Life makes my life meaningful

I was recently asked, “what gives your life meaning? Who, or what, is meaningful to you now?”

It was a good question, because it made me think. The answer to “who?” was easy. My husband. Wider family and friends too, but ultimately him. We have been together longer than we haven’t. We have shared a life together with all its ups and downs, cared for his parents together, aunt-ed and uncle-ed together, experienced losses and disappointment together, built careers and then said goodbye to them, and we have explored the world together.

“What?” was a little trickier though. I thought about what makes me feel as if I have done some good in life, and that was meaningful to others. Oddly, until I was writing this, I didn't think about the things I did as part of all my jobs, providing development and opportunities to people in countries in the Pacific, Asia and the Middle East, even though I am very proud of those projects. But I did think about my online writing and moderating. Whether it has been here, on other blogs, on messageboards, or even just corresponding with readers, writing has helped me figure out what I think and believe and value. That in itself is enormously meaningful – it has affected how I think about myself, and how I think about and act towards others. It has also taught me that helping people can be enormously rewarding, even when they don’t want to hear what I might be saying at the time, it might be useful to them later. And it has opened a world full of wonderful people.

But then I thought some more. What else makes my life meaningful? I don’t produce great art, I don’t currently volunteer anywhere, I’m not a major influential figure in anyone’s life except my husband’s. I would not be specifically missed in anyone's day-to-day life. But I have accepted that. I'm okay with it. I know I'm loved, appreciated. I have good relations with my family and friends. I thought for a minute. “You know, what?” I said. “I think it’s just life.” It felt so right when I said it. Yes. My life is meaningful, and I find it meaningful. Just living, and living life, gives my life value. Not in a selfish way, but in a grateful way. I have this wonderful life, that could disappear at any moment (health, death, accidents, earthquakes, or the sky could fall). Of course I find it fulfilling!

My life is not extraordinary in any way. My house needs a lot of maintenance, my office is a complete mess, I need to build my social network beyond the few friends I see regularly, and we need to move/downsize in the next 2-10 years. But I’m so lucky in other respects. We have enough (we hope) for our retirement, we can travel and have amazing experiences, see amazing places, and meet amazing people, I have reasonable health (a chronic health condition has been quite well managed so far), I get enough sleep and almost enough exercise, and there is so much in my life I love to do – like writing, chatting with friends online and in person, cooking, exercising, enjoying nature, photography, reading, and just learning about things – that I never have time to do the things I feel I “should” do. Life is meaningful just because I have it. That’s privilege, for sure. But it’s also full of gratitude, enjoyment, learning, love, laughter, kindness, friendship, family, and adventure too. Surely, that’s more than enough.

How people say they don't understand, without saying it

One of the most empowering things about healing and getting older is that I know that comments to us, or comments about being parents, or about us not being parents, tells me so much more about the person saying it than it does about me or my situation.

How people say they don’t understand without actually saying it:

•                    “Here, you can have my kids”
•          “At least you get to sleep in on the weekend”
•          “I wish I could travel like you”
•          “You don’t know true love till you’re a mother”
•          “Being a mother teaches you empathy”
•          “You’ve never been tired until you’ve been a mother”
•          “You could still adopt” when I’m already in my 50s
•          “We’re empty-nesters, just the same as you”
•          “I wouldn’t be the same person without my children”
•          “I know how you feel”
•          “As a mother …”
•          “As the father of daughters, …”

All these comments have been said to me, or around me, or by public figures. I know others have heard worse. What they tell me is that the people speaking either don’t understand that our lives are different, and what therefore that might mean for us, or they don’t want to understand or accept that our lives are different, or maybe that they are incapable of understanding. Or they just don't care. And they don't realise how they expose themselves with their comments.

I want understanding, not pity.
Acknowledgement, not silence.
Awareness of my life - its gains and losses - not invisibility.
Equality, not condescension.

We are worthy: finding wisdom in unexpected places

I just watched the last half of the Oscars. It was a little mind-destroying! Let's celebrate mothers, the winners kept saying. "This is for All the Moms." "Without them none of us would be here." (No Kidding! lol)  "So, you're celebrating biology then?" I thought. But the irony was lost on them, because they then went on to thank people who had helped them, all those who had collaborated and worked together regardless of whether they were parents (or getting the kudos and rewards for their labours). The clearly not-a-mother winner celebrated her sisters and parents, and other winners celebrated teachers who had given them inspiration and confidence and a sense of understanding and safety. So, it wasn't all about "all the moms." So why did they have to say it? Has it just become an expected, socially imposed uttering that loses sincerity because of its ubiquity?

"They should watch Mom," I thought. I've been watching a bit of Mom lately because a) I love Allison Janney, and b) I'd watched snippets in the past, and started it just wondering what the first episodes were like. Yes, it's silly. Yes, it's light. But I've also found it has been quite interesting about addiction, as well as being occasionally laugh out loud funny, and short (so an episode can be squeezed in before bed). 

But in a totally unexpected way, it also addresses who women are without mothers, and without being mothers. It doesn't make me feel bad about not being a mother. On the contrary, it points out that motherhood is not easy. And it makes me feel good about simply being me. It addresses friendships between women, and finding your tribe. It gives a lot of sensible advice, advice that I find relevant to those of us who don't have children. ("It's not all about you," "their comment says a lot more about them than it does about you," "you can only control what you can control," "you can change how you feel about things," etc). And overall, it reinforces that women have worth just because they are here, because they exist, because they are trying to be better. It emphasises that women deserve to be happy and respected. All of us. We are worthy.

Being No Kidding and Happy

I've been thinking a bit lately about healing, remembrance, and expectations of life. I know I've talked a lot here about turning away from the "what-ifs," about retraining my brain* not to think about the negatives of my life, about not tormenting myself with the things I have lost. But it's worth mentioning again, as I've been reading a lot about this recently. Chelsea Handler’s skit on The Daily Show about being happily childfree led to a lot of writing and commentary on being childfree vs childless vs parenting, about envy and pity. Writing elsewhere has reminded me of people who have always struggled to let go of their grief, the what-ifs, the things they’ve missed out on doing with their children. A woman twenty years ago who told me that, in her 60s, she still dissolved into tears at the doctor's office when she saw mothers and children. Others who admit to torturing themselves with the thoughts of what they have missed. And sadly, many more. And Mel asked if we would choose to forget the most painful times of our life. All this has led to this long-winded post. Apologies in advance.

Previously, when I've talked about people (in general) who might be stuck in their grief, those who almost seem to find comfort in the familiarity of that grief, some readers have become angry with me. They have challenged me, raging that I didn't understand, that I clearly had things easier, that I was insensitive to their grief, that it would never go. None of that was true. I am well aware of what they have lost, I have lost, what we have all lost, although of course each of our losses are very personal. But mostly those who were raging were still in the early, rawer phases of grief, when it seems like a betrayal to accept that life might get better, that they can be happy. Still, they needed to read this. And when I write, I also write for those who want and need to feel hope, and to see that happiness is definitely possible, and the grief doesn't consume us forever. Or it needn't. Because there are, of course, some who struggle to let it go, year after year, even decade after decade. And I feel for them so much. Because it seems that they haven't learned or accepted that they can still remember, and honour their struggle, even benefit from it, without feeling the pain and the loss all the time.

I can say that I am happy without kids. At the moment, not having children doesn't really affect me (though I know it will when I am older, and I am trying to plan for that). I am not confronted by it every day, although I do think about it every day through blogging, reading blogs, life, if that makes sense. It is a lens I see life through, and my life is changed and affected by it, of course. But I certainly don't grieve it every day.

That's the thing. If I continue to grieve it, to cling to that grief, I am simply torturing myself. And who would that hurt? Me. No-one else. It achieves absolutely nothing, except making me feel bad, alone, rejected, lost, maybe a failure, maybe resentful, or angry at myself. Moving on from that took time – I went through a process I call "retraining my brain." (I've blogged about it a lot - see the links below*) I just didn't let myself think about the what-ifs, and would consciously turn away, turn towards thinking about other things. It was hard. It hurt, and hurt a lot, because each time I changed the way I was thinking, I had to acknowledge why I had to do it. I had to remember that because I would NEVER have children, I needed to think about other things, think about the future. Those acknowledgements were painful, but I learned that by switching my thinking, the pain didn’t linger as long, and that I could open myself to feel excitement, enthusiasm, and joy.

It wasn't that I was hiding from my pain, or refusing to deal with it or acknowledge it. I had been through a lot already, and continued to do so. Talking to others, counselling# them and being counselled, examining why I was thinking and feeling the way I was, and whether it was valid. It was all hard work, but important healing work. And I realised I was getting nothing from my pain. I wasn't getting confirmation that I would have been a good parent (I would have been as good as anyone else!), and my pain was not an expression of how much I wanted or deserved it, because I came to realise that none of this deserving-vs-guilt thinking was true.

In going through this process, I was learning to challenge the negative voices and silence the inner critic, to recognise my own truths, to grow in confidence and compassion and awareness. And I have seen others go through this same process. Some quietly, some angry then letting go of their anger, some quickly, and some slowly but surely. And some of the people I have seen grow like this are on my No Kidding blogroll. It is so wonderful to watch. To remind people coming after us that it is possible. To see their worlds open and brighten. To find the joys and wisdom and understanding that is behind that dreaded door in the Infertility Waiting Room.

None of this means there aren't painful things that still arise, either. Reminders of the pride and joy of being a parent can both instil pride and joy in me, or pain, often both at the same time, depending on the day, the people involved, my mood, maybe even the weather! But last night I was mulling this over, wondering how I feel about not being a parent at this point in time. To be honest, I don’t really know. I don’t know how parenthood would have turned out, so it’s pointless to imagine the perfect life there. I have a different life now, and that’s all I know. I like my life. I’m happy. That’s the only thing I can be sure of. The lack of children, right now, do not make me feel so bad. The growth that eventuated from the loss - well, I'm glad I have it. When I think about it, it is really only other people who can do that; society, politicians focusing on families and only families, the Pope calling childless people selfish, those who pity us condescendingly, the parents who try to pretend that they are morally superior simply because they have children, former friends who ignore us, family members who never try to understand. Interesting, isn’t it? And why do I give them the power to make me feel bad? Increasingly, I do not. They are ignorant, that's all.

So I very much choose to make the most of the life I have, and to enjoy it. To celebrate the positives (the gifts) of my life, some of which are there precisely BECAUSE I don't have children. It's not a betrayal of the part of me that wanted to have children. It's a way of supporting that part of me, of nurturing the hurt Mali, of loving her, of acknowledging her growth. It’s not a betrayal or rejection of the pain I went through, it’s a remembrance of that and the knowledge that I emerged from it changed, wiser, but still me. It's not a betrayal of the pregnancies I lost – rather, it honours those tiny sparks of life. Because if I don't embrace this life, I will have lost two lives – the life I wanted, and the life I actually have.

 And wouldn’t that be immeasurably sad?

 

Notes:

*  A selection** of previous relevant posts:

• November Seven Years Ago  
  
• Our deep-fried brains 
• The Logic of it all 
• Training our brains 
• Personal Growth: it will change your world
• Getting Over It 

**   This is far from exhaustive. Exhausted, maybe, as I got distracted, and now I'm tired and it is time for dinner.  Apologies! I may add more later. ;-)

#    On the other hand, I make no apologies for NZ spelling, even if blogger doesn't like it. "Counselling" has TWO Ls and "instil" has one! 

We are worthy

This year I joined a social media group for Childless and Childfree Women in Australia and New Zealand. I'm in a number of No Kidding groups, and of course read blogs from all over the world, and love the international connections and global sisterhood that we share. But it was nice to find one for people in my own region, filled with women who "speak the same language" even if we love to tease each other about our accents.

The atmosphere in the group is largely positive, cheerful, forward-looking, which I haven't always found in other groups, but it is very supportive too. There seems to be little to no conflict between the childless and childfree, which makes me happy, because we do have a lot in common. Every so often I see a post or a meme that I want to share with you here, or that I want to explore in more detail, so I'm going to do that. Today though, I'll start with one that is simple, and that I really liked:

"I'm not perfect.
I'm only human."

 I love that. It's a reminder to us all that we are worthy, no matter what. Remember that!

 

We are Worthy - Repost

 I wrote this for World Childless Week two years ago. It still stands. You can find the original here:

Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy too?

The single thought that erodes our confidence is this one. Am I still worthy if I don’t have children? Because I didn’t have children, does that mean I’m not worthy?

And perhaps the single thought that helped me change my thinking was acknowledging the inherent flaw in that earlier thought.

I looked at women who have children easily, who don't have losses, who have never lost their innocence in pregnancy. They have not been judged to be worthy, just as I have not been judged to be unworthy. I look at women who get pregnant when they don't want to. Why does this happen?  Well, just because it does. It doesn't mean that they are better than me. It doesn't mean they are luckier than me. They don't feel luckier, if the pregnancy wasn’t wanted. Those who struggle to cope physically, or financially, or emotionally, with a(nother) baby don't see the baby as a gift, even if that is how we would have seen one. I look at women with children who neglect them, abuse them, or abandon them, who expose them to violent or abusive partners, who pay more attention to their own needs than those of their child. Clearly, the biological act of having a baby is not evidence of their good character, or their good behaviour. These women are no better than me, or you. A child is never a reward for good behaviour, however much some of us might have wished that were so. Not having a baby is not a punishment, however much it might feel like that at times.

This whole idea that only the deserving get what they want is really dangerous. I could discuss its implications in wider society and even geopolitics, but I won’t. I’ll just say that it is wrong, and accepting this makes us see things differently, and see others differently.

It can though, take a while to reach acceptance. Women are very good at blaming ourselves. We search for answers. We expect answers. These days, when so much can be cured, solved, calculated or discovered, we can't understand why some of us can have babies and some of us can't. We get angry, and often, because there is no-one else we can blame, we blame ourselves. Pointlessly. Painfully. Sometimes destructively.

I've lived and travelled around the world. I have seen wonderful people in difficult circumstances. I have seen awful people with family they don't value, with riches they don't appreciate or do anything good with. I have seen beloved, kind, good friends die young, I've seen those who have been tortured and I've seen the torturers, and I've seen the selfish and even the downright evil live till they are very old. None of this is justified or right. None of this happens for a reason. None of this is because one person was judged to be worthy or not. None of this is because they were or were not being rewarded. It just is.

No Kidding women and men are worthy. They are valued members of society. Their contributions to the world are different to those of parents, but are not lesser. Their very being shows that not everyone is the same, and that this is okay. Being different does not mean less worthy. In this world we need to understand that.

Finally, I’ll leave my system of banishing negative thoughts (below) that always reminds me that I’m a decent person, deserving, worthy. We are worthy. Don't forget that.

Societal change and the Childless

For the last five months, I’ve been writing mostly on my No Kidding 2020 Project, running through the emotions and actions of healing. I’ve enjoyed it, but rather got out of the habit of writing. There are a lot of topics for which I have half-written posts sitting in my files drafts, but my mind isn’t quite there yet.

I thought I’d comment briefly on Loribeth’s post last Monday about the cultural shaming of childlessness, and wondering if we would gradually see greater societal acceptance over the next 20-40 years in the way acceptance of the LGBTQ community has normalised. Go read her post here – as you can see, it got me thinking.

I like to think that in the future the No Kidding community will feel as accepted and unexceptional in society as those who are parents. But I see several possible scenarios, varying from the pessimistic to the more hopeful:

• The first is not hopeful. I think that today, compared to perhaps 40 years ago, there is sometimes more shame and judgement of people who don’t have children because there are “things we could do” to avoid our situation – eg, IVF/donor egg or sperm, surrogacy, or the old perennial, “you always adopt,” with reference to international adoptions* where there is seemingly an “unlimited supply” of babies. (We see these assumptions even within the infertility community, and we therefore know they are out there in wider society.) So with all this technology and all these options, when we come out of an infertility or other journey without children, when we had at one time hoped for them, is seen as failure, and either a lack of will, or perhaps insufficient finances, which brings its own judgement, given that societies often equate financial well-being with morality. The very availability of options means that there is less understanding of why some people cannot and do not have children. That’s not going away anytime soon.

• Thirty or forty years ago, when feminism was all about choice and opportunity, I was hopeful that it would mean that women wouldn’t be judged on whether they had children or not. But society has become even more pronatal – perhaps as a backlash to feminism, ensuring that women stay in “their place” and are less able to challenge the position of men. We’ve seen women who are childless take prominent positions and bear enormous criticism because they are not mothers. And our own PM Jacinda Ardern was criticised by choosing to become a mother whilst she was leading our country, though I hear little criticism along those lines these days, it might ramp up in the next few months as we approach our election in September. I don’t know how feminism is going to progress in the future, but the position of women in society is still difficult, is still subject to judgement and criticism and objectification. Whilst I have seen some positive developments over the last decades, I see a lot of stuff that has just been reinvented and recycled in different packaging to keep us in our place. So I’m not wildly hopeful that feminism will improve things for the childless.

• Our numbers are however growing. And we are speaking out more. So maybe we will reach a critical mass that sees us recognised as a legitimate group in society, with a recognised voice and specific interests. I hope so. It’s one of the reasons I continue to blog. But we have a way to go.

• Finally, I wonder if issues like climate change and environmental degradation will see a societal shift away from glorification of parenthood and towards an increasing recognition of the real impact of the world’s burgeoning population on the planet. Maybe society will recognise the dangers of unmitigated population increases and realise the value of the childless population, and the contribution we make towards the next generations. I don’t know. The risks to the planet of continued population growth are rarely uttered in any discussions I hear. I keep wondering how long commentators and politicians can continue to wilfully ignore it.

I realise I’ve come across as quite pessimistic. I'm not sure if that's representative of my views, or the fact it is Monday, and it's cold and rainy here!

What do you think?

* PS. It’s worth reading Lori LavenderLuz’s post and links on international adoption and the assumptions around it here, and Jess's post on the same topic here.