Choose your life

One of the autobiographies I read in the last year or two, Andre Agassi’s Open, had a quote that backs up a common theme of my posts. I know I repeat myself. But each time I'm inspired by someone else's words, by someone else's take on life, I think that I need to share it. Because maybe my past posts haven't reached someone, but this one will. And the message is? That we need to choose to love the life we have.

In the book, he talks about the fact that he hates tennis. (His wife, Steffi Graf, agreed, apparently.) But he chose the life of a tennis player. Agassi wrote,

“no matter what your life is, choosing it changes everything.”

It is so true.This life might not be our first choice. But when it is our only option, we need to acknowledge that, and choose it. Choosing to embrace our lives, choosing to accept that we are Not Kidding, makes all the difference. It allows us to let go of a daily focus on loss, the guilt, the blame, the resentment, and it allows us to feel joy. Perhaps particularly, it allows us to embrace and enjoy the features of this life we might otherwise not have had – the freedom, and the little things, like the late weekend mornings in bed, spontaneity, peace and quiet, being able to read a book uninterrupted, eat and drink what we want when we want it, being able to work, travel, etc, and so many more. 

Choosing the life that I have, rather than the one I wanted, knowing and accepting that there is no alternative, actually gave me back my life. It gave me a life in which I felt pleasure, contentment, hope, friendship, and so much more. Choose your life, and then live it.

Complicated choices lead to childlessness

Sue at Childless by Marriage recently wrote a piece titled Childless by Marriage vs Childless by Infertility. She concluded that the main difference between being childless by marriage rather than by infertility was choice. I didn't comment on her post, (though I read and comment regularly on her blog, and would love to see her here), because this one felt very specifically directed towards people who see themselves as childless by marriage. I understand the comfort that can come from talking to people who understand, who have been through similar experiences, and I didn't want to disturb that. Rather, I thought I might explore this issue here, putting my slightly different point of view.

When my husband and I got married, I was young, just graduated from university. I wasn't prepared at the time to discuss children, because I was far from ready, and I couldn't and didn't guarantee I would ever be ready. My husband married me anyway. So he was childless by marriage for years. Little did we know that when I would be ready, my body wouldn't be.

I have heard this this a lot. Women who talk about how carefully they avoided pregnancy in their 20s, only to find in their 30s that they had difficulties conceiving or carrying to term. I don't know if I had tried to get pregnant when I was younger if it would have been possible. It's a pointless question now anyway.

So we then dealt with pregnancy loss and infertility. The issues were mine - I kept having ectopic pregnancies, and then after the trauma of my second ectopic, my body effectively shut up reproductive shop! I have an online friend who had a compatibility issue with her husband that caused their combined infertility. But in most cases, the issue usually lies with one partner or other (or is unexplained). So the other partner, in our case this was my husband, then became childless by marriage. He wasn't infertile, after all. He was childless only because he was married to me. I worried that he would leave me, then I worried that by staying with me, I was denying him the children he so wanted. I wasn't alone in these thoughts. I've seen many many women grapple with the same issue over the years. My husband made the decision to stay, in just the same way as any of the childless by marriage partners who also chose to stay with the one they love. He had a choice. 

If we had lived elsewhere, there might have been more decisions or issues to discuss. Should we go further with IVF options? Should we look at donor egg, or surrogacy? These weren't issues in New Zealand, where assisted reproduction is carefully regulated. But at each step, there are choices to be made. Should we try? How much do we spend?  And at each step, there is a risk of opposing views, or differing limits, and doors closing.

We discussed adoption. Briefly. We had differing views on this. But I knew that I wanted my husband in my life more than I wanted any potential adopted child, knowing how difficult adoption can be. So did our roles switch then? Was I childless by marriage? Potentially. I might have had a choice, but it didn't feel like one. There was no question for me. I chose my husband.

So, we don't have children. Infertility/pregnancy loss is just one of the reasons for that. Anyone who has been through this can see that it can be very complicated. Whether someone is childless by marriage, chance, or circumstance, or all of the above, there will be a list of reasons why they don't have children.  They probably don't know for sure if infertility might have been one of those reasons - after all, none of us assumed infertility would be a problem until it was. We assume we are fertile until evidence is presented that proves otherwise. Does it matter? Not really, because none of these choices feel like choices. Those who are childless by marriage might choose love, and not having children becomes a consequence of that, rather than being their first choice. Life is very complicated, and the issue of choice is really complicated too. I guess it's why I don't really like labels, because things are never quite as clear-cut as they might seem.

I don't feel that how we got here is as important as what our lives look like now. We have all faced difficult decisions and difficult circumstances, and will continue to do so in this pronatalist society. Which is why I feel real solidarity with those who are involuntarily childless for whatever reason. And hope that we can all live full and happy No Kidding lives.

Life meanderings

 As some of you will know from my other blog (A Separate Life), I have been travelling this last month.I hinted at it a few weeks ago in this post about reclaiming the country when the children are back at school (and their parents at work), when I said "we reclaim the shops and restaurants and roads and ferries and tourist spots, and secluded outdoor areas. Next week it's all for us! I can't wait." Perhaps you thought there was more than the usual enthusiasm for having cafes and malls and cinemas free of children? There was.

Like many people, we discovered, we waited until school holidays were over before we drove onto the ferry (conveniently berthed about five minutes from our house) and set sail for the South Island. (Or so we thought - there was a delay and the usual 3 1/2 hour trip took 6 hours!) We've spent the last 3 1/2 weeks traversing the South Island, going to places we'd been before, but never really explored. Doing some new things. Reliving childhood memories. Seeing family. Eating too much. Drinking a bit much, though we were remarkably restrained, I thought! Taking a LOT of photos. I've put just a few on Instagram (I'm travellingmali there), and I'm planning to blog about the trip in more detail either on A Separate Life or a new space.

The trip was blissfully child-free. Sure, there were children some places, and some of them were amusing, cute, or both. They enhanced our trip. But the places we went weren't flooded with them, and that made it very relaxing. I know I'm privileged to be able to travel for this long at a time of my choosing. I know not all of you can do it. So I'll stop there.

I had the inevitable "are you having a nice Mother's Day?" question at a hotel reception. It was funny, because even when she said it, she didn't look as if she wanted to. "I'm not a mother," I responded. "So ... no." She immediately apologised profusely. It made me wonder if she'd been told to ask the question of women of a certain age (what that might be, over 18?), and had - for whatever reason, objected to that. I felt for her. Her apology was very much for the question, whereas I also received (somewhere, I can't remember where) an "I'm sorry" when I said that I did not have children, which was wholly pitying. Kind, perhaps, but judgemental too. Tone of voice and context is so important.

Anyway, it's kind of nice to be home. The holiday was a good break between clearing up FIL's house and estate, and the rest of my life. I feel a little like I did when I was coming out of the grief of the permanent no-kids diagnosis. What shall I do with the rest of my life? What is the next big thing? And then I remember. Life is the next big thing. And I need to live it. We don't have the responsibilities we have had the last decade, so things can change, if we want them to. That's what I'm figuring out now. But there's no rush. 

Revisiting the Issue of Choice

Jess has written a post about a friend who seems to be struggling with the issue of how Jess and her husband have accepted and embraced their life without children, asking her "How can you be happy?" Go read it - it will make your blood boil!

It reminded me of a post I'd written about the behaviour of those who can't accept our choices, even when we had no choice. Research shows that this behaviour is similar to that of a 14-month-old toddler, covered here in Biscuits, Broccoli and Bias. That always makes me feel better when I think of those who judge us!

It also got me thinking about the issue of choice. As Jess said, it's not like she felt she had a choice. I wrote Do We Really Choose? seven years ago this week. So it's a good idea to revisit it here. As I said to Jess, if things get so bad that it is affecting our mental and physical health, is that really a choice? And if people can't understand that, then they were lucky not to experience the so-called choice that feels like hitting a brick wall.

Finally, I was thinking about the issue of acceptance. I've written more* about this than pretty much any other subject here at No Kidding in NZ. I was reminded of this post, quoting another blogger (sadly her blog doesn't seem to exist any longer), in which she talked about her total disbelief that anyone of us could be happy in our post-infertility, No Kidding (ie childless) lives.

I think it's always worthwhile to revisit some of my earlier thoughts. It reminds me how far I've come, and how far many of you have come, and gives me a chance to refocus on what we have, rather than what we don't.


Here's a link to all 135 posts tagged with "acceptance."

Do we really choose?

Being part of the ALI (adoption/loss/infertility) community has its many benefits, as I’ve noted before. But it also brings its pressures and judgements.  And one of those judgements I find in living a life without children after infertility is that we have chosen not to have children. 

I know that some members of this community can’t imagine how we could go on to accept our lives without children.  I get the feeling they think that we can’t have wanted children enough.  I have read comments along the lines of “I knew I would do whatever I had to do.”  The implication being that they would never have been in our situation.  But perhaps they never had to test their ultimate limits.  And for whatever reason, perhaps their limits were different to our limits.  I personally have very good friends who, after loss and infertility, never went on to IVF.  There were good reasons for this.  They had limits, limits that I didn’t have.  They might have chosen these limits, or the limits might have been imposed on them.  I never went on to donor egg, adoption or surrogacy.  There are very good reasons for this too.  (I know I haven’t really gone into these, but will one day).  But it doesn’t mean I feel I had a choice.

So when others talk about our choice to live our lives childFREE, that we chose freely to live our lives without children, I sense a degree of judgement (in addition to the inevitable judgement over my spelling of judgement with an “e”).  Yes, I know this might be in an effort to legitimise and validate our situation, and I appreciate that sentiment. But behind that I sense a feeling, a judgement, that we chose our situation, and if we’d only tried harder, we would have succeeded, just like they did, that they would never have given up, like we did, that we are quitters.  Or perhaps, if we’d been better people we too would have had our own “miracle.”  Recently, I read a comment that implied that the only time that we can say we didn’t have a choice was if we were below the poverty line.  This relates back to my previous post.  How much should I have gambled away in my pursuit to have children?  There is a huge difference between poverty and having a bottomless discretionary fund for numerous (or endless) IVF treatments, or for adoption, or even more for surrogacy.  And it also ignores the obvious.  That money doesn’t solve everything.

And so tell me, how much of a choice is it, our choice to live life without children?  Is it a choice if you’ve already lost your financial security?  Is it a choice if you live in a country that doesn’t have medical insurance, or that has strict regulations around IVF, sperm and egg donation, and surrogacy?  Is it a choice if you cannot physically conceive or carry a child?  Is it a choice if you are of an age, or have medical conditions that preclude you from being able to adopt?  Is it a choice if you’ve lost your emotional stability, your relationships, your confidence?  Is it a choice if, in pursuing your dream of children, you stopped living your life, put decisions on hold, and focused only on your fertility for year after year? 

How far are we supposed to go before it might actually be acknowledged that it was Hobson’s choice?  That is, a choice that is no choice at all.  What was our choice?  To continue trying, against all odds?  Or to “choose” to walk away?  That’s really not a choice.  And then we find we might be judged for that too? 

Now, I know some people want to own the fact that they had a choice.  I completely respect that.  Wanting to feel in some way in control, empowered, after the complete lack of control and vulnerability we feel around infertility and loss is completely understandable.  I too will own the fact that I had limits.  But do I feel as if I had a choice?  It certainly wasn’t my first choice, and not my second, third or fourth choice either.  So, no, not really.  I’ve accepted that.  I’m not bitter about it.

Now, for me, the issue is not how we came to live this life without children.  The most important issue is the choice we have now.  We have a choice to embrace our lives, our situations, and make lemonade out of lemons.  Because the only other choice is to dwell in grief, sadness and isolation.  I choose to live, and live well.  I choose to embrace my life without children, recognise the advantages, and enjoy them.  I don’t spend my days imagining what my life would be like if I had children.  What a waste of time and energy that would be.  There is joy in my life, and in accepting that, I am not betraying the infertility battles and losses I went through.  I am, I guess, moving on.  I am living.  I am happy.  And whatever life we live, there really is no other choice, is there?