Feminism and childlessness

 I was prompted to write* this by a BBC article on a UN Gender Study which “found that 90% of people hold some sort of bias against women.”

 “How depressing,” I thought. “How depressing that it is so unsurprising.”

 I think I’ve been a feminist since I was a little girl. I was certainly a feminist before I was officially “No Kidding” or childless, before I entered the workforce, and before puberty. It’s how I see the world. How the world has seen me. And so of course, reading these articles, my mind immediately went to how frustrating it is in our lives when we are pigeon-holed by society, in business, politics and government, healthcare, sport, the arts, domestic arrangements, etc. You name it! We are further constrained by our parental status – whether as a mother, or as a childless, No Kidding woman. I took it a bit further, seeing that discrimination against us, as women without children or as mothers, is a form of misogyny. It does not see us as individuals, but as objects, and judges us by our biology, rather than by our personalities, our characteristics, our flaws and our talents.

Motherhood, as great as it may be, has been a way of keeping women in control and at home. It is seen as “women’s work” and isn’t paid. It is belittled, generally by men, who seem to – in general – escape the really hard work that mothers do. How often do we hear praise for a man doing – for maybe an afternoon, or a couple of days – what their partners/wives have been doing for years? Even now, even in 2020? In pandemic lockdowns, who has been doing the childcare and home-schooling, even whilst trying to hold down their jobs when working from home?

 I’ve often wondered why, in the last twenty years or so, there has been such a rise in the cult of motherhood, even at the same time that there has been a rise in expectations of what women need to do to be considered “a good mother.” It seems as if we can’t win. You can’t win if you are not a mother. You can’t win if you are. You can’t win if you are anything less than “perfect.” And who decides what is “perfect?”

People, even women who have achieved things no other woman has achieved before them, struggle with change. I wrote some time ago about working with New Zealand’s first woman trade commissioner. Like so many women who achieved in the 1970s and earlier, Frances never married. There was no legitimate reason for her to stay at home. There was no legitimate reason for them to discriminate against her at work – they couldn’t argue that sending her to an overseas posting was going to mean that her husband’s career (like husband’s 20 years later) would suffer. She was so accustomed to the system and the times that she was surprised when she discovered I hadn’t changed my name when I married. I wasn’t the only woman in my department who had done that – many of my best friends were there, and didn’t change their names, or never married their partners – but maybe I was the first she asked about it. “Is that legal?” she said. Then, still struggling with the concept that my “maiden,” unmarried, name was simply my name just like her name was also the name she was born with, she asked what name my passport was in.

She struggled with change. Many women struggle with change, and struggle to see women in positions of authority, or women expecting help at home with the kids. “I didn’t have that, and survived okay,” they may think. Sometimes I wonder if it is jealousy. Or disappointment that they didn’t have the options. Women who have not had careers (either by choice or forced by society’s strictures) or those who have always worked for men, may struggle with the idea that one woman can be above them, when they are accustomed to seeing men making the decisions, getting all the power. They still use the old misogynistic standards of success and power because they’ve been brain-washed. They cannot imagine that women could be just as powerful. (And I haven’t even touched on the whole sexual objectification of women. That would keep me here all week!) Men, of course, struggle with the idea that they may lose their place and privilege. However powerless they might be, they like to feel that someone is beneath them. Power systems are taught, on both sides of the power gap. Discrimination is taught. Ultimately, misogyny is taught. 

And I think that’s why some women with children often look down on those of us without. So they infantalise us, pity us, put us in a box that is lower than them. They want to feel a little superior to someone else, when they may feel constrained or judged. I’ve written about that elsewhere. I think it’s why some of the vehemently childfree object to those of us who are No Kidding but don’t want to be called childLESS, usingthe label childfree. They don’t think we deserved it.  

But my point of all this is that we women** have so much in common. None of us wants to be judged because of our biology and what it can or cannot do, or to be restricted because of who society perceives us to be. We should remember that. We’re all women. We don’t need to turn on each other. We’re in this together.

 

 * Apologies to any No Kidding writers who covered these articles already. Let me know in the comments if you did.

** Further apologies to any male readers of my blog. This one was just for the women. I’m sure you can relate to a lot of it though.

A disappointed woman

I regularly feel as if my head will explode as I observe how women are still being treated and judged, and today - after watching the latest Bridgett Jones’ movie with a friend this morning, seeing the predictable and "happy" ending where she has no job, but has the man and the baby so obviously, what more could/should a woman want? - feel motivated to write something that I've written before, and no doubt will write again.

I am fed up that leaders of nations and those who aspire to be leaders of nations can only see women as sexual beings, or in the context of their relationships with men (as wives, daughters or mothers), rather than as real, conscious, responsible, intelligent, contributing and equal human beings

I am furious that so many men only feel personally offended by poor treatment or attitudes towards women if they think that their “wives and daughters” might be treated badly, but didn’t feel any concerns or were not motivated to do anything about it previously when their wives and daughters or all the other women around the world were and are still denied the right to make decisions about education, or family building, or their own bodies.

I am overwhelmed with frustration at the fact that women are still criticised for sounding strident or aggressive when a man will be called strong, that their ideas, thoughts, and voices are dismissed until a man comes up with the same idea, that their diplomacy or tact is seen as a weakness, and that these are all injustices that I have endured, and that I have seen my female family and friends endure.

I want all girls and young women (including but not only my nieces and daughters of my friends) to grow up and inhabit a world in which they are seen as individuals, not as extensions of men as wives and daughters and sisters and mothers, and not as women whose value is determined by their size and shape, their looks, or their behaviour that has to conform to a different standard than that of the men around them.

I want all girls and young women (including but not only my nieces and daughters of my friends), to have outstanding role models of both genders who are respected and fairly treated and free of judgement and harassment and stereotypes, and to grow up knowing that they are free to choose their own paths in the world, in their everyday lives, and private lives.

And I want all boys and young men (including but not only my nephews and sons of my friends) to see women as individuals in their own right, to respect and treat them fairly, never to judge and harass and impose their will or ignore their voices, to be confident enough in their own skin to never put a woman or girl down because of their gender, to see their friends and colleagues and family and community members who are women as equal as their friends and colleagues and family and community members who happen to be men.

Thirty years ago, I was a new graduate, a young feminist, who was full of hope that all this would and must become a thing of the past, and now I am a jaded, tired and disappointed woman, but still, and always, a feminist.

Cross-posting this on A Separate Life

Is society really baby-obsessed?

Mel asked the question: Is society really babyobsessed?  Initially I was surprised she asked this. Of course it is!  But then I thought (as she did), perhaps it’s just my perception?  After all, perception is everything.  If you asked someone (in NZ) if there was more crime today than ten or twenty years ago, then they’d say yes.  The media is obsessed with reporting crime and bad news stories, there have been well-publicised efforts to educate children about keeping themselves safe, and politicians frequently like to claim they're "tough on crime" in a hunt for more votes.  So we all have this feeling that there are more dangers than there were in the past.  Yet crime statistics show that crime is going down.  This is not our perception.  So which is real?  Statistics damn statistics?  (They can say anything we - or politicians - want them to say.)  Or perception based on our own experiences? 

Mel also used the comparison of discussion in the media about weddings vs marriage.  I can see her point - there are more magazines, features, etc about weddings than marriage.  Weddings are big money.  But how often do we hear about brides who are obsessed with their weddings, thinking more about them than about the marriage?  How often do we see people marry in a big, fancy wedding that they spent a year planning, then a year or two or three later quietly dissolve the marriage?  The obsession is with the wedding.  How many people put the same effort into preparing for and planning their marriage, as they do the wedding. Rational people put their energies and desires into the marriage long term.  But we're not obsessed with the marriage.  It's an ongoing state (we hope) for starters.  But we are obsessed with the wedding.

So is society really obsessed with babies and pregnancy?  And how can I answer that without doing some empirical research? (Which, by the way, I have no intention of doing right now.)  I can't really.  I can only look at my experience, and my observations of society, and try to be objective.

And with that introduction, I will still say that I certainly believe society is more baby-obsessed now than in the past.  Even twenty or thirty years ago, children and babies weren’t the centre of attention or focus or obsession.  Babies were accepted for what they were.  Tiny, noisy, uncontrollable little things who would grow into fascinating children and adults.  But in the meantime, there was still a belief that children (and babies) had their place.  Their needs, or their parents’ desires, didn’t dominate.  Parents wouldn’t dream of taking their babies (and children of a certain age), to fine dining restaurants or often even cafes, and never movies.  Consideration for others – other diners, movie-goers, etc – was paramount.

Having babies was considered a normal, unspectacular part of life.  Babies were something good, something assumed and expected (sigh), but completely ordinary.  It was taken for granted. And so having babies was celebrated on an intimate, personal level as appropriate.  Parents did not trumpet their achievements in having children.  In New Zealand at least, it would have seemed arrogant and inappropriate to talk about your children, or yourself (ie I’m blessed), in that way.  “Who do you think you are?” would have been the response.  And in the 80s there was much more focus on seeing what women could achieve, not only as mothers, but also in career, business, creative, and sporting terms.* 

Now though, it certainly seems as if society is more obsessed, and much more vocal about it.  And that creates a perception, and perception is after all reality.  The media – which both reflects societal norms, and creates them – is relentless in its adulation of mothers and babies.  With changes in technology, mothers now have outlets to talk about their lives, their children, their pregnancies and their babies that they wouldn’t have had in the past.  Looking for validation and support, mom blogging and other support websites have boomed.  Celebrity pregnancies and babies (the best of two obsessions – a pregnant celebrity) are big news, more so than a new movie or album or book or award win or gold medal.  Advertisers follow in their wake, both tapping into existing demand (ie the market they can reach), but also in setting expectations (and hence creating demand) as any good marketers would.  And in doing so, they begin creating a demand.  In feeding the obsession, it becomes more and more prominent.  Peer pressure has always been a powerful force, and is important in selling products, services, magazines, movies, etc.  (The obsession with “pink” for little girls’ toys is an example.)  So the more stories there are about celebrity babies, the more people decide they want to know about celebrity babies.  Politicians – who are after all just marketers really –jump on the bandwagon too, and focus on family-friendly policies, and always, always talk about the future in terms of “the future of your children.”  So a politician who might have a broader view finds themselves talking about “your children and your grandchildren” to tap into that market, and soon enough voters are going to reject a candidate who doesn’t cover this.

I think the perception is there, and it reflects reality.  It hasn’t always been like this.  And it might change in the future.  But I certainly believe that society, these days, does find itself obsessed over babies, for whatever reasons.  (I haven’t got time/space to talk about it here.)

It concerns me, this obsession over babies and women having babies, though not as you might think, not only as a childless woman.  I may not appreciate the child-obsessed society I live in, but I can handle it.  What worries me more is the way this obsession continues to stereotype women into one particular role, limiting choice or the acceptance of different choices, and does it in a more insidious way than the blatant sexism of the past.  And the place of women in society is an issue that has been central to my sense of who I am since I was a child. 

I hate seeing the increased sexism that goes alongside this society-led baby obsession.  I hate seeing women being once again reduced to simply being a body, or worse a uterus, when my generation and especially the generations before me fought so hard for women to be seen as more than their body.  I believe that women have taken a step backwards in many ways in the last 10-15 years.  Or at least, we haven't taken the steps forward we would have expected and hoped for.  And many younger women, being raised in the age of unrelenting pink, and obsession with body shape and looks and overt sexuality, and celebrity babies, don't realise that they're being brainwashed into behaving in particular ways, that they're being stereotyped into certain roles, as much as my older sister and cousins were back in the 70s.  My 22-year-old niece – who would profess herself as a strong, independent young woman – appears to me to be more bound by societal attitudes – and far less aware of feminist issues and arguments - than I was at the same age.

And so, at the same time that society is becoming more diversified, more open and accepting of varying lifestyles, the idea of choice (and the acceptance of different choices) for women seems to have suffered.  And that makes me sad.

Note:  You won’t believe how much I had to edit this.  So apologies if it sounds like a rant.

Time, friends, gifts

I've often talked about the gifts in my life as a result of my ectopic pregnancies, and infertility.  The ability to help others through tough times, and knowing that I helped, also helped me make sense of my losses and what has come after.  But as I've said before - and this won't be the last time I say it either - the biggest gifts were the friendships I established.

On our last night in the UK, I jumped on the train and sped off to Reading, an agreed central meeting spot, to rendezvous with three friends I first met on-line.  We became friends first back around 2002-3, and that was solidified with a fantastic working relationship over about six or so years that ended just last year.  But our friendship endures.

Those early years of knowing each other involved us talking about our losses, our efforts to build a family or complete our families, and to support each other.  But time heals. Now we are a normal (well, not so normal, quite mad in some respects, but you know what I mean!) group of friends.  We talk about about the kids of some, the pets of others, the spouses, brothers and sisters and parents, struggles with money, weight, bodies, jobs, and getting older.  We know that underpinning all this is the fact that we were brought together through shared losses and grief.  But we know now that it is love that keeps us together.  Love, respect, and enthusiasm for the future.

I felt sad leaving these amazing women.  I was beyond grateful that they agreed to get together to coincide with my presence there.  I know that it was a considerable sacrifice for at least one.  I don't know when I will see them again.  But I don't (I can't) doubt that I will see them again.  It might be two or three years, or it might be ten or twenty years (I hope not).  And in the meantime we keep in touch through the internet.  Love will ensure we see each other again.   What a gift that is.

Grey lives of continual sadness

It is surprising how one simple blog post can raise so many issues for me.  The exchanges and issues raised as a result of Mel’s post about Befana reaffirmed for me why I love blogging.  We were all able to have a dialogue across posts and in comment sections, coming from very different perspectives, often agreeing and sometimes disagreeing.  I completely agreed with Mel’s approach to the punishment/reward attitude towards infertility.  It is something that is so hard to deal with at times, especially when you are one of the ones who were never "blessed."  I found support and understanding amongst some of the commenters on Stirrup Queens who shared their thoughts on the use of this word.  I won’t go on about this, the worthy/reward/punishment issues,  because I’ve written about them before, in many different posts, but perhaps particularly when trying to address the question “Why?”

But we’re not a one-opinion group and we all see things from different perspectives.  And this is evident by Mel’s comment that she was  "not too concerned that (her daughter) believes that all people without children live grey lives filled with continual sadness."  (And yes I understand that this was perhaps in comparison with the more sinister punishment/reward issue.  This is in no way a criticism of Mel,who has always included the No Kids group in her community.  It is really more a case of me going through a thought process from a different point of view).

I guess, being without kids, we find ourselves so often stuck in the middle - we want and seek empathy for our losses, for what we can’t have that so many take for granted, but equally we don't want pity. The thought that people think we live grey lives filled with continual sadness hurts.  And it hurts because we know that people do think this.  And perhaps it hurts here particularly because we know that the others in the the ALI community, those either celebrating (sometimes smugly) that they managed to get their children, or those still praying that they don’t end up like us, probably lead the bunch in assuming that we live lives filled with continual sadness.  After all, they’ve been through the fears we’ve been through.  They’ve endured sadness and loss and fear of their own.  They recognise that we have endured a loss.  As the no kidding amongst us often say, we know that we are the their worst nightmares.  We know therefore that there are those amongst them who must think we live grey lives filled with continual sadness.  And of course, there is the general population, who tend to believe that our lives are sad and unfulfilled and selfish if we don’t have children.  And if people feel this way, then they are pitying or judging us.  They are unable to see that in time we are able to walk in the sun again.  That we can still make valuable contributions to society.  That happiness does not equal children.  But it means too that we are often left walking this path alone.  

And so once again, I put this out there to reinforce the fact that society in general needs to stop making so many assumptions about what we must have to be happy.  The perfect job, the big house and the fancy cars are not important to me, but I know that there are plenty of people who think that if we have that, we should be happy.  I have a brother-in-law who once told me that his definition of success = money.  (I laugh at that now, and feel quite sad for him that his definition of success is so narrow.)  And there is of course the general assumption that to be happy, we must also have the perfect partner, and 2.2 kids.  But I’ve met plenty of people with the “perfect” partner and 2 kids, who have been miserable inside.  I think we all know, people are happy and fulfilled living a wide variety of lifestyles.  Recognition of that, furthering awareness of the reality of our lives, and acceptance of people who take different paths, is one of the reasons I blog.

Regular women: a follow-up

Conversation about the use of the term regular women got me thinking. First, it became evident that the description regular woman had at least two interpretations.  One was that it simply meant a woman (ie normal human) compared to a witch. This is perhaps what young ChickieNob meant.  After all, wise as she is, she is only eight! 

The second interpretation was my assumption that it was assumed that a regular woman was one with children. I find it interesting that my mind still automatically went to the “regular woman = woman with children” interpretation, with the other side of the equation obviously that those of us without children are irregular, abnormal even. Why did I automatically think this?  Well, first because I’m not eight and don’t believe in witches!  

The fact that I immediately went to this interpretation seems to bely my own insistence that I see myself as a regular woman.  Perhaps I don’t.  After all, too often I have discovered that the way we interpret others’ comments is often the way we think about those issues ourselves.  I see it often – the slights we see mirror our own darkest thoughts and biggest fears.  

Do I think I’m a regular woman?  I’m not sure now.  But I know that I want to think of myself and all my readers without kids as regular women.  Because if we think of ourselves as regular women, then hopefully others will be able to do so too.  And if that ever happens, then we’ll no longer feel quite so isolated, quite so irregular, so abnormal, so different.  And I have a very strong desire to be freed of that stigma, of that ostracism.  I have a strong desire to feel accepted and legitimate.  Perhaps that’s why the words struck me so strongly.

A Regular Woman

Mel, on Stirrup Queens, quoted her daughter thinking about Befana. Italian legend says the childless witch distributes toys and candy to children who believe in her at Epiphany - read this to learn more. 

This very wise and compassionate little girl said

"It must be very hard for Befana to go into the toy stores to buy children presents when she can’t have a child of her own.  We may have even seen her in disguise when we’ve been in a toy store, pretending that she is just a regular woman and looking very sad."

That simple paragraph really affected me.  I wanted to hug her.  I marvelled that a child could show so much more empathy than so many adults, who never think about what it might cost us (and I'm not talking in monetary terms here) to buy or make gifts for the children in our lives, the children of other people.  I've written elsewhere how it bugs me that I make the effort to buy things for nieces and nephews, but - because they live so far away - never get to see them with the gifts, and rarely see photographs or often even any acknowledgement that the gifts were received at all.  I don't want effusive praise.  I just want to know the gifts arrive!    (I will note though that my sister (who reads this blog) - mother of Charlie who features on A Separate Life from time to time -  is very appreciative!)  In those initial years after I ended my efforts to have a child, it was extremely difficult and often painful to buy those gifts, so the lack of acknowledgement was particularly painful and lacking sensitivity or compassion.  It was never easy to enter into a toy store, or walk into Pumpkin Patch or Just Kids.  This young girl understands that, yet adults who knew what I'd been through didn't.  (Or perhaps they did, and never acknowledged it?  And that's a different post.)  Once I made it across the threshold of the toy or clothing store, the questions at the till - "Are you on our mailing list?" and "Would you like to be?" - always made me feel as if I needed to explain why I was there.  Now though, I usually just say "No" and "No" and feel much less bothered.  Yet I feel the questions, in a way that I don't feel those same questions at any other store.

But yes, in those early days I did feel like a fraud.  Like Mel's daughter, I didn't feel as if I - a childless woman - was a regular woman in any way.  Time passes though, and now I do feel like a "regular woman."  I go to the toy stores quite happily, sometimes even gloatingly, as I can go during school hours, when they are peaceful and empty!   As an aunt, I have great fun looking at toys and not worrying where to store them or how much noise or mess they will make.  I'm also the aunt who has bought (and buys) cool clothes for so many of my nieces. I enjoy doing that.  I used to feel a fraud, as if I had gone into these stores in disguise, and used to feel sad, but no longer.  And that is because, in my own head I have redefined my view of who is a regular woman.  I know now that so many of us go through infertility and loss that it is an integral part of being a woman.  A regular woman.  Like me.  Like you.  Like all of us.

Men are from Mars ...

When I was young, a new and enthusiastic feminist in my teens and 20s, the debate was still raging over nature and nurture, and whether the sexes really were that different.  Now I’m in much older, I know that the sexes are different, and increasingly we are finding incontrovertible evidence that this is a result of nature.  Over the years, especially at the forums dealing with loss and then infertility post-loss, I have seen example after example that shows men really are from Mars, and we women most definitely are not.

I’ve often seen women in the grips of grief over pregnancy loss, or in despair as infertility takes its toll, talk about their male partners.  And one of the most frequent sentiments is how much these women wished that their partners not only understood how they felt, but shared exactly the same emotions.  

But you know, our men are different.  Just because they don't react the way we react doesn’t mean they don’t care.  It means they’re experiencing this differently.  They’re distressed at the distress shown by their lovely women.  They feel helpless, they want to solve the problems, and they want to protect us.  And when they can’t, they can sometimes behave in ways that are inexplicable to us.  I’ve seen men who struggle to deal with the emotions of their women decide that the answer is simply never to try to get pregnant again.  Yes, I see you’re all rolling your eyes.  We know that’s not the right solution.  But our  men don’t always know that.

Whilst I didn’t want my husband to feel the grief I felt, I did want him to express his feelings a little more than he did.  He didn’t really know how he felt, because he didn’t explore his feelings in the same way I did.  He shook his head and said to me once, “you don’t understand.  If I don’t want to think about something, I don’t.”  I remember being stunned.  If only I could be like that!  Life would be much easier.

As I started to pull out of my wretchedness, and began laughing, smiling, and loving life again, he felt he could relax, and express some of his own feelings.  Isn’t this what I wanted?  Well, in a word, and to be totally honest, NO!  Because knowing that he was sad, when I was finally not being sad, pulled me back down.  And then it made me feel guilty for resenting him pulling me back down.  Now, so many years later, we’re both comfortable with noting when something annoys or upsets us, or even gloating over feeling child-FREE at times.  But in those early months and years, when I was concentrating on trying to get better – for me and for him - it was hard enough to deal with my own emotions.  To be completely frank, dealing with his emotions would have been an added burden.  It was a burden I could bear once i felt like I was recovering, and I knew I could support him when he needed it.  But had it come earlier, I might have drowned.

So when I look back, I am forever grateful that we are very different.  I can’t imagine we could have gone through that time, experiencing identical emotions, and survived.  The fact we are different complements each other.  So my advice to women who want their men to feel the same emotions is “be careful what you wish for.”

100% Woman

I was reminded today  that we often hear women going through infertility say that they feel like less of a woman.  I’m pretty sure I’ve said it.  I certainly know I felt it, I thought it.  And yet, we forget that the grief over infertility, the grief over pregnancy loss, is a very female experience.  Waiting every month and feeling the disappointment when we bleed, being forever reminded that our bodies are not performing the way we expect them (as female bodies) to perform, the hormones surging and waning (sometimes natural, sometimes swallowed or inserted or injected), the pain and fear of loss – it is a very real, quite uniquely female experience.*  And I've always thought it is just as uniquely female (because our men feel it differently) as giving birth.  Don’t ever forget that.  To go through this over and over again, and to survive with love and compassion intact, means, I think, we’re all woman.

The best and almost the kindest advice I got when going through my second ectopic pregnancy (or rather the aftermath) was from an internet friend who had also suffered infertility and loss.  "Go buy some pretty (or sexy or both) underwear,"  she instructed.  I did.  Lace and flowers.  It felt frivolous.  But I felt more like a woman.  So go shopping!

*   With a nod to Ben Elton's Maybe Baby movie, where Joely Richardson's character said something along those lines.