We can't escape

After my post about my travel last week, I remember I left a couple of things out.  It wasn't a sneaky strategy to stretch out the post over two weeks, although I appreciate the fact that I haven't had to think of a new topic for today! They're just proof that however far we go, we can't escape from the reminders, even if they were very minor in the scheme of things.

Mother's Day itself passed easily for me. We were in Zimbabwe, on a South African train, and both countries celebrate Mother's Day in May. There was no TV and no wifi for four days, so we didn't get an onslaught of advertising for the day. It was not mentioned on the train I was travelling on. It was not mentioned at the hotel we checked into that day (after disembarking from the train). It was not mentioned by anyone! So much so that I almost forgot it was happening. Until the next day when, finally reunited with wi-fi after the train trip (my longest wifi gap in about 11 years by my reckoning), I opened social media. Oh, the onslaught. The onslaught of messages - even the "for those who find this day difficult" messages - were a reminder that I was not included in this day. It brought me down. Stupidly, I had failed to take my own advice and stay away from social media! Doh! But I wasn't down long. I just posted more photos of luxurious trains and magical elephants from the previous few days as my revenge.

A week earlier, I posted a cute photo of a lion cub gnawing on the ear of a lioness, part of a pride we were watching. My SIL made a comment. "The things mothers have to put up with." I rolled my eyes. She is increasingly saying things like this that don't seem relevant to the post to me, but are clearly top of mind for her, perhaps because her kids are starting to leave home and she's feeling it. I pointed out that the mother was actually behind the little cub (they had wandered in together). She wasn't as tolerant. It was one of the very patient aunts who was being pestered by the cub. (Of course, I got no response to that.) Lions raise their offspring in a community. (I've mentioned this before). I love that about them. If only the human world was quite as inclusive.

Today: The Day That is Not for Us

I've been grappling all week with the question of whether to post on Mother's Day (yes, I know that I named the day that shall not be named), as I wasn't sure what to say. But in case there are readers finding the day difficult, I wanted to acknowledge it here. I want to acknowledge those women in the UK too, who are having to relive this all over again by reading stuff from the rest of the world who recognise the day in May, not March.

I have no mother or mother-in-law anymore, and I have no children. It feels as if the day is happening elsewhere, and to others, and I'm fine with that. So we are treating today as any other Sunday. I've worked out, and done some cleaning. My husband has done some house maintenance. We're had a cup of tea and done a crossword together. Simple stuff! And tomorrow is another day. We deliberately choose not to go out for brunch on this day, to stay away from movie theatres, or pretty much do anything out in public. That's fine. It makes for a quiet day, but doesn't bother me. I can curl up on the couch with a book soon. That's nice! 

It's only when I open social media or newspapers (online) that I see reference to it. I know for NZers and Australians that this will continue into Monday too, as our US and Canadian friends pass through the day almost 16-20 hours later too. It can be hard to deal with. Or at the very least, eye-roll inducing. So if you have US/Canadian friends, maybe avoid social media tomorrow too.

There have been a lot of posts on blogs, podcasts, and articles about the day this year, and more than ever mentioning those who might find the day difficult. I find that a really positive new trend. It started on Friday, when I was listening to my favourite National Radio programme, and the announcer finished by wishing everyone a happy mother's day, but then acknowledged that it can be a challenging or sad day for many, and added her wishes that those people who don't enjoy it find the day passes peacefully. I was delighted to hear that. There needs to be recognition that days that celebrate one group of people can, as a result, inevitably be very painful to others.

In case you want some support or just to know you're not alone, here are some of my previous Day that shall not be Named posts:

2011
2012 
2013 and another one Spoke too soon 
2014  
2015  
2016  
2017  
2018
2019   
2020 
2021  

Meanwhile, see you tomorrow for my regular Monday post. (That's the plan, anyway!)

As a childless woman ...

Loribeth highlighted an article from last year (one which I also missed) that featured an interview with Jody Day. There’s a lot in there that is thought-provoking, but I was struck by this comment:

Anytime you read the phrase, “As a mother…” you are likely to be seeing pronatalism in action - it’s a way of valorizing one woman’s experience over another… because when do you ever see, “As a childless woman…?”

“She’s so right!” I thought. The few times I’ve tried to say, “as a childless woman,” I have purely been explaining myself (instead of being judgemental or self-congratulatory). But it hasn’t always gone down well with those hearing it. Sigh.

 As a childless woman …

• writing a Will isn’t as straightforward as “I’ll leave it all to my kids.”
• I have to plan for my old age because nobody else will do it or be there with me.
• I have to bite my tongue around my friends.
  
• I am isolated.
• my experiences are devalued.
• mothers have been condescending to me.
• few people really want to understand my life.
• the government and policy makers forget about me.
  

On the other hand, I could also say the following:

As a childless woman …

• I have the interests of all children at heart, not just selfishly* those I love.
• my environmental footprint is so much lower than a parent’s.
• I have had time to work on myself, to grow, and develop.
• I have compassion for outsiders.
• I am realistic about what is possible and what isn’t. 
  

What would you say in a sentence beginning with "As a childless woman ...?"

* Yes, a deliberate use of the "S" word! lol

Tarred with the same brush

I wanted to add some clarification to my post yesterday.

We all know that people look at us, both within the ALI community and from outside it, and assume that because we didn’t adopt, or take other measures to ensure that we would have children, then we obviously chose not to.  (I’ve written about this before, here – and Justine just wrote a great post here too.)  So no kidding women (women without children), regardless of how we got here, are all tarred with the same brush.  And therefore I was not so concerned with the article’s focus on women who choose not to have children (after all, it is the author’s prerogative to focus where she chooses, and she clearly expressed this in the title).  But I was concerned with with the assumption that if women choose not to be mothers, then obviously they would not have been very good mothers. 

And it was that condescending "there, there, weren't you clever not to become a mother" attitude, with the hidden implication that "you" would have been awful at it, that disturbed me.  Because I think that women who think through their decisions* and weigh up what they want and don’t want, and are prepared to stand up for their beliefs when it is not easy or popular to do so, well, I think these women could be great mothers.  It’s just something they didn’t choose.

Choosing not to be a mother doesn’t mean a woman wouldn’t be great at it anyway, anymore than choosing to be a mother (or accidentally becoming one) means they would be great at it.  I mean, look around!  But the article didn’t recognise this.  In fact its entire premise was the opposite.  And that’s what disturbed me, and motivated me to write.

* kudos to my husband, who made this point on a morning walk yesterday.

Old age? Or resolution?

Ha!  I just checked my FB for the first time (it's just after mid-day), and saw the first (and I hope only but I doubt it) smug "It's Mother's Day" photo of a friend and her two boys and husband out for breakfast.

And I laughed.  Because I just got up an hour ago!  I've already spent an hour studying Italian, enjoyed a lovely cup of tea brought to me by my loving husband, and a cuddle, and responded to several emails about booking accommodation in Italy in August.  And I did it all peacefully, in bed! (Accusations of laziness not permitted).  And I realised that my friend was up at the crack of dawn, she's probably already keen for a nap (or maybe not, she is younger than me), and she would almost certainly have had to fight the crowds at the cafe.  Whereas we went to our favourite brunch place yesterday (we're not stupid, we always avoid Mother's Day), where just the usual regulars were there for a late lunch (couples - straight and gay - with no kids in sight), and had a very pleasant and relaxed time sans enfants.  Tonight we'll take dinner out to the mother-in-law, who is just out of hospital after breaking her hip.  And I'm not fazed by any of this.

I'm not saying my life is any better than my friends who are mothers.  But it's no worse, and very good.  Gratitude.  It works.  I hope you can all find some gratitude and peace today.

The neverending Mother's Day

Mother’s Day can be torture to infertile women.  We all know that.  Mother’s Day torture lasts weeks, it's not just a day.  It lasts from the moments the first advertisements (commercials) appear in the newspapers and on TV, or flash at us unexpectedly on websites, and builds up in intensity to the day itself.  For those earlier in the process, this really can be torture.  Even those of us who have had years to come to terms with our non-mother status can’t help but - in between the shrugs of feigned indifference - feel the odd twinges of pain. 

This year Mother’s Day coincided with my husband’s birthday.  We went out the night before for a posh dinner at a beautiful restaurant in a stunning old bank building, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.  But on the day itself, we felt kind of lost.  We’d have liked to go out to our favourite brunch place.  We go about every second week, and it had been two weeks since we last visited.  We usually turn up to the children-not-encouraged restaurant about 1 pm, chat and laugh with the lovely guys who run the place, and have a relaxed and delicious light lunch.  It would have been the perfect mid-day treat for my husband, as we had nothing planned all day except to head out to visit his mother that evening.  But even now, after all these years, we looked at each other, pictured the restaurant full of happy families feting their mothers, and said “no.”  I thought I might be ready to face a restaurant at lunch on Mother’s Day.  But apparently I’m not.  Maybe next year.

So I got up this morning (Monday here in NZ), worked out, visited another favourite place for coffee (and it was such bad weather there wasn’t a mother with child in sight), and felt free.  M’s Day over for another year.  But I forgot didn’t I?  I forgot about the time zone, where it is still Mother’s Day in the US.  So Facebook (I have a lot of friends from the US) had a number of self-congratulations, and of course the blogs I read were all posting about it too (although many with beautiful sentiments well worth a read).  And wryly, I reflected that this year Mother’s Day is taking an awfully long time to end.

Will you be my friend?

No, this is not a post about Facebook. 

One of the main topics of conversation on fertility blogs, or pregnancy loss/trying to conceive message boards/websites, is the issue of friendships; how they change, how we deal with friends who have children, how they deal with us.  It’s a difficult topic, and I’ve read countless blogs and forum posts about friendships that change.  The pain, anguish, anger and hurt in these posts are almost palpable. 

I’ve also been considering a post about one of my own friendships that has irreversibly changed over the last ten years.  But I’m a bit nervous, fearful that my friend might find her way here, and that I might ruin what we stil have.  It’s also too painful, still too raw, even though I’ve been mourning the loss of this close friendship for several years now.  I go through phases I guess, and recently I’ve been feeling it again.

So I know there is still much more to say than what I’m about to say here.  But I want to keep it brief.  (As you can see, three paragraphs in, I’m failing dismally.  Brevity is not my strong suit!)

One of the friendship issues that I see women face is how they cope when they are the only one in their circle of friends who doesn’t have children.  I don’t know how they cope with that, as it is not something I have had to face. Yes, I know how lucky I am.

Nicole posted about this in “Who will be our friends wheneveryone has kids?”  Even back when I was in my 20s, I was determinedly NOT trying to conceive, fiercely resisting the expectations that, as a woman, my first job would be to procreate.  I never said never, but quite definitely said “not now, not yet.”  I was going to do it when it was right for me.  Not when people thought I should.  And so I found it hard to think of our other friends having kids, when it was so far from my own immediate thoughts at the time.

By the time I was 30, only a few of my friends had children.  And it really didn’t affect my life.  One of my oldest friends had children but really didn’t change her (outward) lifestyle much at all.  We got to know the children well - G spent his first birthday at our apartment in Bangkok - but we never felt that we could only ever talk about the children.  Our relationship continued with little change.  And there was never any judgement about our choice (at the time) not to have children, or any pressure to do so.  (Well, with the exception of obnoxious brothers-in-law).

I made new friends, friends without children, and friends with children.  But again, these parents were people who had wider interests, who were intelligent, curious, and had more to talk about than their children.  They all adored being parents, being mothers, but they never pressured me, and when I did try to conceive, and had losses, they supported me, and some of the parents were the people I was able to talk to most openly. 

This wasn’t the case with everyone in my life though.   Some friendships/relationships did change.  But most didn’t.  And even if they did, they tended to be staggered.  Not everyone in my life got pregnant at the same time.  They very thoughtfully spread their child-bearing over about 20 years.  So I never felt completely isolated at any one time.

Now of course I am in my 40s (not for much longer – argh!), and in a different phase of life.  I don’t expect any of my current friends or immediate family (or in-law family) to have any more children.  (Although the youngest child in our life will only be 4 this year).  But any new children in my life now will be in another generation – the children of nieces and nephews, or the children of children of friends.  Yes, my friends and sisters and siblings-in-law will most likely be grand-parents.  That has started already.  I don’t expect it will be too painful, simply because these are the same people who were sensitive when they were parents.  I don’t expect them to change their personalities and become painful, insensitive grand-parents.

So I’m pleased to report that this is a time when I am reclaiming my friendships.  Children grow up, parents discover babysitters, and even if they did withdraw from your life for a time, most of my friends/family have returned with a vengeance.  And that’s something to look forward to.  My sister-in-law and I are even planning the day that my niece can be the “designated driver” on a trip to the wineries of the Barossa or Margaret River Valley!  She’d better hurry up and get her drivers’ licence.

Bad parenting

Lisa on Life Without Baby got me thinking, as she ranted about “bad parents” and their out-of-control offspring. 

I understand her feelings.  From time to time I will also rant wildly about what I perceive to be bad parenting.  I’m trying to be balanced adding the “what-I-perceive-to-be” qualifier, though I don’t actually think I need it – and I’m confident that in most cases most people would agree with me.

I think part of this is that fear that, as women without children, we’re not allowed to have a view on how others should parent.  I’ve posted about this in the past.  But I think we are allowed to have a view.  I rant at the radio/TV/internet/newspaper about other things I have views on, whether or not I have direct experience on which to base my views, so I don’t see why I can’t rant about parenthood.

Also, I have a dear friend who gives me permission.  She has two children, and now a grandchild with another on the way (and argh she’s younger than me!), so in some ways when she validates my views, I feel I have permission to express them.  And, let’s face it, no-one can judge me on my ability or inability to parent by the behaviour of my non-existent offspring.  So perhaps it is easier for me to judge.  I used to feel guilty about that.  Now I don’t.  In fact, I feel quite free to comment (though only to like-minded people - I'm still polite), or at least to think, or to rant in the safety of my own home!

I’m going to give you all the chance to feel free to rant, to judge, to comment on bad parenting.  As you know, I’ve just spent a week in Thailand.  One night I turned up at the pool at my sister’s hotel for happy hour.  (Sex on the Beach there was great!)  My sister and her two friends were talking about the shock of the afternoon!  A small boy had stood at the side of the pool, and peed into it.  His mother watched him, and shrugged.  All the guests were rendered speechless, and so nothing was said.  They were aghast at this terrible parenting (a toilet was conveniently placed just a few metres away, as were many plants in pots that could have done in the last resort!).  They (all of them parents) felt free to judge.  So did I.  After all, you don’t need to have had children to know that that behaviour is wrong.  And those who have had children certainly don’t think it is right.

Baking in the sun

Just a quick note. I've blogged in A Separate Life about why I'm not posting this week. I'm feeling good so far, but wondering if seeing my sister watch her daughter get married on Friday will bring unexpected emotions. Not that I'm tempting fate - more an intellectual curiosity. And in the meantime, I'm enjoying being back in Thailand. Now, for another frozen mango daiquiri ...

Childless, childfree ... or what?

Beef Princess made another point about the label childless not by choice when you’ve had to decide that enough is enough.  She suggests Childless by Exhaustion, which I understand and quite like!  In my case, it might be Childless by Running Out of Time.  But actually, these days, I wouldn’t use such a description.

The problem is that the labels childLESS or childFREE  automatically convey additional information about our history, and our feelings about our situation.  And (as you may have guessed) I don’t always want to share that information.  These labels make a point of telling people we either feel a loss and that we are living in sadness, or that we are delighted we don’t have children and celebrate it daily.  Some people are very comfortable with those labels, and that’s fine for them.  I can certainly understand that some people might choose to use the label childless because they don’t want to be grouped in with all the negative accusations that are (sadly) often directed at the childfree.  At times I have felt that way too, particularly in those immediate years after we learned we would live without children.  In those years, I certainly felt child less.  But, even then, that is not how I wanted to portray myself to the world.  I abhorred the idea of pity, and I hated the prospect of successful parents looking down on me, having achieved something I couldn’t.  My situation was private, and my feelings about it were private.  And so the label childless felt too defensive, too negative,  and I’ve never comfortably used it.

Now, eight years on, it certainly isn’t the right label for me.  Sometimes I feel childless.  Or I feel childless with a secret relief.  It’s simply not that straightforward, and so I try not to describe myself either way.  But neither is childfree, because the truth is that we tried to have children.  If either of my pregnancies had implanted in the right place, I might have children by now.  And so childfree doesn’t seem quite right.  Sure, sometimes I feel child free.  Or I feel child free tinged with guilt or sadness for feeling that way.  But it doesn’t fully describe me. 

The problem I have with both of these labels is that they allow others to make a judgement about our choices, and invite an emotional response (pity, superiority, horror, disbelief, etc).  And that isn’t fair.  After all, the words parent or mother don’t have any such connotations to them, do they?  They don’t say “mother by choice” or “mother not by choice” or “parent by accident” or “mother by drunken binge on a Friday night in the back seat of the car of a guy she’d just met in the bar” or “parent by broken condom.”  They don’t say “parent after ten years of trying to conceive and thousands of dollars of fertility treatments” or “mother who thought kids would save her marriage” or “ happy mother who always wanted kids and got everything she wanted” or “mother who thought she always wanted kids till she got them and now wishes she didn’t.”  The words parent or mother are just factual statements.

Fact:  I’m simply a woman, first and foremost. 
Fact:  I don’t have children. 

I'll proffer that information only if it's relevant.  I guess that’s why - here and in informal situations - I like using the “no kidding” term.  It’s simply a fact.  It doesn't comment on how others should feel about it, or I feel about it. And as anyone who has read my blog can see, my feelings aren't black and white (even if my blog is). 

I’m not kidding.

Freedom of Speech

Often, the most hurtful words someone can say to a childless (not by choice) woman is “you’re not a mother.  You don’t understand.”  

These words are said to hurt, to put any non-parent in their place.  And they do.  We feel sad, diminished, lesser than.  But I suspect the reason they are said is as a defence, from a place of hurt.  They’re said in response to a suggestion or comment meant to help.  Mothers feel defensive, guilty, under attack.  (So do we of course but that’s the irony, isn’t it?)  So comments or suggestions from someone outside their club are felt as a further attack, rather than the helpful, understanding suggestions other mums might give, even if they are given with exactly the same intent.

And yet, those most hurtful words are true.  I’m not a mother.  And whilst I can intellectually and emotionally try to put myself in that place, I have never experienced it in the way that they mean.  (Because, as we all know, losing a pregnancy and/or grieving your child-that-never-was doesn’t seem to count).

But I’ve been wondering.  Does the fact that I’m not a mother mean I’m not qualified to have an opinion?  I personally don’t think it does.  And I’m tired myself of feeling defensive and worthless.  I know I’m not.  Now, I know I can’t say “I’ve been through this” and provide comfort in that way.  But I’m also not tied up with the wave of emotions that influence a mother’s decisions.  And we all know too that emotions don’t make us logical, balanced, fair, or even compassionate.  They make us defensive, protective, blinkered. 

I’ve been around enough friends and family with children to have observed different parenting styles, and I’ve been around long enough to have observed the results of those parenting styles.  I’m close enough with some children to know how their parents make them feel.  So I can see what hasn’t worked.  I can, quite frankly, see the mistakes that are being made, that have been made.  (I’m not without compassion – I understand why these mistakes are being made.  But mistakes they are, nonetheless.)  Perhaps the fact that I “don’t understand” is exactly my advantage.

It makes me sad.  Because I know I can’t (usually) say anything without it being taken the wrong way.  And I don't want to hurt.  I know I can only be there for the children, hear them, let them know they’re heard, and provide love, support, gentle encouragement, and when they’re old enough, a calm and reasoned alternative view for them to consider.

If you’re a mother, know that we understand far more than you think.  And maybe our less emotional, less defensive/guilt-ridden points of view might be useful sometimes.  If only you were open to it.