British Actress Anne Reid was quoted recently in the Telegraph as saying that childless actresses cannot portray mothers because they don't really know what it's like. (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/film-news/8279466/Actresses-without-children-cant-play-mothers.html)What do you think? Can we not use what we have seen and experienced in our lives to imagine what it's like to be a mom? Should we flip it and say that women who have children cannot play characters who are childless--or childfree?
I wonder about this as a writer, too. Can I really write accurately about what it's like to give birth and to be a parent when I have not experienced these things for myself? But writers write about a lot of things that they haven't personally experienced, right?
What do you think?
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Complete Without Kids author interview
Ellen L. Walker, a psychologist practicing in Bellingham, Washington, is the author of Compete Without Kids, an Insider's Guide to Childfree Living by Choice or By Chance, which came out last month from Greenleaf Press. We talked by phone yesterday about life without children and about the book that was born from her experiences.
Walker, 50, has not had children. During her first marriage, her husband kept saying it was not the right time. They were going to school, working, too busy, etc. "He also said the same thing about getting a dog," Walker said. A lot of women get pregnant "by accident" but she didn't feel that was the right thing to do. However, she did get herself a dog, assuring him that she would take care of it.
After the marriage ended, she was resigned to being childless. But then she married Chris, who had grown children from his first marriage. Seeing him interact with his kids, she began to want her own children. Chris didn't want any more kids. Then 45, she consulted her doctor, who said she probably could still have children and referred her to a doctor who specialized in older women's pregnancies.
After many tearful talks with her husband, she began to think about all the ramifications of having a child at her age and realized it was not going to work for her and Chris. She thought about all the things she had been able to do in her life because she didn't have children: her fulltime psychology practice, travel, writing a book. Life was good,she decided, and she would have to accept that it was not going to include children.
"If I had married a different person, I probably would have ended up having kids," she said. "But it was never my top priority." Plus, she adds, "I seem to have been drawn to men who didn't want to have babies with me."
Walker calls herself childfree, not childless. "For me, it's really important to use the term childfree. It describes a lifestyle, not a loss. The term childless has such a negative connotation." It's important to focus on the things we are able to do because we don't have children and accept that no one can do everything in this life, she says.
Walker admires people who have taken serious time to think about their decision. She didn't do that, and it has been difficult finding peace. Now her friends are going into the grandmother stage, and she is beginning to realize "this is going to be with me my whole life."
Lots of couples these days find themselves disagreeing about whether to have children. It's no longer assumed that after marriage comes babies. Walker recommends they see a marriage counselor to help them work it out. "It's a huge life decision. To me, it could be a deal-breaker." A therapist knows how to process all the feelings that come up and help people find closure.
Seeking closure was one of the reasons Walker wrote her book. "I wanted to find some peace of mind." She started journaling, then started getting other people to tell their stories. She found that the childfree people she met were eager to talk about it, and she began doing interviews. "I realized that a lot of people had a lot of unfinished business with it."
She admits she had a hard time disclosing so much of her own personal information in the book, but she hopes it will help others who are trying to figure out whether or not to have children. She wants young women to see role models who aren't mothers and to take their decision as seriously as any other big decision in their lives.
"You're not a loser if you decide not to be a parent," she stresses.
***
Walker's book is available at Amazon.com and other retail outlets as well as through Greenleaf BookGroup Press. Visit Walker's website and read her blog at www.completewithoutkids.com.
Walker, 50, has not had children. During her first marriage, her husband kept saying it was not the right time. They were going to school, working, too busy, etc. "He also said the same thing about getting a dog," Walker said. A lot of women get pregnant "by accident" but she didn't feel that was the right thing to do. However, she did get herself a dog, assuring him that she would take care of it.
After the marriage ended, she was resigned to being childless. But then she married Chris, who had grown children from his first marriage. Seeing him interact with his kids, she began to want her own children. Chris didn't want any more kids. Then 45, she consulted her doctor, who said she probably could still have children and referred her to a doctor who specialized in older women's pregnancies.
After many tearful talks with her husband, she began to think about all the ramifications of having a child at her age and realized it was not going to work for her and Chris. She thought about all the things she had been able to do in her life because she didn't have children: her fulltime psychology practice, travel, writing a book. Life was good,she decided, and she would have to accept that it was not going to include children.
"If I had married a different person, I probably would have ended up having kids," she said. "But it was never my top priority." Plus, she adds, "I seem to have been drawn to men who didn't want to have babies with me."
Walker calls herself childfree, not childless. "For me, it's really important to use the term childfree. It describes a lifestyle, not a loss. The term childless has such a negative connotation." It's important to focus on the things we are able to do because we don't have children and accept that no one can do everything in this life, she says.
Walker admires people who have taken serious time to think about their decision. She didn't do that, and it has been difficult finding peace. Now her friends are going into the grandmother stage, and she is beginning to realize "this is going to be with me my whole life."
Lots of couples these days find themselves disagreeing about whether to have children. It's no longer assumed that after marriage comes babies. Walker recommends they see a marriage counselor to help them work it out. "It's a huge life decision. To me, it could be a deal-breaker." A therapist knows how to process all the feelings that come up and help people find closure.
Seeking closure was one of the reasons Walker wrote her book. "I wanted to find some peace of mind." She started journaling, then started getting other people to tell their stories. She found that the childfree people she met were eager to talk about it, and she began doing interviews. "I realized that a lot of people had a lot of unfinished business with it."
She admits she had a hard time disclosing so much of her own personal information in the book, but she hopes it will help others who are trying to figure out whether or not to have children. She wants young women to see role models who aren't mothers and to take their decision as seriously as any other big decision in their lives.
"You're not a loser if you decide not to be a parent," she stresses.
***
Walker's book is available at Amazon.com and other retail outlets as well as through Greenleaf BookGroup Press. Visit Walker's website and read her blog at www.completewithoutkids.com.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Today I'm interviewing Ellen L. Walker, Ph.D., author of the new book Complete Without Kids: An Insider's Guide to Childfree Living by Choice or By Chance. I'll publish the results tomorrow, but meanwhile, you might want to check out her website and blog at http://completewithoutkids.com. You'll find some interesting reading there.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Oh Jo, Say It Ain't So
When I was growing up, Jo March in Little Women was my heroine. I wanted to be a free-spirited writer like her, right down to the boyish haircut. I assumed that Jo, like author Louisa May Alcott, never had children and devoted her life to her career.
How our memories play tricks on us.
I recently took another look at the last pages of Little Women and discovered that, in addition to raising her husband Fritz's orphaned nephews, Jo actually had two sons, Robin and Teddy, and that once she became a mother, she dumped her writing career. Horrors. Toward the end of the book, she says, "The life I wanted then seems selfish, lonely and cold to me now. I haven't given up the hope that I may write a good book yet, but I can wait, and I'm sure it will be all the better for such experiences and illustrations as these."
Jo points to her sons, her mother, her sisters and her children. They are talking about the dreams they once had. She isn't saying "never" but she's looking at the bigger picture and saying the life she has now as wife and mother is worth altering her dreams.
Oh, Jo.
But then again, I never had children. Maybe if I did, I too would have set my pen down and said it could wait. This is precisely the question that many of the women I interviewed have raised. If they had children, they feared they would never be able to do the things that were most important to them. People who have children might argue that the children have to be the most important things in one's life. I'm stubborn enough or enough of a dreamer to believe I could be both a mother and a writer at the same time.
Jo March was a product of her times. Rumor has it that the Alcott's editor insisted that Jo be married. Children were no doubt a necessary part of the equation.
What about you? Are there things you could not do in your lives if you had children? Would you be willing to sacrifice one or the other if you had a choice?
How our memories play tricks on us.
I recently took another look at the last pages of Little Women and discovered that, in addition to raising her husband Fritz's orphaned nephews, Jo actually had two sons, Robin and Teddy, and that once she became a mother, she dumped her writing career. Horrors. Toward the end of the book, she says, "The life I wanted then seems selfish, lonely and cold to me now. I haven't given up the hope that I may write a good book yet, but I can wait, and I'm sure it will be all the better for such experiences and illustrations as these."
Jo points to her sons, her mother, her sisters and her children. They are talking about the dreams they once had. She isn't saying "never" but she's looking at the bigger picture and saying the life she has now as wife and mother is worth altering her dreams.
Oh, Jo.
But then again, I never had children. Maybe if I did, I too would have set my pen down and said it could wait. This is precisely the question that many of the women I interviewed have raised. If they had children, they feared they would never be able to do the things that were most important to them. People who have children might argue that the children have to be the most important things in one's life. I'm stubborn enough or enough of a dreamer to believe I could be both a mother and a writer at the same time.
Jo March was a product of her times. Rumor has it that the Alcott's editor insisted that Jo be married. Children were no doubt a necessary part of the equation.
What about you? Are there things you could not do in your lives if you had children? Would you be willing to sacrifice one or the other if you had a choice?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Mothering my husband, continued
My last post, on taking care of my husband, who has Alzheimer's Disease, generated some great comments. Thank you to all. I don't walk around thinking about my childless state all the time, but I couldn't help noticing the parallels when Fred was in the hospital, the feeding, the diapers, his inability to talk.
I thought not only about how he was like a baby, but also how caring for him was similar in some ways to taking care of Annie, my dog--and I do have a lot of practice with dogs. Annie would react in panic if anyone tried to hold her down and do anything to her body. Just try clipping her nails. She can't speak to tell me where she hurts, and she can't understand when I tell her everything will be all right.
Sometimes I feel alone in this journey, but I'm not really. I have been in support groups, I have been in therapy, I have great friends. I exercise, and I really try to take good care of myself. For the most part, I'm on my own now. Except during crises, I only see Fred once a week for a few hours. It's a 150-mile round trip to his nursing home.
I made that trip last week to take him to the doctor. This was not like taking care of a child, unless that child is blind and brain-damaged. I had to do all the talking and help Fred through every moment of our visit. Just getting him to lie on the table was a huge challenge. But it was a good visit. This is a new doctor for us, and he really seemed to listen and to care.
Having a husband with Alzheimer's (and other diseases that take people away a little at a time) is hard. But I'm glad I can take care of Fred. I have to remember everything he gave me over our years together. Everything I have and much of what I have been able to accomplish over the last 25 years I owe to him.
Marrying an older man brings an added risk that he will become ill or die long before you do. I knew that going in. It would be nice to have children to help me and to help him, but I don't. Instead, I have good friends.
Bringing things back to childlessness, I was in an online group for a while, but most of the members seemed to be older than I am, and they spent a lot of time talking about their children and grandchildren. When they started posting tons of photos,I bailed. Whatever we do, we're still the ones without kids.
I thought not only about how he was like a baby, but also how caring for him was similar in some ways to taking care of Annie, my dog--and I do have a lot of practice with dogs. Annie would react in panic if anyone tried to hold her down and do anything to her body. Just try clipping her nails. She can't speak to tell me where she hurts, and she can't understand when I tell her everything will be all right.
Sometimes I feel alone in this journey, but I'm not really. I have been in support groups, I have been in therapy, I have great friends. I exercise, and I really try to take good care of myself. For the most part, I'm on my own now. Except during crises, I only see Fred once a week for a few hours. It's a 150-mile round trip to his nursing home.
I made that trip last week to take him to the doctor. This was not like taking care of a child, unless that child is blind and brain-damaged. I had to do all the talking and help Fred through every moment of our visit. Just getting him to lie on the table was a huge challenge. But it was a good visit. This is a new doctor for us, and he really seemed to listen and to care.
Having a husband with Alzheimer's (and other diseases that take people away a little at a time) is hard. But I'm glad I can take care of Fred. I have to remember everything he gave me over our years together. Everything I have and much of what I have been able to accomplish over the last 25 years I owe to him.
Marrying an older man brings an added risk that he will become ill or die long before you do. I knew that going in. It would be nice to have children to help me and to help him, but I don't. Instead, I have good friends.
Bringing things back to childlessness, I was in an online group for a while, but most of the members seemed to be older than I am, and they spent a lot of time talking about their children and grandchildren. When they started posting tons of photos,I bailed. Whatever we do, we're still the ones without kids.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Mothering My Husband
My husband has Alzheimer's Disease. He has lived in nursing homes for almost two years now. Over the New Year's weekend, he was in the hospital. He had problems with his bladder and was having seizures. He spent much of the time in a deep sleep, but when he was awake, I found myself on constant guard to keep him from throwing off his clothes—lost that battle—and climbing out of the bed--almost. His hands shook so badly I had to feed him.
I had to speak for him to the doctors and nurses, struggling to interpret his garbled sounds and gestures and transmit basic information to which he no longer has access. I had to explain over and over why he could not answer their questions, why he needed extra help.
He has been wearing diapers—call them adult protective garments, Depends or whatever; they are diapers--At the hospital, a nurse installed a catheter, a tube that drains his urine into a plastic bag. He screamed and fought as if he were being killed. He did not understand what this was or why he needed it. He also screamed when the nurse poked a needle into his hand for the IV and another nurse placed sticky tabs on his hairy chest to hook up a heart monitor.
He did not understand any of it. I stood close by, trying to reassure him and trying to keep him from dismantling the medical gear. When I said he would feel better soon, he did not understand any more than a baby (or my dog). All he knew was that he was scared and hurting and he wanted to go home.
Standing by his bed for those difficult hours, exhausted and hungry, I sometimes wondered if this would be any easier if I had had some practice with children. At least I would know how to spoon applesauce into his mouth without getting it all over. I might be more comfortable checking his diaper to see if he has soiled it. I might be better at finding words of comfort and reassurance.
There are certain things mothers seem to know, and I don't. I never expected to use mothering skills on my husband, but that's the way it is.
Have you experienced times when you needed to dig out those maternal instincts? Please share.
I had to speak for him to the doctors and nurses, struggling to interpret his garbled sounds and gestures and transmit basic information to which he no longer has access. I had to explain over and over why he could not answer their questions, why he needed extra help.
He has been wearing diapers—call them adult protective garments, Depends or whatever; they are diapers--At the hospital, a nurse installed a catheter, a tube that drains his urine into a plastic bag. He screamed and fought as if he were being killed. He did not understand what this was or why he needed it. He also screamed when the nurse poked a needle into his hand for the IV and another nurse placed sticky tabs on his hairy chest to hook up a heart monitor.
He did not understand any of it. I stood close by, trying to reassure him and trying to keep him from dismantling the medical gear. When I said he would feel better soon, he did not understand any more than a baby (or my dog). All he knew was that he was scared and hurting and he wanted to go home.
Standing by his bed for those difficult hours, exhausted and hungry, I sometimes wondered if this would be any easier if I had had some practice with children. At least I would know how to spoon applesauce into his mouth without getting it all over. I might be more comfortable checking his diaper to see if he has soiled it. I might be better at finding words of comfort and reassurance.
There are certain things mothers seem to know, and I don't. I never expected to use mothering skills on my husband, but that's the way it is.
Have you experienced times when you needed to dig out those maternal instincts? Please share.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Longing for the Sleeping Child
As darkness descends over Highway 20 on my way home from Albany, it's pretty, with soft gray and medium gray sky, gray-green trees and shrubs, people heading home in their cars. Annie is curled up sleeping in the back.
A warmth rushes through me. I have had this feeling before with a sleeping dog. I think how sweet it would have been to have a child like that. They would have been more energetic earlier, but how wonderful it would be to have them sleeping beside me now.
I could have watched them grow from babies to children to adolescents to teenagers to adults, watching the changes, watching them learn, teaching them everything I know about life. Finally they would be companions and helpers in my old age. They could carry on family traditions, keep the photo albums, take my name and my genes into the future.
All it takes is a sleeping dog to make me feel the pain of childlessness again. I missed something so huge, so vital. It's like four part harmony was offered for the song of my life and I only played the alto and bass, with no melody.
It just kills me. I feel like I have to do something about it. I know there's nothing I can do. It's too late, but I can't accept it. I wish this were a sleeping child in my back seat right now. My children would be adults, but my grandchildren could be riding with me through this gorgeous night. Instead, I reach back and pet Annie's soft gold fur. Her tail flaps, and I see her eyes glowing at me in the dark. Thank God for dogs.
A warmth rushes through me. I have had this feeling before with a sleeping dog. I think how sweet it would have been to have a child like that. They would have been more energetic earlier, but how wonderful it would be to have them sleeping beside me now.
I could have watched them grow from babies to children to adolescents to teenagers to adults, watching the changes, watching them learn, teaching them everything I know about life. Finally they would be companions and helpers in my old age. They could carry on family traditions, keep the photo albums, take my name and my genes into the future.
All it takes is a sleeping dog to make me feel the pain of childlessness again. I missed something so huge, so vital. It's like four part harmony was offered for the song of my life and I only played the alto and bass, with no melody.
It just kills me. I feel like I have to do something about it. I know there's nothing I can do. It's too late, but I can't accept it. I wish this were a sleeping child in my back seat right now. My children would be adults, but my grandchildren could be riding with me through this gorgeous night. Instead, I reach back and pet Annie's soft gold fur. Her tail flaps, and I see her eyes glowing at me in the dark. Thank God for dogs.
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