Pronatalism in fiction

Recently I got thinking about pronatalism in fiction, and how the childless are portrayed. Loribeth covers it as part of her NOMO bookclub reads.  My husband and I have been fans of Outlander, the TV series, after reading most of the books years earlier. The first book by Diana Gabaldon, which I read as Cross Stitch (as published in the UK/Australia/NZ etc) was both historical fiction, fantasy, and bodice ripper, though these days, they’re much more focused on the historical fiction side of things. Last year we finished the latest episodes, and I went back to watch the first season. Of course, I got hooked, binge-watching the entire seven seasons, and staying up far too late doing it!

The main character is Clare, a feisty, independent woman. They make a lot of this, showing her bridling against the strictures of society’s views of women, both in the 18th century and in the mid-late 20th century. I’ve liked that part of her character, even though I’ve rolled my eyes at her ignorance of the place in society she was at the time expected to accept.

So on a second rewatch, you wouldn’t think I should have been so surprised with the concentration of pronatalism in the story – that the only way to have a legacy is to have children, that to have children together is the ultimate expression of a relationship, that a strong woman still needs to be seen as a mother, et cetera. Of course, it is set largely in the 18th century or in the 1950s through to the 1970s, and so antiquated views of women were still frequently plot points. The easiest to watch were in the 50s-70s, because I know that some views have changed, and I could see that they were trying to make a feminist point. The hardest scenes to watch were when it was accepted as so normal that the writers and filmmakers weren’t actually making a feminist point or setting out historical beliefs. The pronatalism just blared through, expressions of the main characters’ beliefs as if these were still universally normal in the 21st century.

And so I found it a bit isolating to watch. My fault, because I was binge-watching, that I had the onslaught of pronatalism all at once. But still, it was frustrating to feel so judged and at the same time so ignored at the same time.

 

More Confessions of a Forty-Something: Some No Kidding Thoughts

 I wrote a review on Alexandra Potter’s first book - Confessions of a Forty-Something F**k Up - here last year because it was so relevant to those of us who are not kidding. Almost immediately, I placed a hold on the sequel at the library. I’ve just read it over the last day or two, and it is such an easy read. 

I have similar thoughts to the first book. I still think that the main character’s friends aren’t very nice, and that she needs to stand up for herself more! This time, I took note of some lines and thoughts that seemed appropriate, especially given the time of year.

The main character spends Mother’s Day with a great friend who is also not a mother and who she describes as a “goddamn ass-kicking superwoman.”

She notes that “The dictionary definition of mothering, … is being caring, loving and kind.” So she determines to do that for herself on Mother’s Day. That’s good advice for us all.

She also talks about how difficult the day can be for so many people. It’s rare to see that acknowledgement, and reading those words the day before That Day was comforting.

The older female character talks about menopause, and I totally agree with the sentiments expressed. I think they’re equally descriptive of the end of an infertility journey. The emphasis is mine.

“I’ll let you into a secret, Nell, it might feel like the end but that’s only because women aren’t told the rest of the story.”

In talking about pregnancy loss, she notes, 

“That you can’t let go of grief, you have to wait until it lets go of you.” 

Although I have yet to find a perfect definition that describes grief, this is another description that might speak to some people. Personally, I feel that grief won’t let go of you until you are also ready to let it go. But it is different for us all.

I definitely agree with the following thought, and think understanding this is critical to healing:

“I can grieve the absence but at the same time feel joy.”

 Finally, Nell and her friend talk about life, decisions, and silver linings. The final thought is what I’ve always said here at No Kidding. 

“Life is the silver lining.”

No Kidding Voices Count

If you haven’t read Jess’s post about speaking, from a No Kidding childless not by choice perspective at the function for the book Adoption Unfiltered (frequent commenter here, Lori Lavender Luz is a co-author) then I urge you to do it. Do it now! She talks from the perspective of someone who tried to go the adoption route, but is now living a kick-ass (her words) life without children. Many of you might share her perspective, or recognise some of her concerns from your own experience. There was an interesting series of posts from different bloggers some years ago about why we did not adopt. Here’s my post at that time, and it includes links to other posts.

She noted that she hoped her comments would not be seen as sour grapes, given that she did not get the child(ren) she had hoped for from adoption. It was this sentence, above all others, that set me thinking, and that inspired this post.

Why should we feel that our comments on a process that did not work for us should be disparaged as “bitter” or “sour grapes” compared to those who are considered the “success” stories? Answer = we shouldn’t. Our views are just as valid, and perhaps more so, because we are evidence that the processes are not infallible, that they don’t work for everyone, and in many cases, they don’t work for the majority. Everyone needs to understand why that is. Our voices count, and should be heard.

In general, people who get what they wanted understandably find it hard to critique the processes that gave them their heart’s desire, however hard they were to go through. Stepping back and looking at these difficult processes objectively can be very confronting to them. (Though Lori LL is a notable exception, and is doing great work talking about adoption.) How can someone who got the child they wanted critique the process if, in doing that, they feel they’re betraying that child? How can they critique a process or agency or clinic when that can be seen as a critique of their own decisions, or of them and their families. It’s not surprising some might react defensively, or simply be unable to step back and review the process without bias. Those of us who went through these processes but came out without a child have a very different perspective on what is good, what needs to be changed, and why. But for the adoptive/IVF parents, it is as if they wouldn’t have their children if things needed to be changed. And that becomes terrifyingly unimaginable for them.

And of course, the best form of defence is attack. So yes, it is true, just as Jess feared, that some of the “successes” of assisted reproduction/adoption etc will label us as bitter, our perspective as “sour grapes,” and any criticism is seen as “not getting over it.” Or they think we’ve taken the easy way out, and didn’t deserve their “success.” I’ve seen all these reactions in the media, in blogs, and in email exchanges. Our own Pamela Tsigdinos has been subjected to this view in the media, but is undeterred, still speaking out on IVF still speaking out on IVF and patient rights just last week. It’s a case of being prepared to see things from a different perspective. We all have different points of view, and those who didn’t get the “golden ticket” may even have a wider perspective. We learn to see a subject from all sides, because we’ve been on both sides – the hopeful who desperately want it to work, and those for whom hope wasn’t enough.

It is precisely because of this differing perspective that we are the ones who should be speaking out. I see both the joy of the wanted results and the problematic issues around the assisted reproduction industry and adoption – the so-called success rates, regulation and limits and lack of limits, over-pricing and prescribing, the treatment of birth parents, care or lack of care for the children involved, payment and non-payment, support and lack of support, and all the myriad international and cultural issues, etc. It’s not a contradiction to both be pleased that there are paths to parenthood for the infertile, and to want to ensure these paths take care of those prospective parents during and after this process, as well as act in the best interests of the children who may emerge from this. That’s not sour grapes. It is in fact much more holistic. And maybe we might actually be better placed to think about the children’s interests, because we don’t have that deep, personal parental relationship that can at times (understandably) trigger defence mechanisms and block honest reflection.

It should be a requirement to consider all these factors in any discussion about assisted reproduction or adoption. All of these processes are far more complicated than the public discourse or industry advocates ever acknowledge. Along with the details – the science, financial, emotional and societal issues – of adoption or assisted reproduction, they don’t talk about the hidden results that no-one involved really wants to acknowledge. The No Kidding. Us. Me. My existence suggests an outcome no-one wants to admit is real or is statistically very significant, and is terrifying to those people entering these processes. It’s easier not to consider us, talk to us, or include us.

Yet we might be the ones who understand best what the data means to real people. Many of us who walked away from IVF or assisted reproduction or adoption – either before by choosing not to go through the process, or after, when it was clear there wouldn’t be a baby coming as a result – are the ones who recognised these risk factors, who understood the data, the implications of all the various options and avenues, and made the hard decision – or had it made for us – and had to walk away. That was never easy. But it is an outcome that everyone needs to acknowledge, and more importantly, understand.

After all, our message is that our outcomes should not be hidden, ignored, or feared. We shouldn’t be erased from the conversation. We should be an important part of it. Our perspective counts.

That is why I’m immensely proud of Jess that her always wise perspective was included in the conversation around Adoption Unfiltered. (Of course, I’m immensely proud of Lori LL and her co-authors too.) In fact, I think it is terribly important, and moving – monumental even – that someone who didn't get the baby they wanted should be the one to talk about that. An unfiltered discussion indeed!

Our voices count, and our voices matter. Sadly, the opportunities to use them are still too few and far between.

 

Unexpected sense in a discussion about the childless

I'm sitting here thinking about what I might write this week, and there's suddenly a No Kidding topic on the radio. In real time. How fortuitous! Apparently, there are social media videos trending at the moment saying kid-free couples are luckier financially than those who are parents. (At this point, I stopped typing, and started listening!)

They had an economist on who made two main points:

1)  there is no evidence of this disparity, yet there are poor and rich people whether or not you have children. Double income no kids (DINKs) people are often both in low income jobs, and financial inequality in NZ is all about how much income is coming into the house, not whether they have children or not.

2) welfare support programmes have, in recent decades, been focused on those who do have children (eg, we have a Working for Families tax credit, or there are programmes to reduce child poverty, etc), and therefore there is a compelling case that those without children also need extra support, as they have not had the benefits/financial buffers of these other programmes.

The radio programme has a host, the guest economist, and two guest panellists. It surprised me how very careful everyone was. I was bracing myself for the stereotypes, especially when the host said, "But aren't we always told that having children is expensive?" But the conversation didn't go that way. It was pointed out that maybe those without children spend their money on different things, or might live in more expensive urban areas, so don't have any more savings or wealth than those with children. That they might even "fill the hole" left without children by buying fancy cars or eating out ("or travelling," I silently added to myself).

One person commented how terribly insensitive these videos were to those trying to have children, or those who were unable to have children, and another person mentioned that the smugness of some of these videos might be a backlash to the fact they feel judged by parents. That by bragging about their lives they were making up for the condescension from parents that having children makes someone  "more spiritually whole." 

This was the most balanced, carefully unemotional discussion of a parent vs childless issue that I have ever head. Clearly it was raised as a topic because it usually gets people involved in lively discussion, because everyone likes to defend their position. But the host and panellists and economist all exceeded my expectations. They did not descend into an us vs them debate, but all stood back, chose their words carefully, and considered the evidence. Just as I would want them to do. It was wonderful.

You can listen to it here. It starts at 16.08 minutes into the discussion.

I have one proviso about this discussion. But I'm going to save it for discussion some other time. In the meantime, maybe there is hope if there can be sensible, considerate discussions on our mainstream media?

Confessions of a Forty-Something: Some No Kidding Thoughts

I’ve just finished reading Confessions of a Forty-Something F**k Up by Alexandra Potter. I think I put it on my to-read list after Loribeth wrote a review on it earlier in the year. I deliberately haven’t read her review (here) until after I wrote this. Thanks again for the recommendation, Loribeth!

It was an easy and entertaining read, one I could relate to, but I had some conflicting thoughts about it. Brief scenario is that a forty-something woman finds herself back in the UK after splitting up from her fiancé, broke and homeless. Hilarity ensues. It is funny. But it is also sad at times, and as a childless readers, there are a lot of moments when I thought, “I could have written this” or "this sounds like me." And even a “I wonder if she read my blog?!”

There was much to like. Here are my favourite points:

• Other people’s lives are never what they seem – whether in real life, or on social media. We all have hidden pain and loss and struggle.
• Guilt and shame and feelings of unworthiness are extremely common. We all just hide it well.
• A new, older, friend shows that life is to be lived, regardless of what happens to you.
• You will come through the other side of pain and loss.
  
• Her FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) can become her JOMO (Joy of Missing Out). It’s the main message of No Kidding in NZ, and I might adopt JOMO (when it is appropriate).
• There is no one way to live life.
• There is no specific way to measure success.
• There is no plan.
• Humour can help us cope.
• But so too does being honest about our lives.
• Being honest can lift a burden – not just for us, but for friends who feel they can share and be honest then too. 
• Friends disappear, but they come back.
• There is no miracle baby.
• She calls out all the ridiculous messages women are inundated with from social media and the media (magazines/celebrity culture, etc)
• And points out how many of these are contradictory.
• That all these points are relevant to those of us without kids, or just to women/people in general.

However, there were things that annoyed me. None of them are particularly surprising to those of us without children, as we are used to seeing stereotypes represented in the media, both fiction and non-fiction. It’s that tendency to try to play things down, not to rock the boat, maintain the status quo.

Here is what I didn’t like (attempting to keep spoilers at a minimum):

• The single childless woman was the butt of all the jokes.
• Childless friends and aunts seem to have to love their friends’ kids. It's compulsory. And of course, some of us do. But not everyone does. And I dislike the way it is presented, in that it’s almost a requirement of being childless, some way of “proving” that we’re “real women.” (See my recent post).
• The childless friend is hurt, but doesn’t complain. (Talk about not wanting to rock the boat!) I had this issue with another similar book, Emma Gannon’s Olive. It’s almost as if the authors don’t want to antagonise mothers (who might also read and buy the book), so they don’t actually call out the mother characters for their obtuse behaviour towards someone they would claim to love. Yet as I wrote recently here, fair is fair. Our feelings matter too. Of course, I understand that this is fiction, and one character can't necessarily represent all our feelings about being childless. In fact, maybe I'm projecting here. Maybe I wanted the character to say everything to her friends that I couldn't say to mine. Hmmmm.
• We all know that friendships change, and often to the detriment of the childless friend. To see that portrayed was fine. But the rekindling of the friendships were done so easily and without hurt that it seemed unrealistic to me. Will the childless ever feel totally safe in those friendships again? That’s never an issue that seems to be raised. Maybe that's a different book. Or says more about me than the author.
  
• The idea that there has to be some form of a prescription ending that is happily ever after. Unfortunately, life isn't like that, and the book almost betrays its purpose, and the majority of its message, by going there, by defining what society thinks should be a "happily ever after" storyline. And surely, happily ever after is different to everyone.
  

Fortunately, I think the majority of the narrative portrays the feelings of single and or childless women in a reasonably accurate way. It certainly voices our insecurities, our reactions to media and social media stereotypes, and calls out smug celebrities. And of course, just like with Olive, it was very pleasing to see a childless main character and story arc. Still, I hope that future books don't automatically portray a single and/or childless woman as a basket case (or f**k up). I hope that future books aren't so rare that they are comment or review worthy. May this become so common that one day it's just a book, and people both with and without kids can read it on its literary merits. I know, I'm a dreamer. But I can hope.