. Looking on the bright side, embracing the good things we have already, or have because we don't have children, is not blindly optimistic. It is simply realistic. Life is full of balances, trade-offs, pros and cons. The joy is there if we look for it. That's accurate. And I'm not kidding!

Hitting the Road

This week we (my husband and I) are doing something fabulous, simply because we don’t have children. We waited till last Tuesday, as Monday was a public holiday, Labour Day, the last one before Christmas, and a time when a lot of people like to travel, because it is also a time when spring has generally arrived in most locations, and temperatures in some locations get positively summery. Not to mention that it was the first long weekend since Auckland went into a brief lockdown in August, and people were keen to travel. So Labour Weekend is always a busy time on the roads, and best to be avoided. But on Tuesday, when everyone was back to work and back at school and university exams are in full force, we set off on a road trip, one we had been planning to do for the last year, but life and death and COVID intervened.

My favourite road trip in New Zealand is around the South Island. I wrote about it here. But this one is exploring roads less travelled by us at least, as we have headed in the opposite direction. And although the north is much more populous than the south, we're taking advantage of the absence of both international tourists, and domestic tourists who will spread out and take over the roads in late December until early February. Especially this year, when no-one is making those overseas trips!

We would not be doing this if we had children, as they would still be school age. Though many of my friends are now also free and easy (well, except for the fact they’re still lucky enough to still be earning salaries) as their children have left home, reminding me and all of you that this isolation doesn’t last forever. Having children who have left home is not the same as having no children at all. But it does make socialising with friends easier, and it does mean that their day-to-day worlds no longer revolve around their children in the same way. It does get easier. And in the meantime, we hit the road!

Silver Linings

I’ve been blogging for a long time now. It’s part of my life. I’ve been blogging for 14 years now, and here at No Kidding in NZ, I will soon have my 10 year anniversary. When I began writing here, I had already been through infertility, and those early, painful years of adapting to my No Kidding life. I have readers here who are at a similar stage (and age), and I have readers who are more recently navigating their No Kidding lives without children. Sometimes, when I am writing, I have to balance the dangers of repeating myself with the dangers of assuming that others know what I have written before. This was at no time more obvious than my post a few days ago, and a comment that was left there. I didn’t want to make the post long-winded, and so I edited in and out and in and finally out again, a particular phrase acknowledging that my words might be painful to others. Perhaps I should have left it in, because a commenter clearly struggled with my suggestion that we can feel good about our lower environmental impact. I understand this. I’ve also heard this before, in much blunter language! I wrote about it here.

It is really hard to move from the idea of a life that we wanted, that we had hoped would bring us joy, to the life that we had actively not wanted. In those early days, weeks, months, and even years, after ending our journey, any suggestion that life will not be so bad can feel like a betrayal - a betrayal of our pain, a betrayal of the life we had wanted. Feeling any joy in our new No Kidding lives can also feel like a betrayal. I get that. I felt it. Even when I knew it wasn’t true.  And so, when those of us who are much further on make comments that there are advantages, or silver linings, to our lives without children, it can really hurt. Not in the same way, I think, as when people with children tell us how lucky we are to <fill in the blank> because we don’t have children. But it can hurt nonetheless, because it feels like we are diminishing or denying their pain, betraying our own history of pain.

If I have done this, I apologise. I don’t want to make anyone feel that I am not fully recognising their pain. I don’t. I’ve been through it. I remember it. I’ve written about it frequently. But I no longer feel it in the same way. And I write this blog, not to complain about the many things we have lost (although I feel free to do so when I’ve felt isolated, ignored, dismissed or forgotten), but to talk about my life and No Kidding lives as honestly as I can, the bad and the good, what helped me to heal, and hopefully, to a small extent, shining the way for those who follow.

When I talk about the good things about my life now, many of them are because I don’t have children. I wrote a whole series on the Gifts of Infertility pointing out the positive things that came from that, and came from my subsequent childlessness. I can feel much better about my environmental impact now than if I had children. That’s a fact. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t want children enough. It doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten the pain I felt. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel sad yesterday when it was Father’s Day in NZ and Australia, and my husband’s brothers’ wives were sending photos of their celebrations for their husbands, without a word to my husband. Ouch. It doesn’t mean in any way that I deny the tremendous pain that I know many people are enduring, as they begin to navigate their way down that road less travelled or decide to walk through that forgotten door in the Infertility Waiting Room.

But denying ourselves experiences of joy, of gratitude, and of appreciation for our new lives is just as sad. We’ve already lost the life we thought we would have. Let’s not lose the life that we do have now, or the one that we can build when we have begun to heal. That would be tragic, such an unnecessary loss upon so many other losses. I would hate to see any of my readers do this.

But it takes time, to heal. It takes time to lose the feelings of guilt and betrayal. It takes time to say good-bye to our losses, and embrace our new lives. Many people struggle with the very idea that this might be possible. They might even get angry at the suggestion that they will heal. That’s completely normal. I get it. But when they give themselves time, when WE give ourselves time, it is also completely normal to move through the grief, to appreciate our new lives, and to see and cherish the silver linings.

A selection of my posts that address this from various angles:

Infertility’s Waiting Room

Gifts of Infertility and 2020 No Kidding Healing Project

Childlessness, pain and healing

Feeling left behind

A message to those who are hurting

The process of acceptance

It gets easier

You won’t always be sad

 

 

 

The stories we tell ourselves

An old blogging-now-Facebook friend of mine posted a quote from one of his friends. I read it, and just had to share.

"Our greatest sufferings and our greatest joys come not from our experiences,
but from the stories we tell ourselves about our experiences."

- Jeanette Westlake

 I see this time and again, both with myself, and others. It is very relevant for those of us who have grieved the loss of parenthood in our future. We suffer because we have, for so long, told ourselves how happy we will be when we get pregnant/adopt/become parents. We suffer because we have told ourselves it is the only acceptable outcome. We suffer because society tells us it is the only acceptable outcome, and we've come to believe it. We suffer because we tell ourselves what we've lost. 

Part of this is, of course, the normal process of grieving a loss. The length of our suffering is often affected by how long we continue to tell ourselves that we are suffering a great loss. And the turning point in healing is when we start to observe, and accept, that we can find joy in the future. I remember feeling huge hope that I would be okay when I allowed myself to feel the joy of the little things. Telling myself that all was not gloom and doom, allowing myself to laugh, to enjoy a view, to feel the sun on my back, all helped me change the story I was telling myself. 

That's why I blog here, and why I know many others blog. Because we've got to the stage where we know we are okay, and we want to reinforce that by telling our stories to others, to help them know they will be okay too. And maybe it will help them to change the stories they are telling themselves.

Loss is not always just loss. As I've written in my Gifts of Infertility series, there are a lot of positives that come from loss. And even when we feel the loss acutely, because we've changed the stories we tell ourselves, we know that the pain won't last. We know we'll be okay. And that way moves aside suffering, and makes room for joy.

It is indeed all about the stories we tell ourselves. And importantly, the stories we tell others.

 

Don't feel guilty - be happy!

I thought I'd look back on some previous posts today, and went back to my first calendar year of blogging on No Kidding (I've blogged elsewhere for years longer), and the things I talked about that May 2011.

The month started with some thoughts (amongst others) about some of the things I would be doing if I'd had children, if my ectopic babies had not been ectopic. These were wistful thoughts that had sneaked up on me, things I hadn't realised I was missing out on, although in writing about them I was able to focus on the things I loved, rather than the fact I wasn't doing them with children.

But then I moved onto happier thoughts, and wrote about all the things I was missing out on because I don't have children, but it was a happy list, things I am pleased I have missed out on.

Finally, I wrote a post celebrating all the things I can do precisely because I have children. It still stands, and might be worth looking at if you're feeling a bit down. I called it Yee hah, the things I'm doing because I don't have kids!

Seven years later my message is the same; it's okay to embrace our lifestyles, to feel happy about the advantages, and to cast off any guilt that might be lurking.

#MicroblogMondays: A Lucky Escape

An overdue get-together, my friend arrived and we kissed hello on the cheeks. She then proceeded to apologise for being late - her family had a nit alert.

"Nits?'' I recoiled, taking an involuntary step back.

Just the night before, my husband and I had watched an episode of Modern Family, in which Lilly had nits and was used as a secret weapon against a much-disliked acquaintance. Her father had fended her off - like a lion tamer - with a floor lamp. I was tempted to do the same with my friend.

Another friend, her children now grown, flatly refused to assist our potentially nit-ridden friend to begin the de-lousing process, so I didn't feel so guilty about my display of abject horror.

There are definite advantages to not having children.

Gifts of Infertility Series - #14 - Mindfulness

The emotional pain I felt during and after my ectopic pregnancies was acute. Everything hurt. Everywhere there were reminders that other people got pregnant, and had happy families. It didn’t help that I went through these losses at Christmas, when there is such a huge, inescapable emphasis on mothers and fathers and children. It hurt. Everywhere we looked, it hurt.

My second ectopic, almost exactly a year after the first, after we had dared to hope it was in the right place, after we had actually been brave enough to tell my immediate family that I was pregnant (I had to explain why I wasn’t drinking on Christmas Day after all), was a nightmare in endurance. The pain didn’t seem to end. I bled daily for close to seven months. I couldn’t begin to try to conceive again until this was resolved, and that required many more blood tests, doctor’s visits, treatments, hospitalisations and surgeries. And so much waiting. As a counsellor said, during that time, I experienced hundreds of little griefs. Each time I was reminded of my loss, it was another stab in an already painful wound.

I needed comfort, but nothing would really comfort me. Except the little things; the little things like the summer sun warming my back, hearing a tui call in the trees outside, or a joke on a sitcom that would make me laugh, for a split second allowing me to be happy and carefree. Or, when we escaped other people and sought out a remote cliff, I was in awe at the beauty of the deep blue of the Tasman Sea, white seagulls riding the wind, the contrast of the green hills and clear blue summer sky. Even the view through the windows of the trees outside my house could, in certain lights, make me smile. The sadness always returned, but I learned fairly quickly to take those moments of joy when they came. In fact, I learned to seek them out, because they made the pain bearable. They allowed me to breathe, to smile, and to relax.

I realised later that I was learning mindfulness. I was learning to appreciate the moment, not to think about what had happened, or what was about to happen, or what might never happen. I was experiencing the moment. I thought back to a book that a dear Thai friend gave to me when I was living there in the early 90s. It was by Thich Nhat Hanh, and talked about “doing the dishes to do the dishes.” I finally understood it.

Mindfulness is good for its own sake, to calm us and bring some peace to our minds and hearts. But mindfulness also taught me to appreciate what I have now.

"Happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have." 

H. Schaatel

Gifts of Infertility Series - #3 - New talents

Grieving loss, and enduring and accepting infertility, meant that for the first time in my life, I gave myself permission to become aware of myself, my emotions, my abilities, my flaws.  I learned a lot about what I did well, and what I didn't.  I accepted both these parts, and enjoyed nurturing my skills and abilities.  And one of the most surprising gifts of infertility was the discovery and nurturing of new talents and skills. 

Participating in a messageboard post-loss was eye-opening. It helped me enormously, but I also realised that simply by writing about my own experiences, I was helping others. Something about the way I expressed myself helped.

That led to a volunteering position that I found enormously rewarding. It both boosted my confidence, helped my understanding of my own situation and of others, and – most importantly – really did some good in this world.

But I'm going to take that further. I had always had an ability to look at an issue from both sides, and to understand what another person might be feeling. Acknowledging and nurturing this ability as part of my volunteer work was important.  Even if I was still raw from learning I would never have children, or having a bad "woe is me" day, I could never allow this to affect the way I responded to women with children. I had to learn to see things from their perspective, and bring my compassion and knowledge to bear to help them. I'm no saint, and this is rarely easy. But it helped me do my volunteer job well. 

It helped in other parts of my life too. And in unexpected ways.

At the time that I was a volunteer, learning more every day about human nature, I was also the Chairperson of a consulting company (owned by NZ government-owned institutions, working internationally). Chairing the Board was a challenge. I was the youngest director, and the only woman. And so it was inevitable that I endured the sexism of my fellow directors (not all of them but most).  I gradually realised though that I could, in the end, get them to do what I wanted them to do. Sure, they ranted and raved and played their petty little political games, or ignored what I said until one of the men said it.  But because I learned to understand them, see through their bluster and learn their motivations and insecurities, I learned how to convince them to change their minds. And they probably never knew. This is one of the advantages and disadvantages of the way women learn to operate in the corporate world. Because they don’t realise that they are being convinced of a better way to do things, we avoid the aggression that is often a feature of working with men. But likewise, this means that they don’t see or recognise the skill or advantages in my (a woman’s) argument, and we don’t always get the credit we are due.

Still, it is interesting to reflect and realise that part of my personal growth in the last decade became part of my professional growth too.

Getting lots of rest

Having recovered (mostly) from the surgery, headed back to the gym (starting out gently), and got into a head space where I can start focusing on getting some contract work, I came down with a cold – my first for a year or two.  I headed down to the pharmacy to get some medication that would help me deal with the symptoms, and maybe help me sleep too.  The assistant went through the usual questions – was I on any medication, etc – and then gave the usual advice – take in plenty of  fluids, get lots of rest. 

“That is, get lots of rest if you can,” the kindly shop assistant emphasised.  (Perhaps I looked tired?)

“Yes, I can, actually.  And I will,” I said. 

She looked surprised.  I guess it is unusual – a woman able to take time for herself and rest and recover appropriately from an illness, especially in the middle of the school holidays.

And I reflected that this is one of the advantages of not having children.  First, I don’t get sick very often, as I don’t have children bringing home all the illnesses from school.  (The reason I got sick I assume was that my 6-year-old niece was sick when she visited).  Second, when or if I do get sick, or need surgery, I am able to follow doctor’s orders, and get rest and take things easy.  This certainly helped my recovery from surgery – and I think it helped my recovery from the cold. Afternoon naps were possible, and so was sleeping late in the morning.  My cold is largely gone now, ten days later, and I'm heading back to the gym in an hour or two.

When it is cold and I'm feeling physically and emotionally miserable, I have to say that sometimes, not having children is a big advantage!

Life is easier ...

Recovering from my surgery has been slow but steady.  Not there yet, but on the right track, which is good.  My husband has been good - with hardly a complaint (okay, a few complaints) - about doing things to help.  He is adamant that I shouldn't do too much too soon.  I think when it actually registered that my blood count had been dangerously low, requiring blood transfusions over about 14 hours across two days. he got a bit of a shock.  To be fair, we both did, though more in hindsight. So he is keen for my recovery to go smoothly.  He claims he's adding up all the favours I've asked of him, and is looking forward to me repaying them.  I said he has to put them in the bank as insurance against some time when he will get sick/need surgery, and I have to be the chief driver/cook/bottle-washer/errand runner/muscle.

So I've been doing very little.  The odd bit of cooking or making lunch, tidying up the kitchen a bit (though no bending allowed which makes it harder), walking around and around the living room to get some gentle exercise (if I go out I have to climb, and that puts too much pressure on the abdomen and pelvic floor), catching up on recorded TV (making my way through House of Cards Season 1), binge watching Season 2 of The Bridge, and ... an indulgence ... binge watching Season 1 of How I Met Your Mother (because I've never watched it before).  I will be watching the rest.

I thought recovery would be no problem, because I would have the internet, and I could use the time to write.  But sitting here at the computer in my office is not entirely comfortable, and I'm not supposed to do it for too long because of the pressure on my abdominal muscles.  And reading ... well, I didn't anticipate the severe brain fog from the anaesthetic (hence all the TV watching). Just this week it has lifted, and I've been at last able to read a couple of books, and may return even to The Luminaries.

And it made me realise how much harder it would have been if I had had children.  Being able to take it easy, concentrate on my recovery, and sleep when I need to sleep is, I suspect, something that many women in my position can only imagine.  That said, many women my age have adult children who can help out too, so I guess it goes both ways.  Still, I'm thankful that I am able to concentrate on me at this time.  I don't think it's selfish, I think I am lucky.  And right now, I need to see the advantages of my situation.

Saving the world

I read an article about climate change and the choices we make.  It took an interesting approach, one I hadn’t seen before, looking at (amongst other things) the impact on the environment of food per calorie (beans are best, apparently), before going on to talk about other choices we can all make to help the planet.  It was a large article, taking up half a page in our local newspaper.  We’ve since thrown out the paper, and I can’t find it online, so I’m going to have to paraphrase the last paragraph:

“But you can eat all the beans you want, cycle to work or drive a Prius, never fly, recycle everything, and eat organically, but none of it will even come close to the environmental impact on the planet of one single act – that of having a child.”

Next time someone calls you selfish for not having children, or implies that only those with children are contributing to society, remember that.  We’re saving the planet.

The dilemma of No Kidding blogging

When I started this blog, I both wanted an outlet for my thoughts and feelings about navigating my way through life without kids.  I didn’t want it just to be about the tough bits of my life; I wanted it to reflect the good things about my life too, the things I can do and enjoy precisely because I don’t have children.  I wanted it to be honest.

I wanted to show others that the world doesn’t end when you can’t have children.  The world goes on, and our lives go on and become fuller, more meaningful.  There’s a lot of room to fill up when we say good-bye to infertility, and I think many of us fear we will never fill our lives.  But we do.  You can.  In my years of volunteering, I felt very valued and fulfilled.  I knew I’d already learned a lot, and by being honest about my own feelings and experiences, I knew that I was helping others.  And I hoped to continue that here.

But there’s a dilemma when blogging the No Kidding life  Because even though I’ve accepted my life, and love my life, it doesn’t mean that there aren’t still a few twinges of pain and loss.  And whilst it is cool to be the beacon of hope that life will be good, I think it is only right to be honest and acknowledge those ouch moments too.  Which is why I wrote my previous post. 

I don’t usually focus on the difficult parts of my life, the parts that remind me that I don’t have children, because ultimately that’s not the way I think or feel anymore.  I don't want to be pitied, I just want to be understood.  And I’ve posted before (here and here and many others besides) about the positives that come alongside those losses.  But there are times, when we hear things in the media or others say things to us, where I just roll my eyes or sigh in frustration, and respond. Sometimes, life, society, individuals give us no choice!

Talking with the husband

Tonight is our last night in Puglia.  Tomorrow we head for Rome, the airport, and fly out on Tuesday.  That will be the end of three wonderful months in Italy.  Three months with my husband that form part of an experience we never expected to have.  Three months where we actually didn't rip each other’s head off, though of course there was a bit of yelling, usually over the issues of travel planning, or navigation.  Fortunately, yelling like that is quickly forgotten.

I've had friends and family joke about how often we have wanted to kill each other.  And yes, probably the answer has to be “sometimes” if we’re honest.  But when some people say this to us, they sound puzzled that we could go almost four months (since we left home) with each other as company, as the only people we talk to, as our social fun, and emotional support.  Yet we have. 

And we were talking about it tonight, as we were at dinner tonight.  We watched a couple – younger than us – struggle to make conversation.  And we thought about their lives – probably busy, maybe difficult financially, almost certainly with children.  And we realised that our relationship is probably the beneficiary of the “no kidding” factor in our lives.  We don’t have to be parents together, we don’t have to have battles about different parenting philosophies and styles (and believe me, we would have had a few battles), we don’t have to crawl in bed exhausted from looking after children, wrestling with toddlers or teenagers, juggling our annual leave so we can look after the children in school holidays, and never finding time for ourselves as a couple.

As a couple without children, we are able to just “be.”  It doesn't mean we don’t have difficulties.  Dealing with no income when we get home will be a struggle, and is sure to put strains on us.  Stress and foreign situations can be difficult too at times, and health issues are always a worry.  But we are able to know each other in perhaps a different way, in perhaps a deeper way than I suspect we would have time to do so if we were parents.  And for that, for our close relationship now, I am very grateful.  (And I think he’s okay with it!)