Cliches - not always as simple as they seem

 I was reading some pronatalism/childless/childfree articles, and got thinking. I don't feel the gap between the childless and childfree, because I have been both. In my earlier years, I had no desire to be a mother or have children. I didn't have much younger siblings, or cousins that I knew well. I never wanted to "play house" or play with dolls. My mother's life was not enviable to me. It looked like unrelenting work, little social interaction (living in the country on a farm), etc. I was interested in being outdoors, or reading of other places and worlds, and dreaming of escape. As a teenager and young woman, I knew I was part of the first generation of women who could actually have a career as a right, whereas women before me had to fight for everything, for contraception, entrance into professions, universities, careers, etc. (Which is not to say I haven't had to do that, but my university classes and work places were filled with men and women of equal talent, which had not been the case for my predecessors. Or even for me when I was at primary school.) I bristled at assumptions that I would do things just because I was female. I'm sorry - I'm sure I am repeating myself in this rant.

So it wasn't until I was in my 30s that I wanted children. And with infertility issues and pregnancy losses, it hit me hard. Twenty years later, I'm still writing about the subject. Because I'm living it. 

Yes, I am a cliche. I'm the woman who didn't want children, until she did. The one who "changed her mind." The one that people warn against, that doctors use as an example and as an excuse not to perform sterilisation procedures, the one who causes the genuinely-held feelings and desires of women to be dismissed. And I hate that my example could be used to shame young women, or restrict their choices, or pressure them into something that they do not want or are not ready for. It infuriates me.

Because I wasn't ready until I was, in fact, ready. And I was determined that I wasn't going to be pressured to be ready before that. I was determined people were not going to stereotype me into a role just because of my biology. I don't think I ever said "I will never have children." But I said, often, "not yet" or "not now." Not knowing was fine. Normal even. It certainly was for me. 

Loribeth at The Road Less Travelled referred to an article about pronatalism, which talks about all the pressure still on women to have children. My head was ready to explode after reading it. Over forty years since I was at university, putting structure to my feminism, and what has changed? I finished the article full of everything I wanted to say to all those people who are promoting pronatalist policies and points of view: Let people make their own choices. Accept their realities, rather than trying to impose yours. Don't be a hypocrite. Don't have double standards for women and men. I never had a lot of pressure on me to have children. Sure, there were expectations, but at least my close family members were tactful about it. (Unlike the uncles and aunts at my wedding!)

These days, I fully appreciate the opportunities I have had and still have without children. But I am also cognisant of the losses my husband and I have experienced, and continue to experience. Lori Lavender Luz often talks and writes about the concepts of Both And. Nothing explains my life without children better than Both And. Joy and opportunity, loss and exclusion. If I had never said "I am ready" then it would have been okay too. I would not have regretted it. I do not regret waiting until I was ready. No-one is a cliche. We all have our reasons and stories and lives, and we are all different. Just let us be who we are.

 

The misogyny of ignoring the childless

Too often, women who can’t have children are dismissed or, at the very least, their emotions are dismissed. We all know that the world is uncomfortable with emotions. The world is especially uncomfortable with the emotions of women. And that subset of women who aren’t mothers?  Well, even some mothers who went through infertility with us are uncomfortable with our emotions, hearing us express our losses, and the reality of our lives. They don’t want to be reminded they could have been us. It’s as if we have to be silent, never mention the fact we don’t have children and what that means for our lives, because it will discomfort the rest of society. They want us to be content being ignored and isolated.

The inherent misogyny that sees women’s emotions dismissed in society in general – “don’t be so sensitive”  “you’re imagining it” – makes many women self-conscious about their emotions, feeling that there is something wrong with them. It’s gaslighting, and this concept has, fortunately, been brought into the mainstream lexicon in recent years. My own mother often said “you’ll think I’m crazy, but …” and would then tell me something she did that was purely an expression of her particular preferences, and of course, not crazy at all. She said this more frequently after my father died, maybe because she was making more choices on her own, or because she didn’t have him validating their combined interests. On reflection, though, I can remember him – from time to time - dismissing her choices, her emotions. Mainly, I think, because they made him so uncomfortable. And the thing is, he wasn’t an unkind or selfish man. It was just the way he was, the way society was when he grew up, and sadly, often, the way it still is today. Women are still taught that our emotions, our likes and dislikes, our “ways” are slightly crazy, not quite rational, defective, and easily dismissed.

Decades ago, I contracted dengue fever on a business trip to the Philippines, though symptoms did not develop till I was back in NZ. My wonderful GP picked up on it, and tested me for dengue and malaria immediately. I thought she was crazy. Weeks went by and I tried to get back to work, but was still having a lot of time out. Then I got the phone call that confirmed my dengue fever. (It’s so rare in NZ that it took four weeks – or thereabouts – for the tests to come through.) My boss made the comment that he had started to think it was all in my head. Would he have said that of any of his male staff members? A few years later, one of my colleagues also contracted it in Asia, where he was living at the time. Of course, there they tested him for dengue immediately, admitted him to hospital, gave him lots of fluids, and he had a speedy recovery. But the care and concern given by that same boss and all the other staff was dramatically different to their reaction to my illness. My illness was dismissed as psychological, rather than serious, simply because I was a woman. (And I might add, extremely stoical about the whole thing! Turns out period aches and pains are similar to the bone-breaking aches and pains of dengue fever.)

These double standards are carried over in all areas. A few years ago it was reported that a study at Otago University said that they found no real evidence that emotional disturbances are caused by PMT. The researcher explained that women are conditioned to dismiss any strong emotions around the time of their period as PMT. Any concerns they raise at this time are often seen as invalid, because they are supposedly hormonally driven. Yet in fact, women have similar feelings and reactions across their entire cycle. It’s just that we, and our men, are conditioned to dismiss any strong emotions at “that time of the month.” (I don’t know how convinced I am by this, “conditioned” as I am. Especially as I saw the dramatic difference in my temperament before and after HRT.) I know that over the years, almost nothing has made me angrier than when my husband would dismiss a concern I raised simply because it was “that time of the month.” Or these days, the equivalent is, “have you been taking your HRT?” The comment is only ever defensive, and fortunately 99% of the time he doesn’t think that way, but occasionally (once or twice a year?) he slips back into his conditioning. Or maybe HIS hormones are out of kilter the few times he reverts to this gaslighting?

Dealing with infertility, or coming to terms with our no kidding lives, is no different. When we’re told to “get over it” or that we’re “dwelling on our issue” or “too sensitive” or “self-pitying,” I wonder if that is simply a discomfort with our emotions, or whether it is actually just another example of misogynistic “gaslighting” in action. What I do know is that it is both unkind, and particularly painful to hear. By dismissing our emotions and feelings of loss over infertility and the life we now have, we are being told our feelings are not important. Or worse, that we are selfish, or lucky, and should be quiet! That is hard enough to deal with normally. But when we are now living lives that some people feel – just because we don’t have children – are less important, it reinforces that feeling of invisibility, of worthlessness, that so many childless women have to battle against.

I’ve found though, that the older I get, the better fortified I am to defend myself. Because of the writing I do here, and reading all sorts of other No Kidding writers, I have statistics, evidence, facts, to legitimise my feelings. (I wish I didn’t have to, but we all know the pronatalist, patriarchal society we live in.) It is easier to stand up for myself. But I know too that it can be very difficult for childless women (in particular) to have their losses, their experiences, their very lives dismissed. It’s difficult to be told that they’re over-reacting or super-sensitive all the time – by friends, family, and the men in our lives. In many ways, it is misogyny taken to an extreme. Very sadly, this dismissal of our feelings is something we have in common with women all over the world, whether infertile or not, whether childless or not. It’s 2024. Women have legitimate thoughts and feelings. Even childless cat ladies! It’s time society accepted that.

 

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.

 

Childless or Childfree: Not that different

I spent the morning chatting with a friend and her younger relative, a student doing a major project (for her degree), about No Kidding issues. How refreshing it was to be able to talk freely! How we could have talked for hours about the topic! How great it is that the younger generation want to explore the issue.

Ultimately, the project focuses on women's reproductive choices, not specifically childless, or childfree, or women who intend to be parents. We’re all subject to the same things though. We all feel the judgement of society, the pressure from friends or relatives to have children, and the isolation from policy discussions. This rampant pronatalism affects us all, and tries to remove our choices, to tell us we are wrong, that our lives aren’t full or happy or valued, or even valid. Pronatalism doesn’t even address the fact that for some of us, there is no choice involved. The choice was made for us. So our pronatalist society shunts us into the “pitiable” box, and forgets about us. Along with the childfree who get put in different boxes in the same forgotten corner. We all get judged first, then ignored. 

I could very much relate to the young women of today, who just want a choice. The old 1980s feminist in me has always only ever wanted to be able to live my life the way I want to, rather than the way others think I should. And so I do. (Well, as much as I can without that lottery win!) It's the only life I have. It's as worthy as anyone else's life. And it is a good one.