The Childless Woman

I wrote this some time ago. My feelings have softened, but I'm leaving it here for the women who still hurt, especially at Mother's Day.

I became the kind of woman I never saw myself becoming. I never imagined I would grow up and not have children. I never imagined myself standing in a grocery store staring at the belly of a pregnant woman; I never saw myself overhearing a conversation about new babies and cute announcements, sex and diapers and showers and presents until I'm literally choking. I became that woman. The one who couldn't have kids. I’ve met those women. I had a cousin who couldn't conceive. My family always made her sound rather manic about the whole thing. She had a hard time being in the same room with my pregnant sister-in-law and I remember them all complaining about it, as if she should get over it.
As if she could.

If you ask me if I have kids and I say no, please don't say, "Oh honey, you can have mine!" You’re saying this to someone who longs to experience pregnancy and birth and raising a child.  I know you're kidding, but this isn't a joke and that is not funny. I know you're just trying to say something helpful but it feels false, like you didn't hear me. A simple, “I’m sorry. Did you want children?” And if I say "yes," you can just acknowlege it, with a little sympathy. That's all. You don't have to fix my pain, make light of it, or ignore it.

Here are some ideas you can do for someone who wants or wanted children and for whatever reason, didn't have them:

Send unexpected flowers.

Send a friendship card on Mother’s Day.

Get a group of friends together and have a night of support. Give her ra safe place to lament.

Even if you can’t relate to her emptiness, engage her. Pain is universal. Let her know that in spite of the fact you can’t completely understand, you can listen. Care enough to listen. Don’t avoid her or whisper around her, or say that "someday it won’t hurt as much." That's just not true.

I am happy to see my friends have kids, and I want to see pregnancies and rejoice. I want to go to baby showers and enjoy them, not burst into tears in the bathroom, so I don't go to showers. Not because I'm resentful, but because I want you to enjoy your party.

Adoption is an amazing thing, but it's not always an answer. It’s a calling. It’s not something you do just because you’re unable to conceive. Few understand that. Even I didn’t understand that before I experienced this; before I became the recipient of hundreds of suggestions that I adopt. It's not that simple. It's complicated.

Infertility is not something you get past. Living in a world of families and showers and birth announcements can be isolating, and there's really nothing to be done about that. All I can do is protect myself, look for other joys in life (there are plenty), and rather than criticize you, I can let you know how you can respond to women like me.