Talking about my freedom

I’ve had a draft sitting in my computer, based on a post written four years ago by Infertile Phoenix.  She talked about the thoughts that go through clients’ brains when she says she has no kids. The assumptions they make – their ignorance of her pain, her loss, her grief, her healing, her hard work. I could relate to that. 

More recently, it made me think of two interactions I have had travelling. The first was over ten years ago, with a younger couple. They asked if we had kids, quite publicly, in front of a big group. I was a bit surprised, as it wasn't something that the group had been talking about. I gave my standard answer, without embellishment. “No, we don’t.” This was not a time when I wanted to go into any details. The couple were themselves Not Kidding, as far as I recall. (We spent three days together, so if they had kids, they would have mentioned them!) I assumed they were childfree, purely because of the way they phrased the question and response. “But you’re happy, right?” was their almost aggressive response. 

But I don't want to make assumptions either. There could, of course, have been years of disappointment behind that question, an almost defiant reaction daring anyone to pity them, or us. Maybe even there was hope that if we were happy, they could be too. On the other hand, there could have been just complete disdain for the need or desire to have kids. My response was simply, “we’re here, aren’t we?” gesturing at our amazing surroundings. Of course, that downplayed my history. Did they deserve to hear my story? I don’t know. I didn’t know them well enough. But I wasn’t ready to share it there and then. And they didn't seem to want to know, or they would have asked the question differently.

Something similar happened much more recently. The question was asked, answered, and I got a simple response, “so you get to do things like this.” And then we changed the subject. There wasn’t any  judgement in that response. It was, in fact, a statement of fact. Whether they understood that while there was loss, there was also a silver lining, or whether they assumed that we had chosen our lives, so we could travel, wasn't clear. Maybe they were just being polite. But it was a couple on their honeymoon. Maybe they want children, maybe they don’t. They didn't mention it. It was a potentially teachable moment that I let pass. Should I have? I’m not sure. But equally, I was in a happy place, my kid-free/less status was the last thing on my mind. The question had the opportunity to spoil my equilibrium, my delight in where I was. So I dismissed it as quickly as I could.

I find it such a hard balance. I don’t want to ignore or downplay everything I’ve missed out on, and continue to miss out on. But I also don’t want to imply that there’s no joy in my life, because there is a lot of it. As Lori LL, a commenter here, says, “it’s BothAnd.” I’m still fretting over pointing out to a parent that their No Kidding daughter would be okay when I learned that she could not conceive. I still hope that my positivity didn't dismiss the losses that their daughter might be feeling. Even after all this time, I agonise over getting it right.

But let’s face it, I won’t always get it right. However much I want to, or feel that it gives me some purpose. And there’s rarely time (or inclination, on either side) to go into the issue. So some people get to hear about the cost of my freedom. Others get to just see that freedom in action. At the same time that I don’t want to hide my situation, and that I’m happy to publicise it, it is still a very personal thing. So I continue muddling through, taking it question by question, person by person, case by case, depending on my mood, surroundings, company, etc. I'm comfortable with that. I don't owe anyone an explanation. It works for me.  

What works for you?

Social Interactions when Childless

I write about No Kidding issues every week, and have been doing this for years. Does that mean I am over-sensitised to the issue, as some might claim? Maybe. But it also means that I am very aware of being a minority in this pronatalist world. Others might shrug. But I notice. Comments, attitudes, the choice of a simple word, or descriptor, that I wouldn't use, or that isolates me and my community. And often, in that instant, I am torn. Do I make a point? Just ignore comments? Or try and educate? I don't have a strict policy. It always depends on the person, the circumstances, and how I’m feeling.

A social event this weekend was in many ways remarkable in that there were so many topics to talk about, and so many people with interest in the wider world, that the issue of kids hardly came up. The party was hosted by a friend. She and her partner don’t have children either, and nor do several of her friends I’ve previously met. Anyway, we were all of an age where any children would have left home, so it wasn’t part of the lively conversations that we had. (Well, except for her niece and nephew, but I’ve met their kids, so could talk about them easily and comfortably.) So there I was, happily chatting away with new people, people we’d heard about from our friends for years, and some people I hadn’t seen for 30 years.

I got chatting to someone I haven’t known socially, but worked with for a very short time way back in the late 80s. I mentioned a very happy time in my life, when I had a variety of work (boards, consulting) and also volunteered. She asked about the volunteering. Oh, I said, it was for an overseas medical charity, thinking that the “medical” information might have been enough of a hint. She asked for more details. “Okay,” I thought, “you asked for it!” I explained that I’d volunteered for six years for an ectopic pregnancy charity, the only one in the world that we knew of, that provided online support and advice. She nodded, and noted that she had had an ectopic pregnancy too. You never know, you know? We chatted about it, and about the health system. I then realised that I’ve heard her name (and her husband’s, who I also knew from way back then) a lot from our mutual friend, but never with any discussion of children. I didn’t ask her, and she didn’t ask me. It was refreshing. A little bonding experience, that neither of us felt the need to take any further at the time. (Though now I need to check with my friend to see if they did in fact have children.)

I then got chatting to another woman. We had worked together at our first job post-university, but needed to be introduced to recognise each other (her hair was now short, and mine was now long and grey)! I’d also heard her news from our mutual friend over the decades, and vice versa. We were joking about Swedish Death Cleaning, and she made a comment about the kids being gone, and so we are all ready to leave our big family homes and downsize. I don’t know if I winced, but I must have reacted. I think I stammered a bit. Not because it hurt, but more because I don’t like people to assume that everyone has a “big family home” and so was trying to think how to respond without making a big deal of it. (Even though I still live in what might have been our "big family home.") So of course, she asked if we had children. “No,” was the only answer I needed to give. And then we just continued with our conversation. It’s so nice when people pick up on cues, and don’t pry!

When I was first going through the pain of lost pregnancies and new childlessness, I didn’t want to have to talk about my circumstances to anyone except those closest to me. I didn’t want to risk getting upset, or angry. I don't have that concern now. Then I worried about being seen as other, as being judged. These days, I'm more likely to judge them if they judge me, so that's less of an issue too! And sometimes I wonder if I should be educating everyone, with proselytising zeal. And then when I don’t, I feel guilty.

But you know, these days, I have a choice. I’m not concerned about upsetting anyone by talking about my reality. They talk about theirs, I talk about mine. Fair is fair. And my reality is being childless in a pronatal world. I’ve commented a few times recently on social media posts, for example, gently reminding some mothers that you don’t have to be a mother to care for X or Y. Equally, I feel I do enough here, and elsewhere, that I don’t have to educate every person I meet. I no longer feel guilty if I don't take the opportunity to educate people, even if I am in fact more likely now to take those opportunities. 

So each time, I assess the circumstances of the conversation – who I am with, where we are, how well I know them. In this case, I was surrounded by people happily celebrating a mutual friend’s birthday. It was not a time to talk about the realities or stereotypes or assumptions about those of us without children. And I'm very comfortable with that. It's a sense of freedom that I’ve given myself. I hope you feel that way too.

 

 

No Kidding nights in July

No, this is not going to be X-rated. No, it's nothing to do with hot nights, or cold nights in my case, in the middle of our winter. Instead, it has everything to do with time zones, sports, and freedom. 

I've spent over the last week watching Wimbledon games. Due to our time zone here on the edge of the Pacific, the main matches all start around midnight or 1 am. If there are two matches I want to watch, I have to try and choose, or risk an entire night without sleep. If there is a big final, like last night, there is only the one match. But one match can still mean almost an entire night without sleep. I grabbed an hour or so on the couch before the final began at 1 am my time. Five hours later, when it finished, I watched all the presentations and speeches. Then when I crawled into bed at 6.30 am, I felt wide awake. Fortunately, the Husband got up shortly after, I had the bed to myself, and he went off to play golf so I didn't have to feel bad about sleeping for a few more hours.

Now, I'm fully aware I am ageing out of the "I wouldn't be able to do that if I had kids" statement. My last pregnancy ended 20 years ago. But it is feasible I could have still had a teenager in the house. I would have had to be quiet at least, I might have felt I needed to get up this morning (Monday) to be with them, or they might have woken me up talking to my early bird husband or getting out of the house to go off to university or work. So it would have been more difficult to indulge my love of Grand Slam tennis matches, even now. And I certainly wouldn't have been able to do it over last ten or twenty years since I stopped working in an office. 

These days, that's all academic. I don't dwell on the what-might-have-beens. I want to focus on the good things. Watching Grand Slam matches is a treat I have allowed myself for years now. I love the excitement of watching something live, as it happens. Being able to do so is a gift. I'm not kidding. 

 

 

 

The Freedom of No Kidding Travel

 For the last month, my posts have been pre-written and scheduled. I haven't been able to comment much on any of your comments, but I have been trying to keep track of them. I haven't been doing much reading or commenting elsewhere either. Why? Because we have been on a fabulous month-long holiday (I'll write more about it over on A Separate Life in the next days/weeks) celebrating our life together in southern Africa. And there are some pics on my (at)travellingmali Instagram page if you're curious.

As usual after a trip, I think about the questions about kids. The first time we got it was from a honeymoon couple from New York. Clearly they are thinking about children. I just said, "no" to the "do you have?" question, and they said smoothly, "so you're here, doing things like this!" and it wasn't clear if they meant it as compensation, or explanation, and I didn't clarify either. It was easy, and we let it go. Then one of the staff talked about his planned wedding later this year, and the plans that they will get pregnant within the next year, move and change jobs all to ensure good schooling for their as yet unconceived child. DH and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. The thing is, it will probably work out for them. It does for most people. But the ignorance of his confidence that nothing will go wrong really struck us.

We were asked about kids elsewhere. Nowhere were we asked any follow-up questions. People were polite, and easily able to pivot to another topic of conversation. Where appropriate, I asked simple questions about their kids. But I found it all very easy. Mostly.

The highlight was at the very beginning of our trip. On safari, we shared our vehicle with a couple from the UK who were about our age or just a few years older. We had a lovely time with them. I said to my husband after a couple of days that I was sure they didn't have children either. It hadn't been mentioned, almost pointedly, by either of us. In fact, it actually took me a day or two to realise that neither of us had brought it up. How liberating is that? I felt so free and relaxed, and didn't even think about the issue.

Towards the end of our days together, I was chatting to the other woman, asked her to forgive me asking the question, and asked it myself. I felt awful doing it, and so as soon as she confirmed my guess that no, they didn't have children, I assured her that we didn't either, and apologised for the question.  She made me laugh. "If I'd had kids, I would have told you all about them by now!" I agreed, saying that this is why I thought I could ask the question. Neither of us talked about why we weren't parents. I suspect again that we were both childless not by choice, simply the way that we talked about the subject. But there was no need to know. We'd had a lovely time together, have exchanged emails, and hope to meet again.That's all that mattered. 

We were away for over four weeks. It was not school holidays, so we rarely encountered children on our travels. (Well, except for the hundreds of kids on school trips in one part of South Africa - though they just made us smile.) How lovely it was to feel part of a place, of experiences, of life, without feeling that our reproductive status was in any way relevant. There was just freedom. Bliss. Joy.

"What if there isn't a plan?"

Yael Wolfe posed this question in her recent piece about Why Childless Women Inspire Superstitious Sentiment. "What if there isn't a plan?" Perhaps because I don't come from a religious background, and I'm not surrounded by religious people or even in a religious society, as I mentioned back in World Childless Week, I don't think about "God's Plan" or believe that there is one. But as I wrote then, the "it wasn't meant to be" sentiment is still strong. Yael Wolfe's articles echoes a lot of the sentiments in my post, but was perhaps kinder to people who say these things than I was! It's worth reading. Or see Loribeth's excellent synopsis and selected quotes here.

I highlight it again here because the idea that there is no plan, and that everything is random, does not worry me as Wolfe concludes it worries so many others who just want certainty in their lives. When I accepted that everything was random, that nothing "happens for a reason" it was a moment of true relief and a lifting of the burden of guilt. Because I did feel guilt that I must have done something wrong to not be able to have children, an accomplishment that so many others - less deserving others as I know now - manage, or perhaps have imposed on them against their will. 

Realising that that guilt was so misplaced, and dispensing with it, gave me a freedom and lightness and yes, uncertainty, that I would always take over the assurance that everything happened to me for a reason. It is so much easier to show compassion to myself and acceptance of others, to try not to judge, and to be the best that I can be within my power and circumstances. Uncertainty and randomness has taught me gratitude, mindfulness, and appreciation for the little things (as well as the big). It has helped me stop worrying as much about future events. It has stopped me focusing on the what-ifs, because that is so pointless, and given me a clarity that has made life better, and easier. 

Embrace the uncertainty! It will set you free.

Rising from the ashes

Infertile Phoenix has written a fabulous post about life, choices, and attitudes. Go read it! She commented that she’s living her life, not someone else’s, living up to her blogger name Phoenix. It got me thinking about my own life, and about others’ lives too.

I’ve had someone tell me that I could have abandoned my parents-in-law, moved anywhere I liked, and that it was pretty much my own fault that I felt “stuck” looking after them for so long. Strictly speaking they are correct. However, who can do that? What sort of person would I be if I had made that choice? They were my husband’s parents, and all his other siblings lived overseas. We’re not heartless. We couldn’t leave them alone. We felt the responsibility, and we made their final years better. We adapted around them (and the final years of my mother’s life), lived and worked here, and travelled intermittently. And now they’re gone, and we can do whatever it is we want.

It got me thinking about parents who have adult children, yet still don’t live their own lives. Yes, I understand that their children are an important part of their lives, and grandchildren when they come along. But I remember being astounded when I met a former mentor/colleague some years ago. I’d either just gone on our five-month Lemons to Limoncello trip to Italy and other countries, or was about to leave. I was telling her about it, and she sighed. “I’d really love to do that,” she said, “but I have two grandsons.” She’d been retired for a while, and had recently scaled back on some Board memberships. Three or four months away in Italy was eminently possible for her, both in terms of time and finances, and wouldn’t be a big hole in her relationship with her grandchildren. This was a woman who had been a feminist role model for me and my peers, who “took no prisoners” at work, and had always seemed fearless. But she was trapped by her self-imposed restrictions.

I know other parents who also live their lives around their children and grandchildren, unable to conceive of a life of doing things they want to do, living where they want to live, etc. (Yes, I understand that they WANT to live near and be with their children. Yet they then express regret or jealousy of others who are doing things they’d like to do.) Some of them are very happy and fulfilled. Others are not, because they expect to play an important part in the lives of their kids and grandkids, don’t build the support networks they need, or mentally adjust, and so they feel real grief when those expectations are not met. (See my post from almost 10 years ago discussing this.) And finally, there are others who live a really balanced life, doing their own thing, seeing the world or following hobbies or their own professions, and yet they enjoy their kids and grandkids, and are available for support.

I guess that brings me back to those of us without children. There are those of us who never really rise from the ashes. They live their lives in fear, staying close to what they know, often yearning always for what they wanted but didn’t get, fearful of the unknown future. I feel so sad about that. 

There are those, like Phoenix, who embrace change – even though they may be terrified at the time – in a quest to live their own lives. They embrace the opportunities gifted to them by their No Kidding lives. And maybe some of us go back and forth between embracing the life we have and fearing the future, or live with both options at the same time. I know I do, though I try to keep the fear quotient as low as possible! Maybe that’s the best option. Fear or, perhaps more accurately, caution teaches me to prepare for the future. Freedom allows me to enjoy that future.

Thanks, Phoenix, for reminding me of that!

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

No Kidding 2020 Project: Day 19 - Liberate

I’ve never wanted to wholly conform to society. As a little girl, I groaned when I was given a doll for Christmas, because even then I liked playing outside and other active things (until I learned to read). I was shy and obedient, but I never wanted to be judged or have my activity proscribed by others’ views. As I’ve probably said before, I think I was a feminist from the moment I was born, so when I got married (which was quite young), I didn’t change my name, despite not knowing any other woman personally who had kept their name. (Though when I moved to Wellington I met a number, and in fact almost all my best friends who have married have kept their names too.) I certainly didn’t want to have children the moment I got married, and resisted all that initial pressure. So it was a surprise to me when I decided I did want to have children, and then of course, a surprise when I couldn’t.

Now, as a woman without children, I am by definition a nonconformist. Especially when I am a woman-who-wanted-children who loves her life-without-them. Or perhaps not? Because if there is one thing that life teaches us, it is that most of us have to learn, at some stage, to love what we have (or don’t have, as the case may be). Perhaps I’m just doing the predictable thing?

The truth is there is real freedom in not having children. The obvious things are freedom from sleepless nights, from early morning wake-ups, holidaying only in school holidays, expenditure on children and their activities, freedom to follow my own interests, spontaneity, travel when and where I like, etc. The list is endless.

But there are other freedoms too. When we learn to accept and experience our No Kidding lives, we break free from society’s norms, from our grief and our past and our what-might-have-beens. We are liberated from our own more limited expectations of ourselves. Perhaps we break free from our own stereotypes?

Personally, I know I broke free from stereotypes when I was forced to confront the question of what is “success” and what is not. I did this in terms of infertility, where “success” stories usually mean those who end up as a parent, rather than a broader definition of those who survive and go on to live a happy and meaningful life.* But I also did it elsewhere in my life.

My values didn’t change – they had always been the same. But I found that, in breaking free from stereotypes, I was able to fully recognise how important my values were to me. I could choose to embrace them without feeling that I was letting anyone (including, perhaps especially, my younger self) down. None of this might have been obvious to anyone else, but they made a world of difference to me, my thoughts, my level of contentment, my authenticity. I let go of a lot of things. But in doing so, I was able to begin to fully embrace myself, and my No Kidding life.

Liberation. It’s both the result of, and the penultimate step to healing, living and enjoying our No Kidding lives. Liberate!

* See The Real Success Stories