What’s the big deal about childlessness?

What is it that makes people feel bad about not having children? That’s what the young man interviewing me over the phone yesterday wanted to know. I struggled to find an answer that he would understand. It became very clear that men and women have different ideas about this stuff, especially when they come from different generations. His questions showed he really didn’t get it.

Is it that everybody else is doing it? Are we looking for a sense of accomplishment? Do we want to leave something behind? Does it help to be around other people’s children?

Well, I could answer that last one. No. When you are hurting over your own lack of children, it does not help to be surrounded by everybody else’s. It just makes you more aware of what you’re missing. I don’t think he understood that either.

I tried to explain that it’s all of the above and more, that we’re missing a major life experience, that we have no younger generation to replace the old ones who are dying, that we have no one to inherit our keepsakes, and that for some people children are their only legacy, but none of that was really getting to the heart of it.

Why does it hurt so bad to realize we may never have children? Is it a deep-down physical need to reproduce? After all, every living thing on earth is designed to reproduce. Some can’t for various physical reasons, but reproduction is the plan. Humans are the only ones who can say, “No, we’d rather not,” the only ones who mate and don’t procreate. So maybe it’s just a basic biological need. But then why don’t some people feel that need?

Almost a quarter of women are not having children these days, and a lot of them don’t feel bad about it. They choose to be childless, preferring the unfettered life. Why do the rest of us grieve the loss of the children we might have had?

The young man segued into a discussion of social media and wouldn’t I like my blogs to be reposted in perpetuity if some company offered that service. No, I don’t think so, and was he actually scamming me to sell a product? I don’t know. But his questions about childlessness linger. What’s the big deal? Why do we feel so bad?

What do you think? Help me find answers? Why do you feel bad about not having children? Please share in the comments.

What would you tell these childless readers?

Dear readers,

            Nearly every day, my inbox includes comments from people responding to my January 2013 post titled, “If You Disagree About Children, Is Your Relationship Doomed?” The details vary, but the basic problem is the same: One person in the relationship is unable or unwilling to have children. Often the problem arises after they have been together for a long time. They may be married, engaged or living together, but now the commenters are torn between the mates they have and the children they always wanted to have. They don’t know what to do. My advice is usually about the same: You have to choose, and you have to talk about it. I say I’m praying for them--and I am, for all of you.

But that doesn’t feel like enough. I know people who have chosen the man or woman over the children and lived happy lives. I have also seen situations where the problem festered and the relationship failed.

Today I share some of these comments because I hope you will read them and respond. If you have made the choice, how did it work out? If not, how are you dealing with it? What advice would you give these readers?

            Thank you. I treasure you all.

Anonymous said...

Hello, I'm 23 and my partner is 27, we are engaged to be married next year and have been in our relationship for nearly 7 years (he was my first boyfriend). Just two days ago he dropped the bombshell that he doesn't want children now and isn't sure if he ever will.. I have recently found out that I have some issues with fertility and may find it difficult to conceive. So he knows my clock is ticking to start trying.
 

He is the love of my life and I cannot stand the thought of losing him, our relationship is perfect.. Everyone loves him, he is great with our young nephews and would make a great dad.
 

The problem is he want me to be happy, and he thinks the only way I can be is if I have children. But I'm not confident I can be happy without him. He hasn't said he doesn't EVER want them, just he doesn't know if he will. I have never felt pain like it. I feel as though my whole world has ended.
 

We have cancelled the wedding until we know we want the same thing which was very hard for me to do.
 

I feel guilty because I think to myself if he loved me, truly loved me, would he not give me the one thing that would make my happiness complete? I know I can’t force him into it and he is not ready but how can I end something because he MIGHT never be ready? And how do I risk staying if he never will be?
 

We are looking at relationship counseling but I'm not sure what good it will do. I feel drained. I don't think I can live without him but I don't want to live the rest of our lives with resentment.

Anonymous said...

Reading through this thread has helped me feel like I'm not alone in this struggle. I'm a 46 year old man who's thinking about becoming a father for the first time. My wife of 20 years has always known she does not want children. Eleven years ago I had similar thoughts and explored the options but chose to stay with her instead. Perhaps this is a mid-life thing where I'm looking back over the first half of my life and wondering if I'm missing out? I've always known I would be a good father. I'm patient, kind, and generous. People have always told me I'm like an old wise soul. I rarely give advice, instead choosing to be a good listener and help people make their own decisions.

Lately, I'm worried that I'm going to regret not having raised a child. I have no romantic ideas about it. I've seen friends and family struggle, so I know it's not all fun and games. But I'm still drawn to the possibilities in the richness of the experience, and with passing on my values and way of life to another person. I feel drawn to the idea of choosing to raise a child with someone who shares my values not because it's "the next thing to do" like I see so many people doing, but because I want the experience. To learn. To love. To know.

Bringing this up again after being together for 20 years has caused a tremendous amount of pain. I absolutely know this will end our life together and it hurts so much. We are seeking some counseling both individually and together and we'll see where I'm at with this in six months. No need to make rash decisions, you know? But for me at least, I know if I decide to do this, my relationship with a wonderful woman, is certainly doomed.

Anonymous said...

I'm 32 and my bf is 33. We've been dating for a year. When we met, he seemed like he shared my goal to have kids one day. Three months ago, he said he's not sure. That his feelings for me made him think it's possible, but he's never wanted them before. He assured me he thought it was an age/timing thing. Then this week, he said he's been lying to himself out of desire to keep me. But he never wants them, because of his past (tough childhood).

Of course. I was angry. Things would be different if we met from the get-go. I've always thought I'd have kids, and I do like kids. But the past year has been the happiest of my life. I feel he's the right person and I would not find someone better for me.

I am contemplating giving up on kids and continuing with him. We are on a one week break to think about this. He feels terrible for having put me in the situation, and believes that if we continue, I will change my mind and he will only hurt me more. He wants me to make sure I can be ok with this forever. The problem is I can guarantee that's ok now but not if I will ever feel different.

So my question to people who gave up on kids for sake of the man they met, did you have a fulfilling marriage? Is it possible to be happy and change your vision of the future? Or did some you regret, resent, or change your mind later?

 

What do you say, my friends? 

 

Childless need not be friendless

It's surprising how many of my friends these days do not have children. The reasons vary:

Mary never wanted children. She was delighted to marry a man who already had three kids from his first marriage and didn't want any more. She has a close relationship with her stepchildren and step-grandchildren while remaining free to live her busy life as a music teacher and choir director.

Cathy, who is gay, has a wonderful marriage with her wife Rhonda. She never saw herself as a mother, but anyone who knows her can testify that she serves as a mother to everyone, always taking care of people, whether they need food, medical care, rides, or a shoulder to cry on.

Lori had a hysterectomy when she was young. She and her husband Steve have led an adventurous life pursuing his marine biology career across the U.S. Now they're living in New Zealand, where she's turning into a real "kiwi."

Charlotte is not married, has no kids but leads a busy life managing a quaint local hotel and keeping our writing group going. 

Sue, my favorite yoga teacher, never had her own children. Her husband has grown offspring from his previous marriage, and she enjoys their company. The rest of the time, she's happy as a dogmom and yogini.

My buddy Bill has neither married nor had children. Now 65, he recently survived a health scare that has left him grateful just to be able to breathe, eat, walk and talk. He started out wanting to be a priest. Although he didn't follow through on that career, he still lives the celibate single life and devotes himself to his four nieces and nephews.

Many of my other friends do have kids, but the children and grandchildren live elsewhere. My friends disappear now and then to visit them, but those children do not divide us because we have so many other things in common, things like music, writing, yoga, or church.

When you're in your 20s, 30s and early 40s, it can seem as if everyone you know is having babies, that you are the only odd duck not reproducing. But you're not. If, like so many people who comment at this blog, you are struggling to decide what to do, know that you may be left out of the Mom Club, but there are plenty of other clubs to join. One in five American women (with similar numbers in other countries) are reaching menopause without having babies. The number is edging toward one in four. You are not the only one. You are not weird. As you engage in the things that interest you, you will find other people like you. There is life to be lived and enjoyed even if you don't ever become a mother or father, and as you get older, it will get easier. 



Copyright 2014 Sue Fagalde Lick

Try these rituals to vanquish childless grief

Dear friends, over the last two weeks, we have been talking about ways to deal with childless grief. Losing our chance to have children is a real loss, in many ways like a death. We lose the life we had expected to live, the identity of being a mother or father, and the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren we will never have. It hurts down to our bones.

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the stages of grief. Last week's post focused on developing a Plan B for our lives. Today I want to talk about rituals, things we can do to help get past the grief.

* After my mother died, my husband and I took two bottles of Mr. Bubble soap bubbles to a cliff overlooking Nye Beach. Fred thought I was crazy, but we started blowing bubbles. "Goodbye, Mom," I said. "Go, be free." Some bubbles landed in the bushes and some melted into the sand, but others kept soaring over the beach until they disappeared into the clouds. You know what? We felt better. Afterward, we adjourned to a nearby bar, toasting Mom's memory. Ten years later, on the first anniversary of Fred's death, I blew bubbles again from the deck in our back yard. I also sang some of his favorite songs, remembering the times he had been there, listening and singing along. It helped.

* Writing can be a great way to let go of feelings. Even if you're not usually a writer, try writing a letter to your unborn children, telling them everything you would like to tell them if they were here. You can keep the letters in a special place or burn them as a symbolic way of letting the children go.

* Talk to your children. Go somewhere private and say what's in your heart. For several years, I "met" with my mom, bringing her up to date on everything that was happening in our lives. It felt like she was still here.

* Try hypnosis. I used it several times when the grief I was feeling became overwhelming, and it truly helped. It's not weird, it's not voodoo. I knew what was happening at all times, but I was able to relax and let go. My therapist led me through conversations with my loved ones, living and dead, pouring out all all the feelings and words I could never release on my own.

* Create a symbol for your pain and send it into the world. Put a note in a bottle and toss it into the ocean. Write the names of your would-have-been children on rocks and arrange them in your garden. Hang a streamer off a tree or a pole. Make an ornament to hang on your Christmas tree. 

* Create art expressing your feelings and honoring your unborn children. Whether it's painting, sculpture, needlework, or another form of art, working with your hands to put it into a physical form can help deal with the grief.

* Hold a ceremony, complete with prayers, readings, food and music. Invite friends and family to acknowledge your loss and honor your unborn children. Having your loved ones' support can be a huge help in moving forward.

These websites offer more suggestions for letting go of childless grief:

"Rituals for Letting Go"

"Leaving and Grieving Ceremony/Ritual"

"Grieving Ceremony"

There are lots of ways to symbolically let go of grief. Nothing takes it away completely, but these rituals can help you move on. Can you suggest some more? Have you tried any of these? I welcome your comments.



Copyright 2014 Sue Fagalde Lick

Picking out names for the children we don’t have

Annie Mae when we adopted her six years ago

As I was walking at the beach with my dog the other day and talking to her, as I often do, I called her by her full name, Annie Mae Lick. Suddenly I realized that could have been the name of my human daughter. Annie Lick. Sounds good, doesn’t it? It would honor my Portuguese grandmother and great-grandmother, both named Anna Souza. Lots of people called my grandmother “Annie.”

To be honest, I named my dog after a TV character. Later, I remembered that that was Grandma’s name.

Anyway, when I pictured my own daughter with that name, I wanted her so bad. She would be grown up now, and I would love her with all my heart. Maybe, like my beautiful niece, she’d look just like my mom, and we could talk and share our lives.

Names. One of the profound things about having a child is naming the baby, giving him or her the identity they’ll carry all their lives. In many religions, the name is part of the baptism or christening ceremony. It matters. Sure, they might shorten or change their names later—my birth certificate says Susan Gail Fagalde—but to you they will always be that person you named. That name will contain their history, their heritage and the love with which it was given.

I named my dolls when I was a kid. I named my first car (Bertha Bug). I named my pets. These days, lots of people give human names to their cats, dogs, monkeys and gerbils. Instead of Spot, Blackie or Rover, they’re Molly, Annie, Harry or George. Why do we do that? Do we see our pets as more human than animal? Do we want to pretend they’re our children? Or do we just have no other use for the names?

As a writer of fiction, I get to make up names for my characters. It’s fun and a little daunting. The name needs to fit the character, be easy to pronounce and distinguish that character from all of the others. What if Scarlett O’Hara had been Judy Smith? Or if Ashley Wilkes had been Jake McFee? Not the same. I also have to be careful about using real people’s names. I once had to change the name of my bad guy because there was a real person with that name who might want to sue me. In my novel Azorean Dreams, my main character’s name is Chelsea Faust. To my amazement, several real Chelsea Fausts have written to me. Luckily, they were flattered.

My writing gives me a place to name people, but I will never get to hug those people, never get to cook for them or help them with their homework. They’ll never come looking for me, calling, “Mom!” They’re just words on a page.

Annie Lick. What a great name.

How about you? Do you have names you wish you could give to your children? Or your dogs?