The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship That Changed Everything

“You really should have kids.” Hurtling toward 40—and still single and longing for children of her own—Kathleen doesn’t need to be reminded that time is running out for her to turn her dreams for a family into reality. So she starts to consider a Plan B: becoming a single parent. But can she do it all on her own? And does she really want to? If only I could try it out, she thinks. For wouldn’t an internship as a single mommy help her make major life decisions? And then….

In an open, thoughtful, and sometimes hilarious memoir, Kathleen shares what she learns while caring for her 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents travel. With Jake, she experiences the realities of single parenthood, including a taste of the loving affection she craves, fierce tantrums that test her best aunting skills, moments of bliss amidst exploding poopy diapers and ongoing sleep deprivation, and ah-hahs that have her questioning whether she has wasted her life.

And that’s just the start of her journey. Back at home, she unpacks and examines the societal baggage that led her to believe a woman’s only true value is as a mother. Empowered by her experience, research, and introspection, she learns to embrace the different paths women choose, including the one she ultimately chooses for herself.

Order on Amazon here.

“This book…offers information and solace to a great many single, childless women struggling to move forward either with pursuing the hope of solo parenthood or making peace with not doing so. This is the first time I’ve seen the dilemma of whether to have a baby, or not, as a single woman so well-articulated, and Guthrie Woods has done future generations of women facing this difficult choice a great service with her painstaking honesty and emotional generosity.”      —Jody Day, psychotherapist, author of “Living the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Future Without Children,” and founder of Gateway Women

“Kathleen Guthrie Woods takes readers on a journey of hope, determination, and resilience, ultimately to discover what matters most. If you’ve ever heard the phrase ‘You should have a baby,’ you should definitely read this book.”      —Melanie Notkin, founder, SAVVY AUNTIE®, and author of “Otherhood: Modern Women Finding a New Kind of Happiness”

Early reviews on Goodreads:

“Guthrie Woods gifts the world with her personal journey, one that will touch the hearts and minds of many, and, for some, be the voice in the wilderness they’d been searching for. “

“Funny and introspective, thoughtful and courageous.”

“The true beauty of the book is that she adeptly weaves in her compassion and empathy for women in ALL circumstances, with AND without children. She bravely looks at all sides of this multi-faceted issue of “to be or not to be” a mother with humor, candor, and deep insight.”

About the Author

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a San Francisco–based freelance writer whose columns “It Got Me Thinking…” and “Our Stories” appeared weekly on Life Without Baby. In her day job she writes feature articles and advertising/marketing materials for a wide range of clients. Her essays and articles have been published in Full Grown People, San Francisco Attorney, Westways, Diablo, and 805 Living.

With Lisa Manterfield, she co-authored Life Without Baby: Holiday Companion, a compilation of humorous, healing, and thought-provoking posts designed to help other childless women get through the holidays. Childless-by-circumstance, Kathleen is also the author of The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship that Changed Everything, a memoir with a message that chronicles her journey to making peace with and embracing life without children of her own.

Kathleen shares her world with her handsome husband, delightfully rambunctious dogs, and a much-loved family of choice that includes nieces, nephews, and godsons.

Check out her blog, 52Nudges, for which she takes weekly “risks” to push her out of her sometimes-too-comfortable nest, and find out about her latest creative endeavors at www.facebook.com/KathleenInk.

Other Book Recommendations

Here is a selection of books that other Life Without Baby readers have found helpful during their journeys. If you have a book you’d like to add, please let me know.*

*Life Without Baby is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com. This small revenue stream helps to off-set the expenses of maintaining this site ad-free. If you prefer not to go through the links provided, simply go directly to Amazon.com or your preferred book retailer.

Other Book Recommendations

Here is a selection of books that other Life Without Baby readers have found helpful during their journeys. If you have a book you’d like to add, please let me know.*

*Life Without Baby is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com. This small revenue stream helps to off-set the expenses of maintaining this site ad-free. If you prefer not to go through the links provided, simply go directly to Amazon.com or your preferred book retailer.

The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship That Changed Everything

“You really should have kids.” Hurtling toward 40—and still single and longing for children of her own—Kathleen doesn’t need to be reminded that time is running out for her to turn her dreams for a family into reality. So she starts to consider a Plan B: becoming a single parent. But can she do it all on her own? And does she really want to? If only I could try it out, she thinks. For wouldn’t an internship as a single mommy help her make major life decisions? And then….

In an open, thoughtful, and sometimes hilarious memoir, Kathleen shares what she learns while caring for her 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents travel. With Jake, she experiences the realities of single parenthood, including a taste of the loving affection she craves, fierce tantrums that test her best aunting skills, moments of bliss amidst exploding poopy diapers and ongoing sleep deprivation, and ah-hahs that have her questioning whether she has wasted her life.

And that’s just the start of her journey. Back at home, she unpacks and examines the societal baggage that led her to believe a woman’s only true value is as a mother. Empowered by her experience, research, and introspection, she learns to embrace the different paths women choose, including the one she ultimately chooses for herself.

Order on Amazon here.

“This book…offers information and solace to a great many single, childless women struggling to move forward either with pursuing the hope of solo parenthood or making peace with not doing so. This is the first time I’ve seen the dilemma of whether to have a baby, or not, as a single woman so well-articulated, and Guthrie Woods has done future generations of women facing this difficult choice a great service with her painstaking honesty and emotional generosity.”      —Jody Day, psychotherapist, author of “Living the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Future Without Children,” and founder of Gateway Women

“Kathleen Guthrie Woods takes readers on a journey of hope, determination, and resilience, ultimately to discover what matters most. If you’ve ever heard the phrase ‘You should have a baby,’ you should definitely read this book.”      —Melanie Notkin, founder, SAVVY AUNTIE®, and author of “Otherhood: Modern Women Finding a New Kind of Happiness”

Early reviews on Goodreads:

“Guthrie Woods gifts the world with her personal journey, one that will touch the hearts and minds of many, and, for some, be the voice in the wilderness they’d been searching for. “

“Funny and introspective, thoughtful and courageous.”

“The true beauty of the book is that she adeptly weaves in her compassion and empathy for women in ALL circumstances, with AND without children. She bravely looks at all sides of this multi-faceted issue of “to be or not to be” a mother with humor, candor, and deep insight.”

About the Author

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a San Francisco-based freelance copywriter and editor. For eight years she wrote a weekly column for LifeWithoutBaby.com, a website and blog dedicated to giving a voice to women who are childfree by chance, choice, or circumstance. She currently runs her own blog, 52Nudges, in which she takes weekly “risks” to push her out of her sometimes-too-comfortable nest.

With Lisa Manterfield, she co-authored Life Without Baby: Holiday Companion, a compilation of humorous, healing, and thought-provoking posts designed to help other childless women get through the holidays and get closer to making peace with being childfree. The Mother of All Dilemmas is her second book.

Kathleen’s family of choice includes her husband and their dog, siblings and their spouses, nieces and nephews, godsons, and a wide circle of friends of all ages. She leads a full and interesting life, one that is anything but child-less. Find out about her latest creative endeavors at www.facebook.com/KathleenInk.

The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship That Changed Everything

“You really should have kids.” Hurtling toward 40—and still single and longing for children of her own—Kathleen doesn’t need to be reminded that time is running out for her to turn her dreams for a family into reality. So she starts to consider a Plan B: becoming a single parent. But can she do it all on her own? And does she really want to? If only I could try it out, she thinks. For wouldn’t an internship as a single mommy help her make major life decisions? And then….

In an open, thoughtful, and sometimes hilarious memoir, Kathleen shares what she learns while caring for her 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents travel. With Jake, she experiences the realities of single parenthood, including a taste of the loving affection she craves, fierce tantrums that test her best aunting skills, moments of bliss amidst exploding poopy diapers and ongoing sleep deprivation, and ah-hahs that have her questioning whether she has wasted her life.

And that’s just the start of her journey. Back at home, she unpacks and examines the societal baggage that led her to believe a woman’s only true value is as a mother. Empowered by her experience, research, and introspection, she learns to embrace the different paths women choose, including the one she ultimately chooses for herself.

Order on Amazon here.

“This book…offers information and solace to a great many single, childless women struggling to move forward either with pursuing the hope of solo parenthood or making peace with not doing so. This is the first time I’ve seen the dilemma of whether to have a baby, or not, as a single woman so well-articulated, and Guthrie Woods has done future generations of women facing this difficult choice a great service with her painstaking honesty and emotional generosity.”      —Jody Day, psychotherapist, author of “Living the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Future Without Children,” and founder of Gateway Women

“Kathleen Guthrie Woods takes readers on a journey of hope, determination, and resilience, ultimately to discover what matters most. If you’ve ever heard the phrase ‘You should have a baby,’ you should definitely read this book.”      —Melanie Notkin, founder, SAVVY AUNTIE®, and author of “Otherhood: Modern Women Finding a New Kind of Happiness”

Early reviews on Goodreads:

“Guthrie Woods gifts the world with her personal journey, one that will touch the hearts and minds of many, and, for some, be the voice in the wilderness they’d been searching for. “

“Funny and introspective, thoughtful and courageous.”

“The true beauty of the book is that she adeptly weaves in her compassion and empathy for women in ALL circumstances, with AND without children. She bravely looks at all sides of this multi-faceted issue of “to be or not to be” a mother with humor, candor, and deep insight.”

About the Author

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a San Francisco-based freelance copywriter and editor. For eight years she wrote a weekly column for LifeWithoutBaby.com, a website and blog dedicated to giving a voice to women who are childfree by chance, choice, or circumstance. She currently runs her own blog, 52Nudges, in which she takes weekly “risks” to push her out of her sometimes-too-comfortable nest.

With Lisa Manterfield, she co-authored Life Without Baby: Holiday Companion, a compilation of humorous, healing, and thought-provoking posts designed to help other childless women get through the holidays and get closer to making peace with being childfree. The Mother of All Dilemmas is her second book.

Kathleen’s family of choice includes her husband and their dog, siblings and their spouses, nieces and nephews, godsons, and a wide circle of friends of all ages. She leads a full and interesting life, one that is anything but child-less. Find out about her latest creative endeavors at www.facebook.com/KathleenInk.

The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship That Changed Everything

“You really should have kids.” Hurtling toward 40—and still single and longing for children of her own—Kathleen doesn’t need to be reminded that time is running out for her to turn her dreams for a family into reality. So she starts to consider a Plan B: becoming a single parent. But can she do it all on her own? And does she really want to? If only I could try it out, she thinks. For wouldn’t an internship as a single mommy help her make major life decisions? And then….

In an open, thoughtful, and sometimes hilarious memoir, Kathleen shares what she learns while caring for her 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents travel. With Jake, she experiences the realities of single parenthood, including a taste of the loving affection she craves, fierce tantrums that test her best aunting skills, moments of bliss amidst exploding poopy diapers and ongoing sleep deprivation, and ah-hahs that have her questioning whether she has wasted her life.

And that’s just the start of her journey. Back at home, she unpacks and examines the societal baggage that led her to believe a woman’s only true value is as a mother. Empowered by her experience, research, and introspection, she learns to embrace the different paths women choose, including the one she ultimately chooses for herself.

Order on Amazon here.

“This book…offers information and solace to a great many single, childless women struggling to move forward either with pursuing the hope of solo parenthood or making peace with not doing so. This is the first time I’ve seen the dilemma of whether to have a baby, or not, as a single woman so well-articulated, and Guthrie Woods has done future generations of women facing this difficult choice a great service with her painstaking honesty and emotional generosity.”      —Jody Day, psychotherapist, author of “Living the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Future Without Children,” and founder of Gateway Women

“Kathleen Guthrie Woods takes readers on a journey of hope, determination, and resilience, ultimately to discover what matters most. If you’ve ever heard the phrase ‘You should have a baby,’ you should definitely read this book.”      —Melanie Notkin, founder, SAVVY AUNTIE®, and author of “Otherhood: Modern Women Finding a New Kind of Happiness”

Early reviews on Goodreads:

“Guthrie Woods gifts the world with her personal journey, one that will touch the hearts and minds of many, and, for some, be the voice in the wilderness they’d been searching for. “

“Funny and introspective, thoughtful and courageous.”

“The true beauty of the book is that she adeptly weaves in her compassion and empathy for women in ALL circumstances, with AND without children. She bravely looks at all sides of this multi-faceted issue of “to be or not to be” a mother with humor, candor, and deep insight.”

About the Author

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a San Francisco-based freelance copywriter and editor. For eight years she wrote a weekly column for LifeWithoutBaby.com, a website and blog dedicated to giving a voice to women who are childfree by chance, choice, or circumstance. She currently runs her own blog, 52Nudges, in which she takes weekly “risks” to push her out of her sometimes-too-comfortable nest.

With Lisa Manterfield, she co-authored Life Without Baby: Holiday Companion, a compilation of humorous, healing, and thought-provoking posts designed to help other childless women get through the holidays and get closer to making peace with being childfree. The Mother of All Dilemmas is her second book.

Kathleen’s family of choice includes her husband and their dog, siblings and their spouses, nieces and nephews, godsons, and a wide circle of friends of all ages. She leads a full and interesting life, one that is anything but child-less. Find out about her latest creative endeavors at www.facebook.com/KathleenInk.

Life Without Baby: Holiday Companion

When you’re a childless woman, the bombardment of family-focused activities during the holiday season can be enough to make you want to hibernate until January. Lisa Manterfield and Kathleen Guthrie Woods know exactly how that feels, and they have written something that can help.

Holiday Companion is a compilation of humorous, healing, and thought-provoking posts drawn from the archives of Life Without Baby, the international online community for women who are childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance. By sharing their own experiences, survival tips, and insights from their readers, Manterfield and Woods offer encouragement and compassion to help you get through the holidays and get closer to making peace with being childfree.

Purchase

Preview

What People Are Saying

“This holiday collection of posts and thought-provoking questions is comforting to people who are grieving the loss of children.”
♥ Theresa Gapp, reader

“Reading this collection allowed me a window into what must be a large audience of men and women adjusting to what a childless life has given them. I am for expanding knowledge and understanding of all communities and this approach to the holidays does just that. It shows us all that our opinions matter plus it has some great tips and perspectives for surviving the holidays.”
♥ Shannon Calder, reader

“I would encourage anyone who has had to go to “Plan B, C or D” in their life to give this book a read. It gives you permission to embrace other choices, to find real peace with whatever personal challenges you are facing. Grieve, if you must, that Plan A didn’t work out, but know there are others out there like you, looking at “B, C or D” and having a wonderful life, especially during the holidays. This book provides you with terrific tips and a holiday survival plan to bring happiness to YOUR world, especially during this “kid-centric” time, whether you are childfree by choice or circumstances. Unwrap this book and find a fierce holiday spirit that squarely offers up alternative, childfree holiday plans. This book will give you the comfort and joy to make new holiday traditions that begin with you. Christmas morning does not have to be Christmas mourning.”
♥ Anne Etue, reader

“In the best of times the holiday season can amplify emotions and test our patience. For those childless by circumstance or chance the holidays deliver a different sort of challenge. Harmony and understanding can be hard to find. When the good intentions of others go wrong, we can find ourselves on the receiving end of an alienating comment or one-dimensional party plan. This heartfelt companion guide is like a good friend. It provides welcome perspective, wisdom and balance.”
♥ P. M. Tsigdinos, reader

“Life without Baby Holiday Companion gives the reader light and levity, as well as valuable time for introspection, answering the thinking questions at end end of each vignette. Valuable and Empowering, Life Without Baby hits the mark and then some!!”
♥ Diana Daniele, reader

“You really should have kids.” Hurtling toward 40—and still single and longing for children of her own—Kathleen doesn’t need to be reminded that time is running out for her to turn her dreams for a family into reality. So she starts to consider a Plan B: becoming a single parent. But can she do it all on her own? And does she really want to? If only I could try it out, she thinks. For wouldn’t an internship as a single mommy help her make major life decisions? And then….

In an open, thoughtful, and sometimes hilarious memoir, Kathleen shares what she learns while caring for her 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents travel. With Jake, she experiences the realities of single parenthood, including a taste of the loving affection she craves, fierce tantrums that test her best aunting skills, moments of bliss amidst exploding poopy diapers and ongoing sleep deprivation, and ah-hahs that have her questioning whether she has wasted her life.

And that’s just the start of her journey. Back at home, she unpacks and examines the societal baggage that led her to believe a woman’s only true value is as a mother. Empowered by her experience, research, and introspection, she learns to embrace the different paths women choose, including the one she ultimately chooses for herself.

Order on Amazon here.

“This book…offers information and solace to a great many single, childless women struggling to move forward either with pursuing the hope of solo parenthood or making peace with not doing so. This is the first time I’ve seen the dilemma of whether to have a baby, or not, as a single woman so well-articulated, and Guthrie Woods has done future generations of women facing this difficult choice a great service with her painstaking honesty and emotional generosity.”      —Jody Day, psychotherapist, author of “Living the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Future Without Children,” and founder of Gateway Women

“Kathleen Guthrie Woods takes readers on a journey of hope, determination, and resilience, ultimately to discover what matters most. If you’ve ever heard the phrase ‘You should have a baby,’ you should definitely read this book.”      —Melanie Notkin, founder, SAVVY AUNTIE®, and author of “Otherhood: Modern Women Finding a New Kind of Happiness”

Early reviews on Goodreads:

“Guthrie Woods gifts the world with her personal journey, one that will touch the hearts and minds of many, and, for some, be the voice in the wilderness they’d been searching for. “

“Funny and introspective, thoughtful and courageous.”

“The true beauty of the book is that she adeptly weaves in her compassion and empathy for women in ALL circumstances, with AND without children. She bravely looks at all sides of this multi-faceted issue of “to be or not to be” a mother with humor, candor, and deep insight.”

About the Author

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a San Francisco-based freelance copywriter and editor. For eight years she wrote a weekly column for LifeWithoutBaby.com, a website and blog dedicated to giving a voice to women who are childfree by chance, choice, or circumstance. She currently runs her own blog, 52Nudges, in which she takes weekly “risks” to push her out of her sometimes-too-comfortable nest.

With Lisa Manterfield, she co-authored Life Without Baby: Holiday Companion, a compilation of humorous, healing, and thought-provoking posts designed to help other childless women get through the holidays and get closer to making peace with being childfree. The Mother of All Dilemmas is her second book.

Kathleen’s family of choice includes her husband and their dog, siblings and their spouses, nieces and nephews, godsons, and a wide circle of friends of all ages. She leads a full and interesting life, one that is anything but child-less. Find out about her latest creative endeavors at www.facebook.com/KathleenInk.

Radio Interview***

Hear Lisa’s CBC Day 6 interview about living without children.

LISTEN NOW

/****Holiday Comapnion****/

Get help this holiday season

Order you copy now.

*** REGISTRATION LINKS***

REGISTRATION
MENTORSHIP PROGRAM: REGISTER HERE
Use this link for payment plan option
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***PROGRAM TIMES***

Program times and dates

This program is designed so you can join in real-time and participate in chats and discussions, or watch and listen to the recorded sessions at your convenience. You may also choose to work just with the written material at your own pace.

Workshop sessions will be delivered via live broadcast on Tuesdays at 5:30pm PDT:

• Tuesday, May 21
• Tuesday, June 4
• Tuesday, June 18
• Tuesday, July 2

Group calls will be one hour long and will take place on alternating Tuesdays at 5:30 PDT:

• Thursday, May 28
• Thursday, June 11
• Thursday, June 25
• Thursday, July 9

One-to-One calls may be scheduled as needed. Daytime, evening, and weekend appointments will be available.
/****BOOK WIDGET****/
Read the book that launched this site!

~ “a raw, transparent account of the gut-wrenching journey of infertility.”

~ “a welcome sanity check for women left to wonder how society became so fixated on motherhood.”

read more ->

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/***GET HELP NOW***/

Don’t go through this alone.

Find guidance, support, and compassion through this new self-guided course.

Learn more about the Road Map to Healing Program starting January 28th.

/***HELPFUL POSTS***/

If you’re new here, you might want to check out with these posts:

• How to Being Happily Childfree in 10,000 Easy Steps
• Friends Who Say the Right Thing
• Feeling Cheated
• The Sliding Scale of Coming-to-Terms
• Hope vs. Acceptance
• All the Single Ladies
• Don’t Ignore…the Life Without Baby Option

/***WHAT OTHERS ARE SAYING WIDGET***/

“Lisa’s insights and understanding not only helped ease my pain but also led me on a path towards acceptance.”

~Deborah H., Santa Clarita, CA

“Lisa Manterfield gave us a tremendous gift when she founded this community (and when she shared her own story in her book). I am one of thousands of grateful recipients.”  

~Kath W, San Francisco, CA

“The support group is a safe place where you can talk openly, freely and without being judged. It’s a small community where you feel heard and understood by people who deal with similar issues.”

~Catherine-Emmanuelle, St-Bruno-de-Montarville, Québec

/*** LETTING GO ***/

Letting Go of the Dream of Motherhood

Free online workshop

May 7th, 6pm Pacific

Register here

/****TOP POSTS****/

Here’s what others are reading:

Chero: Marilyn Monroe

The Ticking Clock

Chero: Mary Cassatt

“Getting Over” Infertility

Childless Women and Breast Cancer

Childless by Marriage and a Man’s Point of View

Locked out of the Mommy Clubhouse

It Got Me Thinking…About My Issues

10 Childfree Celebrities

Bold Facial Hair

***Old Road map Video***
Road Map to Healing from Lisa Manterfield on Vimeo.

Life Without Baby Workbook 1: Letting Go of the Dream of Motherhood

Now available for pre-order
Letting Go of the Dream of Motherhood

Now available for pre-order

Now Avaialble

Workbook 3: Dealing With the Day-to-Day Challenges

Find the whole series here.

I’m so pleased and proud today to announce the publication of a new book by a beloved member of our childless-not-by choice community. 

Many of you will know Kathleen Guthrie Woods through her work on this site, in particular her columns “It Got Me Thinking…” and “Our Stories.” In her new book, The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship that Changed Everything she finally shares her own story. 

Her Story

In this memoir with a message, Kathleen explores the realities of being a 21^st century woman raised to believe she could have it all and do it all. Single and approaching forty, with the siren song of motherhood growing louder, she must consider the option of having a baby without a mate. When she’s given the opportunity to spend two weeks caring for her fifteen-month-old nephew alone, she gains first-hand experience of the realities of solo parenting while trying to maintain her livelihood as a self-employed freelance writer. What follows is a hilarious adventure into single motherhood, and the heartbreaking realization that she can’t do this alone. 

If you know Kathleen’s work, you’ll know this book is funny and heart-wrenching. But it’s also so much more. Through research and interviews with other women about their own paths towards—or around—motherhood, Kathleen shines a brilliant light on the assumptions surrounding women who “choose” to remain childless. With sharp insight and deep compassion, she uncovers the decisions and trade-offs women make, and the losses and heartbreaks that accompany them. The result is an eye-opening and thought-provoking exploration of modern womanhood.

A Fierce Supporter

For the past decade, Kathleen has supported the work of many of us in the infertility and childless-not-by choice community. Through her own writing and her thoughtful and supportive comments on this, and other, blogs and social media sites, she has helped many of us through difficult patches on our own journeys. I hope you’ll join me in supporting her on her journey and congratulating her on this amazing achievement.The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship that Changed Everything is available in paperback and eBook on Amazon.

You can find Kathleen and her work on Facebook and Instagram, as well as on her website, kathleen-ink.com.

I’m so pleased and proud today to announce the publication of a new book by a beloved member of our childless-not-by choice community. 

Many of you will know Kathleen Guthrie Woods through her work on this site, in particular her columns “It Got Me Thinking…” and “Our Stories.” In her new book, The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship that Changed Everything she finally shares her own story. 

Her Story

In this memoir with a message, Kathleen explores the realities of being a 21^st century woman raised to believe she could have it all and do it all. Single and approaching forty, with the siren song of motherhood growing louder, she must consider the option of having a baby without a mate. When she’s given the opportunity to spend two weeks caring for her fifteen-month-old nephew alone, she gains first-hand experience of the realities of solo parenting while trying to maintain her livelihood as a self-employed freelance writer. What follows is a hilarious adventure into single motherhood, and the heartbreaking realization that she can’t do this alone. 

If you know Kathleen’s work, you’ll know this book is funny and heart-wrenching. But it’s also so much more. Through research and interviews with other women about their own paths towards—or around—motherhood, Kathleen shines a brilliant light on the assumptions surrounding women who “choose” to remain childless. With sharp insight and deep compassion, she uncovers the decisions and trade-offs women make, and the losses and heartbreaks that accompany them. The result is an eye-opening and thought-provoking exploration of modern womanhood.

A Fierce Supporter

For the past decade, Kathleen has supported the work of many of us in the infertility and childless-not-by choice community. Through her own writing and her thoughtful and supportive comments on this, and other, blogs and social media sites, she has helped many of us through difficult patches on our own journeys. I hope you’ll join me in supporting her on her journey and congratulating her on this amazing achievement.The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship that Changed Everything is available in paperback and eBook on Amazon.

You can find Kathleen and her work on Facebook and Instagram, as well as on her website, kathleen-ink.com.

I’m so pleased and proud today to announce the publication of a new book by a beloved member of our childless-not-by choice community. 

Many of you will know Kathleen Guthrie Woods through her work on this site, in particular her columns “It Got Me Thinking…” and “Our Stories.” In her new book, The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship that Changed Everything she finally shares her own story. 

In this memoir with a message, Kathleen explores the realities of being a 21^st century woman raised to believe she could have it all and do it all. Single and approaching forty, with the siren song of motherhood growing louder, she must consider the option of having a baby without a mate. When she’s given the opportunity to spend two weeks caring for her fifteen-month-old nephew alone, she gains first-hand experience of the realities of solo parenting while trying to maintain her livelihood as a self-employed freelance writer. What follows is a hilarious adventure into single motherhood, and the heartbreaking realization that she can’t do this alone. 

If you know Kathleen’s work, you’ll know this book is funny and heart-wrenching. But it’s also so much more. Through research and interviews with other women about their own paths towards—or around—motherhood, Kathleen shines a brilliant light on the assumptions surrounding women who “choose” to remain childless. With sharp insight and deep compassion, she uncovers the decisions and trade-offs women make, and the losses and heartbreaks that accompany them. The result is an eye-opening and thought-provoking exploration of modern womanhood.

For the past decade, Kathleen has supported the work of many of us in the infertility and childless-not-by choice community. Through her own writing and her thoughtful and supportive comments on this, and other, blogs and social media sites, she has helped many of us through difficult patches on our own journeys. I hope you’ll join me in supporting her on her journey and congratulating her on this amazing achievement.The Mother of All Dilemmas: Dreams of Motherhood and the Internship that Changed Everything is available in paperback and eBook on Amazon.

You can find Kathleen and her work on Facebook and Instagram, as well as on her website, kathleen-ink.com.

People come and go from this site all the time. Some people observe for a long time before quietly slipping into the conversation. Some actively engage when they need help and stick around to help others. Others come for a while and slip away unannounced when they’ve got what they needed. I’m glad for all these people.

I don’t always hear the reason why someone decides to move on, and that’s okay. When someone leaves, I wish her a silent farewell and good luck.

Recently, though, one member left and gave this wonderful reason:

“I am moving on from my identity as a childless woman.”

I wanted to throw her a party. She’s not leaving because she’s no longer a childless woman; she’s leaving because she no longer wants to carry around that label and all the stigma and resentment that can come along with it. She’s moving on, I assume, to embrace her life as a woman, with all its facets.

We play many roles in our lives and carry an assortment of identities. Sometimes those identities no longer suit us and we have to let them go. And while I’m sorry to lose a reader, I truly wish her nothing but a wonderful life.

And so this feels like a good segue into something I need to do, which is to say good bye and slip into my own new identity.

Back in March, I wrote that I would be posting a last post and leaving the site up for people to find the posts they need. Then the pandemic hit and it felt like the wrong time to leave. But now it’s time for me to throw my own moving on party.

I have loved running this site for the past decade. I’m honored to have had you in my own support circle. I’m grateful that I even got to meet some of you in person over the years, or at least got to know you virtually. Now I need to step into my own identity.

I am a childless woman and I am at peace with that now. I am an author of novels with big plans for my career. I am the wife of a recently-retired man whose company I want to enjoy. I am a gardener, a cat lover, a daughter, a runner, a foodie, a reader. I am many things and these other identities need my attention.

I hope you’ll continue to find solace and belonging among the many (almost 1,700!) posts on this site. I hope you’ll seek out the books I wrote to help you work through this journey. I hope you’ll stay in touch through my other channels (see below). But most of all, I hope you’ll find your own way to peace and acceptance of this life that none of us chose. 

Until we meet again, stay safe, be well, and remember: You are not alone.

***

If you’d like to stay connected you can find me at LisaManterfield.com and on my social media: Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I hope to meet you again there. -x-

People come and go from this site all the time. Some people observe for a long time before quietly slipping into the conversation. Some actively engage when they need help and stick around to help others. Others come for a while and slip away unannounced when they’ve got what they needed. I’m glad for all these people.

I don’t always hear the reason why someone decides to move on, and that’s okay. When someone leaves, I wish her a silent farewell and good luck.

Recently, though, one member left and gave this wonderful reason:

“I am moving on from my identity as a childless woman.”

I wanted to throw her a party. She’s not leaving because she’s no longer a childless woman; she’s leaving because she no longer wants to carry around that label and all the stigma and resentment that can come along with it. She’s moving on, I assume, to embrace her life as a woman, with all its facets.

We play many roles in our lives and carry an assortment of identities. Sometimes those identities no longer suit us and we have to let them go. And while I’m sorry to lose a reader, I truly wish her nothing but a wonderful life.

And so this feels like a good segue into something I need to do, which is to say good bye and slip into my own new identity.

Back in March, I wrote that I would be posting a last post and leaving the site up for people to find the posts they need. Then the pandemic hit and it felt like the wrong time to leave. but now it’s time for me to throw my own moving on party.

I have loved running this site for the past decade. I’m honored to have had you in my own support circle. I’m grateful that I even got to meet some of you in person over the years, or at least got to know you virtually. Now I need to step into my own identity.

I am a childless woman and I am at peace with that now. I am an author of fiction with big plans for my career. I am the wife of a recently-retired man whose company I want to enjoy. I am a gardener, a cat lover, a daughter, a runner, a foodie, a reader. I am many things and these other identities need my attention.

I hope you’ll continue to find solace and belonging among the many (almost 1,700!) posts on this site. I hope you’ll stay in touch through my other channels (see below). I hope you’ll find your own way to peace and acceptance of this life that none of us chose. 

Until we meet again, stay safe, be well, and remember: You are not alone.

***

If you’d like to stay connected you can find me at LisaManterfield.com and on my social media: Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

People come and go from this site all the time. Some people observe for a long time before quietly slipping into the conversation. Some actively engage when they need help and stick around to help others. Others come for a while and slip away unannounced when they’ve got what they needed. I’m glad for all these people.

I don’t always hear the reason why someone decides to move on, and that’s okay. When someone leaves, I wish her a silent farewell and good luck.

Recently, though, one member left and gave this wonderful reason:

“I am moving on from my identity as a childless woman.”

I wanted to throw her a party. She’s not leaving because she’s no longer a childless woman; she’s leaving because she no longer wants to carry around that label and all the stigma and resentment that can come along with it. She’s moving on, I assume, to embrace her life as a woman, with all its facets.

We play many roles in our lives and carry an assortment of identities. Sometimes those identities no longer suit us and we have to let them go. And while I’m sorry to lose a reader, I truly wish her nothing but a wonderful life.

And so this feels like a good segue into something I need to do, which is to say good bye and slip into my own new identity.

Back in March, I wrote that I would be posting a last post and leaving the site up for people to find the posts they need. Then the pandemic hit and it felt like the wrong time to leave. but now it’s time for me to throw my own moving on party.

I have loved running this site for the past decade. I’m honored to have had you in my own support circle. I’m grateful that I even got to meet some of you in person over the years, or at least got to know you virtually. Now I need to step into my own identity.

I am a childless woman and I am at peace with that now. I am an author of fiction with big plans for my career. I am the wife of a recently-retired man whose company I want to enjoy. I am a gardener, a cat lover, a daughter, a runner, a foodie, a reader. I am many things and these other identities need my attention.

I hope you’ll continue to find solace and belonging among the many

Over the past couple of years I’ve been “enjoying” a journey through menopause. Yeah, it’s a hoot. All the symptoms of PMS, plus fuzzy head, weight gain, night sweats, the works.

I’ve been prescribed HRT and I’ve been reaching out to older friends for advice, because there’s a lot about this I don’t know. Most of my friends have gladly offered support, however one woman (a friend of a friend) looked at me and said, “Menopause? You’re too young for that.”

I assured her I was not, and left the conversation, but really, is that a helpful thing to say? Yes, I know I’m too young for menopause. Add it to the list of things my body’s given up before its time. And then ask me how I feel about the possibility the rest of me might be aging faster than it should too. Does this ever end?

As you may have guessed, it’s Whiny Wednesday. If you’re not yet hearing this about menopause, in what other ways have you been dismissed?

For more about the realities of dealing with menopause and infertility, please check out Mali’s excellent series on her No Kidding in NZ blog.

I have posted this article by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman in the past and it always seems to resonate with people, so I think it’s worth re-running. It’s a good reminder about how not to say the wrong thing to someone in crisis. I wish it was mandatory reading for everyone, and I especially wish it came with a note explaining that it applies when talking to infertiles and the childless-not-by-choice.

The gist of their Ring Theory is that the person in crisis is at the center of the ring and those next closest to the person occupy subsequent rings. In the case of someone coming to terms with not having children, she would be at the center, her spouse or partner on the next ring, perhaps closest family and friends on the next, and more distant family, coworkers, and acquaintances beyond that.

The rule is that that if people have something mean or insensitive or opinionated to say, they say it to someone on a bigger ring. When speaking to someone on a smaller ring, they can only listen or—if they must say something—offer help, support, or comfort. No advice, no miracle stories, no blame or shame. No offering of their kids, no suggestions to adopt. “I’m sorry” is all that needs to be said. If they want to dump, dump outwards, not inwards.

I wish people would understand that someone who has just acknowledged she won’t ever have children is in crisis, and what she needs more than judgment and unhelpful help is for people to say to the right thing.

A while ago, I asked you to suggest Whiny Wednesday topic ideas. Boy, did you deliver! Here’s one that a lot of you mentioned struggling with:

Running into old friends who now have children

Whine away!

I like to tell this story about a conversation I once had with a group of people I had recently met. I remember one of the women was telling a story and tossed out that she was unable to have children.

Then she went right on with her story.

She didn’t pause for people to give her sympathetic looks, she didn’t elaborate on why she couldn’t have children, and she didn’t explain that she’d wanted to have them or tried to. She said it matter-of-factly, as if she’d been telling us she didn’t care for the taste of liver and onions.

I was in awe.

Later that day, we were talking about confidence and she told me that it has taken her a long time (she’s in her 50s) to own who she is. “You just can’t entertain that voice that tells you that you’re less than or not good enough,” she said.

How many of us hear that voice and how many us pay attention to what it tells us?

What if we stopped apologizing for who we are? I think we could be very powerful.

Do you have a voice that tells you you’re less than? Do you listen to it? How do you shut it up and own who you are?

A friend sent this picture to me and it made me laugh out loud.Then it got me wondering how this could work for those women (and it’s usually women) at baby showers and family gatherings who unwittingly assume that yours will be the next belly to be celebrated and adored. I haven’t come up with an appropriate equivalent yet, but I’m working on it.

It’s Whiny Wednesday, your chance to let off steam among friends. Feel free to vent at will.

Mother’s Day is pretty much the worst day of the year for those of us who didn’t get to be moms. But what about Father’s Day and the men in our lives? Do they feel the loss of fatherhood in the same way we feel it for motherhood?

Some of you have expressed frustration with partners who don’t want to talk about the loss and grief we women go through, or who seem to have accepted a life without children much quicker than we have. I know I saw a difference in the way Mr. Fab and I dealt with grief (or appeared to not deal with it at all) so I thought I’d do a little research on the topic of men and grief to see what I could learn.

Turns out that, when it comes to grief, men really are from Mars, as opposed to our home planet of Venus. They’ve often been taught to keep their emotions in check and brush grief under the rug in the hopes that it will just go away (which, of course, it doesn’t.) As a result, we tend to interpret their reluctance to grieve openly as a lack of feeling. But that doesn’t mean they don’t feel the loss just as keenly as we do.

Here’s what I learned about how men grieve:

• Men often prefer to grieve alone, rather than openly, in a support group setting, or even with a partner.
• Men are more likely to withdraw and to be introspective than to do “grief work.”
• Men are more likely to express grief physically with actions or activities.
• Men sometimes deal with grief by planning for the future rather than dealing with the present situation or looking back at the past.
• Men sometimes let grief out in the form of irritability or anger.

In other words, just because your partner isn’t hanging out with other men in online support groups, sharing stories, and lending an empathetic ear to other men, it doesn’t mean he isn’t grieving the loss of fatherhood in his own way.

I’d be interested to hear how your partner has dealt with his grief. And if you’re a grieving man reading this, we’d love to hear your point-of-view.

A few years ago, when I my glorious plans for motherhood were just beginning to come crashing down around my ears, Mr. Fab and I went wine tasting. As a rich, fruity cabernet was hitting my bloodstream and making my crappy world feel better, a woman (whose world was feeling a little too good) leaned over and said, “Should you be drinking?”

I was confused for a moment, until I realized she was peering at my belly. Admittedly, I’d put on a few stress pounds over the previous year, but I was beyond mortified that she’d mistaken my bloat for a pregnancy, especially considering that was the one thing I was truly aiming for.

I’d like to tell you that she realized her mistake immediately, but alas, she had to ask me twice – the second time for everyone around us to hear.

So, while I agree that most people are well-intentioned when they make a faux pas, in some cases, people just ought to keep their traps shut and mind their own damn business.

It’s Whiny Wednesday, ladies. Let ‘em fly.

When you’re deep in your grief—and even when you feel like you’re finally in a good place—there’s one place that continues to be a trigger:

The Baby Aisle

Has it caught you unprepared? Did the sight of binkies, diapers, onesies, and teething toys bring on an epic meltdown?

Here’s your chance to vent.

At this point in my life, I can truly say I am at peace with not having children. But for a long time there were days when the darkness came over me. Do you know what I mean?

Ordinarily, the darkness was a tiny ball that I carried it around with me wherever I went. It was safely tucked away and I didn’t even notice it. Then something would happen to flip the lid and suddenly the darkness crept into every open space within me.

I got tired of carrying the darkness around and finally I was ready to let it go. I didn’t want to feel bitter or sad about not having children, because honestly, I was okay. But I couldn’t remember who I was any more. When I looked in the mirror I didn’t see me. I saw a woman who looked tired and overweight, and very, very serious about life. She didn’t laugh easily or live with abandon, like the real me used to. She was cautious and unwilling to let herself go. She felt like a square peg in a world full of round holes and it was lonely to live that way.

Our experiences make us who we are, but what happens to who we were? In a universe where energy remains constant, I knew that the old me — the laughing, carefree joyous me — must still have been around. I’d catch glimpses of her sometimes, and like a huntress, I’d follow her into the woods. And yet, so often, she managed to evade me.

But I was patient. I kept an eye on her and kept moving towards her. I kept hunting her, until I caught up with her again. And finally, she I were able to stand together again and let the darkness go.

Are you missing the old you? Where might you go to find her again?

Finding “you” and finding “joy” are topics covered in Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen. Available on Amazon and anywhere books or sold. You can also request the book  from your local library.

At this point in my life, I can truly say I am at peace with not having children. But for a long time there were days when the darkness came over me. Do you know what I mean?

Ordinarily, the darkness was a tiny ball that I carried it around with me wherever I went. It was safely tucked away and I didn’t even notice it. Then something would happen to flip the lid and suddenly the darkness crept into every open space within me.

I got tired of carrying the darkness around and finally I was ready to let it go. I didn’t want to feel bitter or sad about not having children, because honestly, I was okay. But I couldn’t remember who I was any more. When I looked in the mirror I didn’t see me. I saw a woman who looked tired and overweight, and very, very serious about life. She didn’t laugh easily or live with abandon, like the real me used to. She was cautious and unwilling to let herself go. She felt like a square peg in a world full of round holes and it was lonely to live that way.

Our experiences make us who we are, but what happens to who we were? In a universe where energy remains constant, I knew that the old me — the laughing, carefree joyous me — must still have been around. I’d catch glimpses of her sometimes, and like a huntress, I’d follow her into the woods. And yet, so often, she managed to evade me.

But I was patient. I kept an eye on her and kept moving towards her. I kept hunting her, until I caught up with her again. And finally, she I were able to stand together again and let the darkness go.

Are you missing the old you? Where might you go to find her again?

Finding “you” and finding “joy” are topics covered in Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen. Available on Amazon and anywhere books or sold. You can also request the book  from your local library.

Graduation season is upon us and, even though this year is very different for many grads, social media has been abuzz with snapshots of proud parents and their offspring. So it seems like a good time for this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

Feeling left out when friends and relatives celebrate parenting milestones.

As always, your other whines are always welcome.

I’ve been writing and talking a lot about grief—here on the blog, in my fiction, in my personal life, in the novels I’m reading, and in the Life Without Baby book. Even when I got chatting to a stranger on a plane, the conversation turned to the topic of grief.

Over paper cups of tea, this woman—who had lost her brother to suicide—and I talked about how grief stays with us long after we’re “over it”, how the shape of grief changes with time, how it can change us, and how everyone carries around their own personal grief.

My only regret in the discussion is that it didn’t begin sooner on our journey, because I would have liked to hear more about what she had to say on the subject. But eventually we parted ways, she to her office and I to catch another flight, and I didn’t have the opportunity to ask her more about her grief.

So, I’d like to ask you instead.

• How has your grief changed over time?

• How has your loss changed you?

• In what ways has your grief crept out, even when you’ve tried to keep it under wraps?

As a society, we don’t give the topic of grief enough attention. We’re uncomfortable with grieving people, no matter what type of loss they’ve suffered, but it’s especially true when the loss isn’t understood.

So let’s start the conversation now. Let’s talk about this grief. I’d love to hear what you have to say.

A while ago, I asked you to share topic ideas for Whiny Wednesday. Quite a few of you were glad to oblige. Thanks for the great ideas. If you’d like to suggest a topic, please leave it in the comments below.

This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is this:

Other People’s Pity

As always, you’re free to vent on your own topic, too.

A while ago, I asked you to share topic ideas for Whiny Wednesday. Quite a few of you were glad to oblige. Thanks for the great ideas. If you’d like to suggest a topic, please leave it in the comments below.

This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is this:

Other People’s Pity

As always, you’re free to vent on your own topic, too.

When I would tell people I didn’t have children and the topic of infertility came up, they would often ask if I’d considered adoption. Can I tell you how hard it was to keep my sarcasm at bay and to not answer, “Adoption? Really? No, I’d never thought about that. I’m so glad you brought it up.”

But now I’m in a better place I can answer that question easily and in a more friendly and helpful way. I’m doing it today, not for those people who want to make sure I’ve thought of every avenue, but for those of you on this site who might be thinking of adoption and wondering why I didn’t do it.

My answer could be very complex and I could talk about how our adoption options were limited by age and finances, about how much more complicated and heart-wrenching the process was than we’d expected, and about how we didn’t have the emotional strength to risk being matched with a child who could be snatched away again in an instant. But having some distance from that time in my life, I see it more simply now.

We didn’t follow through with adoption because we hadn’t yet dealt with the loss dealt by infertility.

During our adoption training we were warned about the importance of resolving our infertility before diving into this new avenue, but at that time, I didn’t want to hear that. Now I think it was perhaps the most important piece of advice we were given. Adoption isn’t the next logical step on an infertility journey; it’s a step off that road and onto another completely different path. But the infertility journey still needs to be brought to a resolution. You still have to work through that grief.

When we ventured into adoption, we didn’t fully understand this. Perhaps if we’d taken some time to heal first, we might have been better equipped to deal with that wild emotional rollercoaster, but we didn’t, and we weren’t, and that’s the way that story went.

I know that some of you are still weighing your options and making some big decisions. My story is unique to me and my opinion is based solely on my experience, but I hope hearing it helps you.

Mother’s Day was strange this year. Being on lockdown meant not having to navigate many of the usual landmines, but I know that probably did little to make the day easier for you. I hope you made it through the weekend relatively unscathed. So, do tell:

How did Mother’s Day go for you?

How did you handle it? How did it go? What went well? What didn’t? Let us know the good, the bad, and the flat-out ugly.

There are two questions I get asked frequently: How did you come to terms with not having children, and how long did it take?

The answer is something akin to “how long is a piece of string and how many knots can you tie in it?”

If I could write down ten easy steps to making peace with being childless-not-by-choice, I’d do it, but the answer isn’t that simple. Yes, there were many things that happened along the way that helped me make some peace, but it took closer to 10,000 steps than ten.

Writing down my story was hugely cathartic, venting about the injustices on this blog helped, too. Realizing I wasn’t alone in this and that people like you were out there wanting to talk through the minefield has helped immeasurably. Drawing a line in the sand and saying, “This is where that chapter of my life ends and this is where I start healing” also helped. And frankly, telling myself a big fat lie that I was better off not being a mother actually helped me to realize that in many ways I was. Setting new goals, appreciating the benefits of not having kids, and allowing myself to feel bitter and badly treated when I needed to. All these things helped.

I don’t think there’s a formula for working your way through this, and it’s definitely a journey of making forward process and dealing with inevitable setbacks.

As for how long the process takes? How long is that piece of string? It’s been three years for me and I consider myself largely at peace with my situation. I have closed the door on the idea that I will have children someday and most days I’m good with it. Everyday it gets a little better and a little easier. Some days there will be reminders of what I’ve lost and sometimes a flicker of a thought of “what if…”

The truth is, in many ways, I expect this piece of string to go on forever. The experience of infertility has changed me. It is one of the most significant and life-changing events of my life, and I don’t think the repercussions of that will ever stop reverberating. It doesn’t mean I won’t find harmony and even happiness in this new life – I already have – but I don’t expect this journey of coming-to-terms to ever fully end.

Are you facing a life without children and don’t know how to begin making peace with your situation?

Maybe you’re dealing with infertility and you’re out of viable options or options you’re willing to pursue. Or perhaps your window of opportunity for motherhood is closing in front of you and you feel hopelessly lost and alone.

Maybe you feel as if your real life is passing you by as you quest for a life that seems elusive.

I understand how lonely, confusing, and isolating it can be to face a life without children when motherhood has always been in your plans. I know how difficult it can be to walk away from a key chapter in your life, and I’m familiar with the tangle of emotions that can creep up on you when you contemplate taking a different path in life.

I know because I’ve been there, and I’ve come out the other side not just surviving, but thriving in a life I had never planned for myself.

If you wish you could move into a new chapter of your life, but don’t know how to begin, you’ve come to the right place.
Welcome to Life Without Baby.
Here you’ll find resources, support, and most of all, a community of like-minded women who get you.

Wondering where to start?

 Connect with others

First things first: you don’t have to go through this alone.

On the Blog you’ll find articles, stories, and inspiration, and a safe place to share your thoughts and feelings with others.

Start building your own network of supportive and understanding women, ask for and offer support, and make connections with women all over the world.

 Find recommended resources

On the Books page, you’ll find a selection of helpful resources, all recommended by other readers and members of the community.

This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic needs no introduction or explanation, so I’ll just put it out there:

Mother’s Day

This hot-button whine was sent in from one of our readers.

When you read an interview of some celebrity or hear someone say:

“I never knew what love was until I had a child.”

So…is she saying that because I’m childless I’m not capable or “real” love or that I will be denied the experience of the highest expression of love?

Whether this makes your blood boil or cuts you to the core, whine away, sisters!

And if you have another great whine you need to get off your chest this week, here’s the place to let it rip.

Some time ago, a reader commented that she’d had an idea to write a letter to the child she never had, and she asked if I thought it was crazy.

Here’s what I told her (edited slightly to maintain her anonymity):

“Writing a letter isn’t crazy at all. One of the things that makes infertility grief so unique is that there is seldom a finite end to the journey. There’s almost always some option still open and the loss is more of a gradual moving away from the dream, rather than a sudden end. It makes it really hard to acknowledge the end and grieve that loss.

Doing something tangible, such as writing a letter, creates a kind of marker that says, “this is the end.” And the other ladies [in the program] are absolutely right about not being silent. If you need to find a time to be alone, close the door to your room, and just let it all out, do it. It’s exhausting, but it’s amazing how much grief you can purge with a good cry.”

I told her I would write a post on this topic so that you could share your experiences with creating an ending to something that has none. So here it is.

In order to start moving on with your healing process, did you need to create an ending with something symbolic and meaningful to you? Please share any “crazy” ideas that helped you find a stopping place and begin coming to terms with your life without children.

Let’s just say it: Mother’s Day is the nuclear bomb of holidays when you don’t have children. In normal times, it’s a day of brunches, church services, and flowers, when shops, offices, restaurants, and even our social media feeds are filled with celebrations of moms and all things motherhood. To top it all, this holiday has somehow escaped the political correctness cleanup that other holidays have undergone, so while many people are hesitant these days to wish someone a Merry Christmas, lest they offend, no one seems to have any qualms about wishing everyone a Happy Mother’s Day.

This year is bound to be different for many of us who are lockdown, so it’s hard to predict how it will hit us. One thing is for certain, the day won’t go without some sort of fanfare.

It took me a long time to be able to face Mother’s Day, but in more recent years I’ve done something fun for myself on that weekend. A couple of years ago I planned a trapeze class and another year I ran a half marathon at Disneyland. Each year, I’m able to note that the day bothers me less and less, and I use it to mark my own progress. I know that many of you aren’t there yet, and from past experience I know that it pays to face the day prepared.

If you plan to venture out over Mother’s Day weekend (assuming you’re allowed), be ready for almost everyone to wish you a happy Mother’s Day. This includes friends, neighbors, sales assistants, parking attendants, and even complete strangers you pass on your daily permitted exercise. Prepare your arsenal of stock replies and be ready to respond, so you don’t find yourself caught unawares and having to explain why you’re standing in the middle of the street in tears, yelling “It’s not a happy day at all!” to an unsuspecting stranger.  My standard response is to say “Thank you. You too” and move on as quickly as possible.

Once you’re aware of the inevitable challenges the day can bring, it’s good to make a plan to keep yourself protected. If you know you’re not going to be able to make it through the day with your emotions intact, stay at home or make plans to go somewhere away from the biggest challenge spots. If you’re expected to attend a family gathering, even if it’s online, consider if you could take a pass, just this year. Even if the next Mother’s Day is months from now, take a few minutes to jot down the challenges you might face and come up with a plan. How will you spend the day? How will you honor your own mother? And how will you deal with the challenges you can’t avoid?

Do ever feel as if you’re in a constant battle with yourself? So often I make a decision and forge ahead on the path of my choice, only to catch myself looking longingly at another paths and wondering if I ought to have taken them instead. As soon as I make a decision I lose sight of all the things I’ll gain from choosing that path and can only see all that I’ll be losing from walking away from the other paths.

I certainly did that when I chose the “life without children” path.  I knew what I would gain by opting to stop treatments and I knew what I would gain by walking away from the adoption route we were on. I knew that my sanity and my marriage would benefit from that decision, and that I’d claim back the life that was passing me by. But I could also see clearly everything I would lose from walking away from the possibility of motherhood.

I know I made the right choice, and I’m glad I kept walking on my chosen path, but it doesn’t stop me looking back once in a while to see where I might have been.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who was making some difficult life decisions. She talked about the idea of trusting that the path you’re on will take you where you’re supposed to be.

At first glance, this reeks of “everything happens for a reason,” a philosophy that makes me bristle. Personally, I do not believe that I was denied children so that I could take a bigger, more important path instead, or that I wasn’t granted motherhood because it was more than I could handle.  I have an untreatable medical condition; I cannot reproduce; end of story; $#it happens.

And yet I’m intrigued by the idea of trusting the path.

There is no doubt that not having children will take me on a very different path than motherhood; it already has. But what if I stopped fighting that? What if I stopped looking over my shoulder at all that I’ve lost and trusted that the path I’m on will take me where I’m supposed to go? Granted, I might not have much to blog about with my new peaceful self, but perhaps I could just enjoy the journey and see where it takes me.

What do you think about the idea of trusting the path?

This is such a difficult and emotional time for everyone, and I’m not sure there is anyone who isn’t facing some sort of challenge right now. So I wanted to provide a space to talk about the challenges we’re facing as we’re on lockdown, facing the loneliness of social distancing, or perhaps once again feeling marginalized because we don’t have children.

What challenges are you facing in this era of Covid-19?

My apologies for missing last week’s Whiny Wednesday. It wasn’t some cruel April Fool’s joke; I just forgot to hit the “Publish” button!

Often we feel pressure to do something incredible with our lives because we won’t be doing the other “incredible” thing: being mothers.

In the past it’s sparked some healthy discussion, so I thought I’d use it as this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

Feeling the pressure to do something else amazing instead

Let the healthy discussion begin!

A while ago, I shared this beautiful interview with poet Edward Hirsch on the topic of grief. I listened to it again recently, and reread his heartbreaking poem, Gabriel. It moved me just as much as it did the first time.

You may be wondering why an interview with a poet about the death of his son has a place here, but listen carefully to what he says about loss, mourning, and the process of healing. So much of what he has to say is what I’ve also learned about healing from loss.

“There is no right way to grieve, and you have to let people grieve in the way that they can. One of the things that happens to everyone who is grief-stricken, who has lost someone, is there comes a time when everyone else just wants you to get over it, but of course you don’t get over it. You get stronger; you try and live on; you endure; you change; but you don’t get over it. You carry it with you.”

In his 78-page elegy to his son, he writes that mourning is like carrying a bag of cement up a mountain at night. There is no clear path to follow, but when you look around you, you see everyone carrying their own bags of cement.

As a poet, Hirsch used his writing, not as a way to escape grief, but as a way to express what he couldn’t otherwise say. One of the most striking points he makes is on the topic of healing and how our society talks about the need to heal. But, he says, in order to heal, you have to be able to grieve first.

Most of us have faced a lack of understanding about the loss we’ve experienced because we didn’t get to be mothers. We have no place to express that loss, and without facing it and acknowledging it, we don’t get to grieve and we don’t get to heal.

If you’re struggling with loss, have you found a way to express your grief? Even if you’re not a writer, could putting your feelings down in words help you move through your grief? I know it has helped me through mine.

Kathleen sent me this photo forwarded from a friend, and I thought it would make a great Whiny Wednesday topic. So, here you go:

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy, for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;

we must die to one life before we can enter another.”

~ Anatole France

In these strange and scary times, this quote in a book about writing struck a chord with me. It relates to so many things in life, including making peace with a life without children.

One of the hardest stretches of my journey was the space between realizing that our options for building a family were running out, and the point where we made the decision to stop trying. I knew there were options still open, but they were beyond the scope of what Mr. Fab and I were willing to do. At some point we had to make a decision that we would not have children and that we would find a way to be okay with that. It was one of the hardest (and perhaps longest) decisions I’ve ever had to make.

I’m sure you’ve found yourself in this kind of situation in other areas of life, too. You know that you have to take a new direction, that ultimately it will be the right decision, but as France says, in order to do that, we have to leave a part of ourselves behind. Sometime the hardest part is listening to ourselves and not being afraid to make the wrong choice.

My first career was in engineering. I’ve made several career changes since then, trying to find the place in the world where I’d be happy. I’ve found it in writing, but it took me a long time to get here.

Many people can’t understand why, after all those years of college and graduate school, I would abandon a perfectly good and respectable career. I’ll be the first to admit that if I’d just stuck to engineering, I would probably have been more “successful” and definitely would be making more money, maybe own a home and live comfortably, but I know I wouldn’t have been happy. I might have been successful by the conventional definition, but the cost of sticking to a career that didn’t make me happy, just because it’s what was expected of me, didn’t make any sense. But it wasn’t easy to let go of that life and take a risk of finding happiness in another life.

Part of finding happiness is letting go of that which doesn’t make us happy. Although I believed that having children would make me happy, I was miserably unhappy running in circles trying to produce a baby that my body had no interest in creating. I could have gone on trying forever, but the cost to my mental and physical wellbeing would have been enormous. Letting go of that part of my life enabled me to find peace with my new life, even if it’s a life I wasn’t sure I wanted.

Just a reminder that, as Life Without Baby moves into the next stage of its life, the community forum will be closing down on April 8. If you’ve met people you’d like to stay in touch with, now is the time to exchange information.

Often we feel pressure to do something incredible with our lives because we won’t be doing the other “incredible” thing: being mothers.

In the past it’s sparked some healthy discussion, so I thought I’d use it as this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

Feeling the pressure to do something else amazing instead

Let the healthy discussion begin!

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

This simple phrase is the one thing I wish someone had said to me. It would have meant that someone—one person—acknowledged that my inability to have a child was an enormous loss for me and that I needed to grieve that loss, as if my children had existed.

As many of us are now facing a different kind of loss as we adjust to life alongside COVID-19, it’s worth taking a moment to acknowledge that small griefs can trigger our dormant deeper grief, and that the feelings of loss many are experiencing right now can be compounded when we’re dealing with other losses.

So let’s talk a bit about loss and grief.

Where Western Culture Gets It Wrong

In Western culture in particular, most people don’t know how to behave when someone loses a loved one. They follow accepted protocols such as sending cards or flowers. Some may call to offer help or just show up on the doorstep with the ubiquitous tuna casserole. A few will know to give people space when they’re mourning, expect unexpected behavior, and be ready for tears or anger. Still, most people struggle with how to handle those in pain.

Our society also has an unwritten hierarchy of loss. Someone who’s lost a spouse, a child, or a parent is given different allowances to someone who’s lost a boyfriend/girlfriend, a friend, or an elderly relative. Further down the ranking come pets, coworkers, and ex-lovers. Even people who’ve lost houses, jobs, and limbs are allowed a degree of understanding, sympathy, and mourning. But most people have no idea how to react when they can’t see the thing that was lost—in this case, motherhood and all that it encompassed. Many people won’t understand—or even acknowledge—your need to mourn at all.

Intangible Loss

In her 2010 memoir, Spoken from the Heart, former first lady Laura Bush writes about her experience with infertility. “The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence,” she writes. “…For someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like slant, ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?”

The fact is that your children and your idea of motherhood did exist for you. If you had planned on having children, you undoubtedly made room in your life for them. This might have included creating life plans around the assumption that someday kids would be part of that plan. In some cases, making room for children in your life might have included making physical room, perhaps dedicating and even decorating a room in your home that would one day become a nursery, or it may have involved moving to a bigger house or a more family-friendly neighborhood. Did you pick out names for your children? Did you imagine which family members they might take after? Did you fantasize about your daughter winning a Nobel Prize for her research or your son bringing home a gold medal from the Olympics? You probably thought about the kind of mother you wanted to be. You collected data as you went through life, putting check marks through things you observed that you’d do better when you became a mother and striking red lines through the things you’d never do with your children. And you undoubtedly imagined what it would feel like to hold a child that was yours.

Here are some other losses you might be feeling:

• your identity as a woman
• the loss of your dream
• the babies you’ll never get to see and touch
• the vision of your future that you’d painted so clearly
• experiences you could only share with your own children
• the legacy of family traditions and heirlooms
• the rite of passage into adulthood
• being treated like a “real adult” by your family
• making your parents proud grandparents
• fitting in with friends or peers
• your place in society

Your children and your identity as a mother existed and were very real to you. You have experienced a great loss, and the only way to begin coming to terms with that loss is to acknowledge it and mourn it.

This post is excerpted from Lisa’s book, Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen.

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy, for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;

we must die to one life before we can enter another.”

~ Anatole France

In the strange and scary times, I saw this quote in a book about writing, but it struck a chord with me. It relates to so many things in life, including making peace with a life with out children.

One of the hardest stretches of my journey was the space between realizing that our options for building a family were running out, and the point where we made the decision to stop trying. I knew there were options still open, but they were beyond the scope of what Mr. Fab and I were willing to do. At some point we had to make a decision that we would not have children and that we would find a way to be okay with that. It was one of the hardest (and perhaps longest) decisions I’ve ever had to make.

I’m sure you’ve found yourself in this kind of situation in other areas of life, too. You know that you have to take a new direction, that ultimately it will be the right decision, but as France says, in order to do that, we have to leave a part of ourselves behind. Sometime the hardest part is listening to ourselves and not being afraid to make the wrong choice.

My first career was in engineering. I’ve made several career changes since then, trying to find the place in the world where I’d be happy. I’ve found it in writing, but it took me a long time to get here.

Many people can’t understand why, after all those years of college and graduate school, I would abandon a perfectly good and respectable career. I’ll be the first to admit that if I’d just stuck to engineering, I would probably have been more “successful” and definitely would be making more money, maybe own a home and live comfortably, but I know I wouldn’t have been happy. I might have been successful by the conventional definition, but the cost of sticking to a career that didn’t make me happy, just because it’s what was expected of me, didn’t make any sense. But it wasn’t easy to let go of that life and take a risk of finding happiness in another life.

Part of finding happiness is letting go of that which doesn’t make us happy. Although I believed that having children would make me happy, I was miserably unhappy running in circles trying to produce a baby that my body had no interest in creating. I could have gone on trying forever, but the cost to my mental and physical wellbeing would have been enormous. Letting go of that part of my life enabled me to find peace with my new life, even if it’s a life I wasn’t sure I wanted.

I was asked once, by a well-intentioned person, if I thought I’d waited too long to start trying to have children. I have to admit that the thought has flitted across my mind on more than one occasion, but once I stop to think it through, I’m able to answer the question with a resounding “No!”

I remember being completely affronted (and rightly so) by a very conservative college professor who told me that the prime age for women to have children was 18. Of course, looking at a chart of fertility vs. age, I now see that he was correct, even if his suggestion that motherhood might be a more suitable choice than college was extremely misguided.

Looking back at my 18-year-old self, it’s hard to imagine what would have happened if that young woman had become a mother. Yes, I know lots of women do it, and I probably would have too, if I’d had to. But thinking about all the upheavals I’ve put myself through, I just cannot imagine that a child would have benefited from having me as an 18-year-old mother. Maybe (maybe) my supposed topnotch fertility at that age would have enabled me to conceive, but it would have been no guarantee of my suitability as a mother.

The truth is, I have absolutely no idea if I was fertile at 18. I assumed that, like many, many women, I would still be fertile at 34, and look how that turned out. There’s no way of knowing how long ago my body decided it wasn’t up to the task of reproducing, and now I’ll never know.

When I look back at the 18-34 years, they were rocky, but good. I had all kinds of experiences that I couldn’t have had if I’d had children to take care for. I went to college—twice—moved to another continent, traveled to many countries, did volunteer work, had fun but unsuitable relationships, changed careers (more than twice), and got to sample adventures not well-matched to motherhood. I certainly don’t feel as if I wasted those years. I wonder if I’d feel the same if I’d been raising children all those years.

So, no, I don’t feel as if I waited too long. I waited until I was ready, and while I waited, I was busy living my life to the fullest, and I don’t consider that wasted time at all.

A TIME magazine cover story awhile ago, “The Childfree Life,” came with an image of an attractive (and color-coordinated) couple lounging on a tropical, white sand beach, seemingly without a care in the world, resplendent in their designer sunglasses. That image prompted this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

The assumption that if you don’t have kids you have money to burn

 Whine away, my friends.

Dear friends,

This week marks the tenth anniversary of Life Without Baby. When I started this blog to help myself sort through the mess of infertility, I never imagined that, ten years later, I’d have posted more than 1,600 posts, received over 12,000 comments, and become part of an online community of almost 4,000 members. I feel like I’ve got to know so many of you through your comments, emails, and social media posts. I’ve even had the very good fortune to meet some of you in person. I have felt connected to a worldwide group of women who understand me, and I am grateful for the support you’ve given me. 

For ten years, I’ve been writing about letting go of the life we had planned, about working through grief, and moving on to a new chapter in which we can find joy in our lives again. The time has now come for me to practice what I’ve been preaching. It’s time for me to embrace a new chapter in my own life.

2020 has already been a year of huge transition. Mr. Fab took early retirement, we had to say good bye to our beloved fur-baby, Felicity, and in a few weeks’ time, I’ll transition into the second half-century of my life. My professional life is also transitioning, with several very positive changes happening in my writing career (which I promise to tell you about as soon as I’m able.) As a result, my work is now demanding more than my full-time attention. All in all, I’m receiving a clear message from the universe that it is my time to let go and move on.

I have struggled with this decision, because you and this community mean so much to me, but here is the transition you can expect to see over the coming weeks and months.

Firstly, Life Without Baby won’t go away entirely. I plan to maintain the site as-is for the foreseeable future. You will still be able to find old posts and comments when you need to know someone else understands what you’re going through. 

On April 10, the private community forum will close, but I will continue to post new posts on the blog until May 11, the day after Mother’s Day here is the U.S. My last post on that date will include links to what I think are the most helpful posts for different stages of this journey. After that, I will make some small adjustments to the site to make archived resources easy to find, but I won’t be writing new posts on a regular basis. The social media accounts on Facebook and Twitter will remain active for now.

I want to thank you for being with me on this journey. Many of you have written to say how much the site has helped you, but you should know that having you in my trusted community has been a huge help to me too. 

I know several of you have followed me over into my fiction writing and I’m so pleased when I connect with someone from this community over there. Although I write stories about young adult women, the themes of lost dreams, grief, letting go, and finding strength find their way into my fiction work. If you’d like to stay connected, you can find me at LisaManterfield.com. I send out a monthly newsletter from there and am also active on Facebook, Instagram, and sometimes Twitter.

So, before I get over-emotional, I will sign off for now. I still have 15 more posts to write before May 11 and I hope to catch up with you in the comments.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being a part of my world.

Lisa xxx

Dear friends,

This week marks the tenth anniversary of Life Without Baby. When I started this blog to help myself sort through the mess of infertility, I never imagined that, ten years later, I’d have posted more than 1,600 posts, received over 12,000 comments, and become part of an online community of almost 4,000 members. I feel like I’ve got to know so many of you through your comments, emails, and social media posts. I’ve even had the very good fortune to meet some of you in person. I have felt connected to a worldwide group of women who understand me, and I am grateful for the support you’ve given me. 

For ten years, I’ve been writing about letting go of the life we had planned, about working through grief, and moving on to a new chapter in which we can find joy in our lives again. The time has now come for me to practice what I’ve been preaching. It’s time for me to embrace a new chapter in my own life.

2020 has already been a year of huge transition. Mr. Fab took early retirement, we had to say good bye to our beloved fur-baby, Felicity, and in a few weeks’ time, I’ll transition into the second half-century of my life. My professional life is also transitioning, with several very positive changes happening in my writing career (which I promise to tell you about as soon as I’m able.) As a result, my work is now demanding more than my full-time attention. All in all, I’m receiving a clear message from the universe that it is my time to let go and move on.

I have struggled with this decision, because you and this community mean so much to me, but here is the transition you can expect to see over the coming weeks and months.

Firstly, Life Without Baby won’t go away entirely. I plan to maintain the site as-is for the foreseeable future. You will still be able to find old posts and comments when you need to know someone else understands what you’re going through. 

On April 10, the private community forum will close, but I will continue to post new posts on the blog until May 11, the day after Mother’s Day here is the U.S. My last post on that date will include links to what I think are the most helpful posts for different stages of this journey. After that, I will make some small adjustments to the site to make archived resources easy to find, but I won’t be writing new posts on a regular basis. The social media accounts on Facebook and Twitter will remain active for now.

I want to thank you for being with me on this journey. Many of you have written to say how much the site has helped you, but you should know that having you in my trusted community has been a huge help to me too. 

I know several of you have followed me over into my fiction writing and I’m so pleased when I connect with someone from this community over there. Although I write stories about young adult women, the themes of lost dreams, grief, letting go, and finding strength find their way into my fiction work. If you’d like to stay connected, you can find me at LisaManterfield.com. I send out a monthly newsletter from there and am also active on Facebook, Instagram, and sometimes Twitter.

So, before I get over-emotional, I will sign off for now. I still have 15 more posts to write before May 11 and I hope to catch up with you in the comments.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being a part of my world.

Lisa xxx

A friend of mine went through infertility hell a few years ago. When we learned of one another’s journeys, we were both glad to have an empathetic shoulder to lean on.

Then she became a mother, and developed infertility amnesia.

I’m not begrudging her the celebrations, the constant Facebook posts, or the incessant parenting talk. I get it; I’m sure I’d do the same in her situation. But the final straw came last week.

A group of us gets together about once a year and we’re starting to plan for this year. We usually go out for dinner, or bowling, or drinks and dancing. Several of us in the group don’t have children and those who do are always glad for a childfree night of adult fun.

This year, the new mom suggested we change things up and do something family-oriented and include the kids. “Maybe a beach picnic or Disneyland.” I kid you not.

Thankfully one of the other parents shot the idea down, but I had to wonder how she would have felt five years ago, in the thick of her infertility hell, if someone had made this same suggestion.

She would have felt excluded and she would have been upset. Which is just how I felt when I got her email.

Today is Whiny Wednesday. Who or what has done you wrong this week?

This is a hot Whiny Wednesday topic and I’m sure you’ve all heard this at some point. I’d love to hear your thoughts:

“Why don’t you just adopt?”

Spring has almost sprung and, as usual, I find myself in a cleaning and decluttering frenzy.

I’ve made trips to the thrift store with bags of clothes that are too big, too small, or just plain ugly. I’ve purged my kitchen of all those “good idea” gadgets, rusted cake pans, and broken plates that I’ll get around to gluing “someday.” I’ve even parted with a box full of books, which is a big give-up for me. And I’ve been eyeing the curtains in my living room and thinking about throwing them in the washer.

I go through this every year and find it very therapeutic. But in the past, it’s also been a dangerous pursuit, fraught with emotional landmines.

One year, while rummaging through a rarely used cupboard, I came across some baby-related stuff. I’d been getting rid of all those things bit-by-bit, and I was fairly sure they were all gone. So it was a deflating moment when I unearthed some items that had slipped through the net.

This find was particularly difficult, as it was the glossy information packet we received from our first fertility clinic. It had a picture of a beautiful glowing baby on the front and was filled with encouraging stories, happy family photos, and explanations as to how the expert team would help us build the family of our dreams. Inside I found test results, ovulation charts, and notes written in my own handwriting, reminding me of where I’d been. The whole thing reeked of hope and it stirred up some of those old emotions.

To my credit, I ditched the whole thing without getting upset. I didn’t keep one scrap of paper. There was another, similar item in the cupboard, too, but now I can’t even remember what it was, because I tossed that out as well.

After that, I went to my bookshelves and pulled out the Knitting for Two book I’d been keeping. In addition to the maternity cardigan I started (that was still somewhere in the house) I’d actually used the book to knit a sweater for a friend’s baby. I only did it once, because it was so painful, and I realized that it was part of the hair shirt I chose to wear for a while, when I was forcing myself to be around other people’s babies, and to be “genuinely happy” about pregnancy announcements. This was long before I figured out my need to grieve and heal, so that I could genuinely be happy for someone else’s news. At that time, I had opted to torture myself by knitting from my baby’s book. So out it went.

My purging of baby stuff was a gradual process. At first, I couldn’t get rid of anything. After a while I threw out the assorted test kits, and the doctor info, moving slowly towards throwing out baby clothes (and even a maternity top a friend had given me.) The fertility and pregnancy books went next, and so it continued.

I’ve no doubt that there will be other landmines scattered around my house, even now, and that they’ll come to the surface some day, but now I know I can handle them. And I know I can throw them away with no (or little) love lost.

You’ve probably noticed that there are triggers all around—at the mall, in the mail, on TV, in the streets. So this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is this:

Being caught in public by surprise feelings of loss or grief

 Whine away, my friends.

If you feel like you’re alone on this journey, I have some good news for you. 

Today I am helping Jody Day of Gateway Women kick off a blog tour for the release of the second edition of her excellent book, Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children. Between now and March 19, the book’s publication day in the U.K., the tour will visit twenty-four blogs around the world, each with its own community of childless and women men.

Twenty-four! 

That statistic by itself makes me feel less alone. We, my friends, are no longer lurking in the shadows. We are out there finding one another and traveling along this bumpy path together.

And here are some more statistics to give you hope. In the updated resources section of this new edition, Jody lists:        

• 30 recommended resources, including organizations, websites, and support groups around the world
• 22 active blogs, including many new ones since the 2016 edition
• 15 pages of recommended books covering topics, such as:
  • the Single & Childless Experience
  • Midlife & Elderhood as a Childless Woman
  • Understanding and Supporting Your Grief
  • Forgiving Your Body
  • Meaning, Purpose, Happiness & Choices
  • Resources for LGBTQIA+ and Women of Color
  • Childless Men

Often on this blog, I try to emphasize that you are not alone. I hope these resources and statistics will help validate that for you, and give you some new places to find information, support and compassion.

Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children comes out on March 19, and Jody has kindly offered a copy of the book for me to give away. Just post a comment below and I’ll select one commenter at random on March 19.

You can also enter to win at the other blog stops on the tour. You can find the complete list of tour stops here. The links will be updated as the posts go live

If you’d like to support Jody and her work and guarantee your very own copy of the book, you can pre-order a copy from here.

Pre-order here

‘The book to recommend to patients when they face coming to terms with unavoidable childlessness.’ British Medical Journal

In Living the Life Unexpected, Jody Day addresses the experience of involuntary childlessness and provides a powerful, practical guide to help those negotiating a future without children come to terms with their grief; a grief that is only just beginning to be recognised by society.

This friendly, practical, humorous and honest guide from one of the world’s most respected names in childless support offers compassion and understanding and shows how it’s possible to move towards a creative, happy, meaningful and fulfilling future – even if it’s not the one you had planned.

Millions of people are now living a life without children, almost double that of a generation ago and the numbers are rising still. Although some are childfree by choice, many others are childless due to infertility or circumstance and are struggling to come to terms with their uncertain future. Although most people think that those without children either ‘couldn’t’ or ‘didn’t want’ to be parents, the truth is much more complex.

Jody Day was forty-four when she realized that her quest to be a mother was at an end. She presumed that she was through the toughest part, but over the next couple of years she was hit by waves of grief, despair and isolation. Eventually she found her way and in 2011 created Gateway Women, the global friendship and support network for childless women which has now helped almost two million people worldwide.

This edition, previously titled Rocking the Life Unexpected, has been extensively revised and updated, with significant additional content and case studies from forty involuntarily childless people (mostly women) from around the world.

And finally, if you’re looking for Mother’s Day support this year, Jody will be doing a webinar. 

Free ‘Coping with Mother’s Day’ Webinar – Jody Day & Guests – Sat 14th March, 5pm GMT 

This free webinar will be recorded and available to view/share on the Gateway Women website afterwards. We’re looking at the ways different experiences of childlessness and Mother’s Day can painfully intersect, offering insight, support and self-care tips.

Sign up here.

If you feel like you’re alone on this journey, I have some good news for you. 

Today I am helping Jody Day of Gateway Women kick off a blog tour for the release of the second edition of her excellent book, Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children. Between now and March 19, the book’s publication day in the U.K., the tour will visit twenty-four blogs around the world, each with its own community of childless and women men.

Twenty-four! 

That statistic by itself makes me feel less alone. We, my friends, are no longer lurking in the shadows. We are out there finding one another and traveling along this bumpy path together.

And here are some more statistics to give you hope. In the updated resources section of this new edition, Jody lists:        

• 30 recommended resources, including organizations, websites, and support groups around the world
• 22 active blogs, including many new ones since the 2016 edition
• 15 pages of recommended books covering topics, such as:
  • the Single & Childless Experience
  • Midlife & Elderhood as a Childless Woman
  • Understanding and Supporting Your Grief
  • Forgiving Your Body
  • Meaning, Purpose, Happiness & Choices
  • Resources for LGBTQIA+ and Women of Color
  • Childless Men

Often on this blog, I try to emphasize that you are not alone. I hope these resources and statistics will help validate that for you, and give you some new places to find information, support and compassion.

Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children comes out on March 19, and Jody has kindly offered a copy of the book for me to give away. Just post a comment below and I’ll select one commenter at random on March 19.

You can also enter to win at the other blog stops on the tour. You can find the complete list of tour stops here. The links will be updated as the posts go live

If you’d like to support Jody and her work and guarantee your very own copy of the book, you can pre-order a copy from here.

Pre-order here

‘The book to recommend to patients when they face coming to terms with unavoidable childlessness.’ British Medical Journal

In Living the Life Unexpected, Jody Day addresses the experience of involuntary childlessness and provides a powerful, practical guide to help those negotiating a future without children come to terms with their grief; a grief that is only just beginning to be recognised by society.

This friendly, practical, humorous and honest guide from one of the world’s most respected names in childless support offers compassion and understanding and shows how it’s possible to move towards a creative, happy, meaningful and fulfilling future – even if it’s not the one you had planned.

Millions of people are now living a life without children, almost double that of a generation ago and the numbers are rising still. Although some are childfree by choice, many others are childless due to infertility or circumstance and are struggling to come to terms with their uncertain future. Although most people think that those without children either ‘couldn’t’ or ‘didn’t want’ to be parents, the truth is much more complex.

Jody Day was forty-four when she realized that her quest to be a mother was at an end. She presumed that she was through the toughest part, but over the next couple of years she was hit by waves of grief, despair and isolation. Eventually she found her way and in 2011 created Gateway Women, the global friendship and support network for childless women which has now helped almost two million people worldwide.

This edition, previously titled Rocking the Life Unexpected, has been extensively revised and updated, with significant additional content and case studies from forty involuntarily childless people (mostly women) from around the world.

And finally, if you’re looking for Mother’s Day support this year, Jody will be doing a webinar. 

Free ‘Coping with Mother’s Day’ Webinar – Jody Day & Guests – Sat 14th March, 5pm GMT 

This free webinar will be recorded and available to view/share on the Gateway Women website afterwards. We’re looking at the ways different experiences of childlessness and Mother’s Day can painfully intersect, offering insight, support and self-care tips.  Sign up here.

If you feel like you’re alone on this journey, I have some good news for you. 

Today I am helping Jody Day of Gateway Women kick off a blog tour for the release of the second edition of her excellent book, Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children. Between now and March 19, the book’s publication day in the U.K., the tour will visit twenty-four blogs around the world, each with its own community of childless and women men.

Twenty-four! 

That statistic by itself makes me feel less alone. We, my friends, are no longer lurking in the shadows. We are out there finding one another and traveling along this bumpy path together.

And here are some more statistics to give you hope. In the updated resources section of this new edition, Jody lists:        

• 30 recommended resources, including organizations, websites, and support groups around the world
• 22 active blogs, including many new ones since the 2016 edition
• 15 pages of recommended books covering topics, such as:
  • the Single & Childless Experience
  • Midlife & Elderhood as a Childless Woman
  • Understanding and Supporting Your Grief
  • Forgiving Your Body
  • Meaning, Purpose, Happiness & Choices
  • Resources for LGBTQIA+ and Women of Color
  • Childless Men

Often on this blog, I try to emphasize that you are not alone. I hope these resources and statistics will help validate that for you, and give you some new places to find information, support and compassion.

Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children comes out on March 19, and Jody has kindly offered a copy of the book for me to give away. Just post a comment below and I’ll select one commenter at random on March 19.

You can also enter to win at the other blog stops on the tour. You can find the complete list of tour stops here. The links will be updated as the posts go live

If you’d like to support Jody and her work and guarantee your very own copy of the book, you can pre-order a copy from here.

Pre-order here

‘The book to recommend to patients when they face coming to terms with unavoidable childlessness.’ British Medical Journal

In Living the Life Unexpected, Jody Day addresses the experience of involuntary childlessness and provides a powerful, practical guide to help those negotiating a future without children come to terms with their grief; a grief that is only just beginning to be recognised by society.

This friendly, practical, humorous and honest guide from one of the world’s most respected names in childless support offers compassion and understanding and shows how it’s possible to move towards a creative, happy, meaningful and fulfilling future – even if it’s not the one you had planned.

Millions of people are now living a life without children, almost double that of a generation ago and the numbers are rising still. Although some are childfree by choice, many others are childless due to infertility or circumstance and are struggling to come to terms with their uncertain future. Although most people think that those without children either ‘couldn’t’ or ‘didn’t want’ to be parents, the truth is much more complex.

Jody Day was forty-four when she realized that her quest to be a mother was at an end. She presumed that she was through the toughest part, but over the next couple of years she was hit by waves of grief, despair and isolation. Eventually she found her way and in 2011 created Gateway Women, the global friendship and support network for childless women which has now helped almost two million people worldwide.

This edition, previously titled Rocking the Life Unexpected, has been extensively revised and updated, with significant additional content and case studies from forty involuntarily childless people (mostly women) from around the world.

And finally, if you’re looking for Mother’s Day support this year, Jody will be doing a webinar this year. 

Free ‘Coping with Mother’s Day’ Webinar – Jody Day & Guests – Sat 14th March, 5pm GMT 

This free webinar will be recorded and available to view/share on the Gateway Women website afterwards. We’re looking at the ways different experiences of childlessness and Mother’s Day can painfully intersect, offering insight, support and self-care tips.  Sign up here.

If you feel like you’re alone on this journey, I have some good news for you. 

Today I am helping Jody Day of Gateway Women kick off a blog tour for the release of the second edition of her excellent book, Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children. Between now and March 19, the book’s publication day in the U.K., the tour will visit twenty-four blogs around the world, each with its own community of childless and women men.

Twenty-four! 

That statistic by itself makes me feel less alone. We, my friends, are no longer lurking in the shadows. We are out there finding one another and traveling along this bumpy path together.

And here are some more statistics to give you hope. In the updated resources section of this new edition, Jody lists:        

• 30 recommended resources, including organizations, websites, and support groups around the world
• 22 active blogs, including many new ones since the 2016 edition
• 15 pages of recommended books covering topics, such as:
  • the Single & Childless Experience
  • Midlife & Elderhood as a Childless Woman
  • Understanding and Supporting Your Grief
  • Forgiving Your Body
  • Meaning, Purpose, Happiness & Choices
  • Resources for LGBTQIA+ and Women of Color
  • Childless Men

Often on this blog, I try to emphasize that you are not alone. I hope these resources and statistics will help validate that for you, and give you some new places to find information, support and compassion.

Living the Life Unexpected: How to Find Hope, Meaning and a Fulfilling Future Without Children comes out on March 19, and Jody has kindly offered a copy of the book for me to give away. Just post a comment below and I’ll select one commenter at random on March 19.

You can also enter to win at the other blog stops on the tour. You can find the complete list of tour stops here. The links will be updated as the posts go live

If you’d like to support Jody and her work and guarantee your very own copy of the book, you can pre-order a copy from here.

Pre-order here

‘The book to recommend to patients when they face coming to terms with unavoidable childlessness.’ British Medical Journal

In Living the Life Unexpected, Jody Day addresses the experience of involuntary childlessness and provides a powerful, practical guide to help those negotiating a future without children come to terms with their grief; a grief that is only just beginning to be recognised by society.

This friendly, practical, humorous and honest guide from one of the world’s most respected names in childless support offers compassion and understanding and shows how it’s possible to move towards a creative, happy, meaningful and fulfilling future – even if it’s not the one you had planned.

Millions of people are now living a life without children, almost double that of a generation ago and the numbers are rising still. Although some are childfree by choice, many others are childless due to infertility or circumstance and are struggling to come to terms with their uncertain future. Although most people think that those without children either ‘couldn’t’ or ‘didn’t want’ to be parents, the truth is much more complex.

Jody Day was forty-four when she realized that her quest to be a mother was at an end. She presumed that she was through the toughest part, but over the next couple of years she was hit by waves of grief, despair and isolation. Eventually she found her way and in 2011 created Gateway Women, the global friendship and support network for childless women which has now helped almost two million people worldwide.

This edition, previously titled Rocking the Life Unexpected, has been extensively revised and updated, with significant additional content and case studies from forty involuntarily childless people (mostly women) from around the world.

And finally, if you’re looking for Mother’s Day support this year, Jody will be doing a webinar this year. 

Free ‘Coping with Mother’s Day’ Webinar – Jody Day & Guests – Sat 14th March, 5pm GMT 

This free webinar will be recorded and available to view/share on the Gateway Women website afterwards. We’re looking at the ways different experiences of childlessness and Mother’s Day can painfully intersect, offering insight, support and self-care tips.  Sign up here.

We could easily compile an entire encyclopedia of unhelpful, and even hurtful, things people have said to us. I think this one stings as much as any:

“Everything Happens for a Reason”

Do you agree? Or do you have your own favorite “helpful” slight?

“I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.”

~Anaïs Nin

There’s an idea going around that not having children somehow makes us “less of a woman.” I don’t subscribe to this idea.

As this quote by author Anaïs Nin states, I am many, many women, and “mother” is only one element of me.

I am a writer, friend, wife, cat mama, reader, thinker, curser, fighter, nature-lover, spider catcher, traveler, cook, gardener, daughter.

All these women are fluid. They ebb and flow in me as needed. And when one of them isn’t able to fulfill her purpose, the others quickly rally to fill the gap, so I am always whole.

I am never less of a woman.

Most people in my life were supportive when I told them about my decision to end my quest for motherhood. But there were some who didn’t want me to quit. They kept offering unsolicited advice and stories of other people’s miracles, when what I really needed from them was a kind and understanding word.

So this week’s whine topic is:

People who won’t let you quit

Happy whining!

My friend Paula turned 50 last year. It’s been more than a decade since she and her husband realized it was time to accept that they wouldn’t have children. For ten years she’s been working through the mess—the grief, the anger, the sadness, the despair, the big, big question of “what am I am going to do now that I won’t be a mother?” And because her older brother was a confirmed bachelor, Paula also felt pressure from her parents to produce a grandchild, even though they never said it out loud.

But that was a long time ago. If you ask Paula now, she’ll tell you she’s “cured.” She’ll tell you that, most days, she doesn’t think about the fact that she’s childless. She and her husband travel, they have a broad circle of friends, she’s been able to hop on career opportunities that would have been difficult with small children. She enjoys her friends’ children and she enjoys handing them back to their parents. In her candid moments, she’ll say her life worked out better than she’d expected and might not have been so great if she’d had the children she once so desperately desired.

Life is pretty good for Paula.

And then her brother fell in love, married, and shortly thereafter announced he would become a father. Paula called me in tears. She was utterly blindsided by her tearful reaction.

“I thought I was over this,” she said. “I wouldn’t swap places with my brother for anything. A newborn at 53? Nightmare.”

She told me her parents were over the moon, that her mother was telling everyone that she was going to be a grandma. “At last,” she told people, giving Paula a meaningful look.

“At last?” Paula said to her father. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And that’s when her dad opened up. He admitted how “difficult” all this waiting and longing had been for them. He’d felt left out too, he told her.

She understood, but his confession found its way deep inside Paula, to that one small dark spot that had yet to heal, and poured salt into all those old—and now reopened—wounds. The guilt and shame that consumed her in that moment was overwhelming, and the tremendous weight of that was part of what took her by surprise. Her brother had made her aging parents happy, had given them the thing she couldn’t. The family torch had been passed and it wouldn’t be to Paula.

When I talked to Paula again a couple of weeks later, she assured me that she was going to be okay. She said a part of her was looking forward to being an aunt and that her big grown-up self was happy for her brother and her parents.

“But,” she added, “people always ask how long it takes to get over not being a mother. I always thought seven or eight years was about right, but now I think maybe the answer is ‘never.’”

Although my relationship with Mr. Fab survived our infertility, Valentine’s Day has become another holiday that’s lost its luster. For the most part, we ignore it.

I know it can be a difficult day (or week) for many of you, so even though it’s a little late, this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is:

Valentine’s Day

And, by the way, if you have any tips for how you approach this day, please share it here for readers who might be struggling.

Valentine’s Day can be challenging, full of triggers and missed experiences and what-ifs. So as thoughts turn to love this week, I want to ask you the same question I ask every year around this time:

“What are three things you love about yourself?”

A friend asked me this once, and I was shocked to find myself stumbling over my answer. I couldn’t even name one thing.

I think many us (especially we women) were raised to be modest, not boastful. We often have no problem telling someone else what we admire in them, but can’t then turn the spotlight on ourselves. And even when we do, we can so often point out all the areas for improvement rather than the good things we see in ourselves.

Fortunately for me, my friend is persistent, and she wouldn’t let me off the hook. So here are three things I love about myself:

1. 1. 1. I’m honest.
      2. I will always stick up for the underdog.
      3. I am not a quitter.

So I challenge you now. What are three things you love about yourself?

Parenting is undoubtedly a tough job that comes with a lot of responsibility, but is it the hardest job in the world. Really?

This throwaway comment is the topic of Whiny Wednesday this week. What are your feelings on this?

“Parenting is the hardest job in the world”

I do hope this isn’t simply a factor of aging, but lately I seem to have lost my ability to keep track of time. I was always so good at remembering things like how many years ago we visited such-and-such a place, or where we spent Christmas four years ago. But the last several years of my life have suddenly blurred into one big event. I can no longer accurately mark time.

Over lunch with a friend recently, we talked about her daughter and both expressed shock that she is already 16. How the years fly! We talked about another friend who has since moved away and how vividly we remember going to see her new baby so many years ago. I realized that I have no idea how old this little boy is now. I guessed he was probably somewhere around 10 or 12, but my friend knew exactly. “He’s two years younger than my daughter. He’ll be 14 in March.” I felt guilty that I didn’t remember that.

Walking home after lunch, it dawned on me that my time amnesia might have a lot to do with not having children. My friend is reminded on a daily basis of how old her children are. She marks the passing of time with birthday parties, school grades, and childhood milestones. She knows how long ago something happened, because she knows how old her kids were, or what grade they were in at the time. She knows how old our friend’s son is because she remembers where she was on her motherhood path when our friend was pregnant. I don’t have that marker and so I have to try to fill in the gaps with other events, or news headlines to mark time in my memory. But unless something significant happened, I don’t have those milestones to grasp onto.

Without children to mark time and propel my life forward, I can see how easy it could be to drift through the years. Children create milestones and new direction and, while I’m not in any danger of falling into a rut yet, I can see how easily my life could lose direction.

Maybe I’ve just hit by a patch of melancholy again, so does anyone else see this? Do any of you feel as if your life is drifting by?

Some years ago, a young relative asked why I didn’t have children. I gave him an explanation that was honest, while also being appropriate for a young boy.

And then he asked me, “But won’t you be lonely?”

To this I responded that I had Mr. Fab and that I’d be fine. But actually, I think he may have hit a nerve, because even though I value the quiet time I have, sometimes it can feel a little lonely.

It’s Whiny Wednesday, what truths have hit a nerve with you?

I love the Internet for the breadth and depth of information it provides, and for the opportunity to read so many varying opinions on one subject. But sometimes I just have to walk away.

Case in point, I was doing research for a post and came across the following comment on an article:

“I take care of my parents. My children will take care of me. You want to force my children to take care of you too, meanwhile you arrogantly and selfishly live a much richer life style. Frankly, every GINK I’ve met was an arrogant, self-righteous, elitist. You should apologize for not adding to the future of our race.”

So after I ranted to myself about not expecting anyone else’s kids to take care of me, how our race of almost 7 billion people doesn’t need much adding to, and how narrow-minded this woman was to tar us all with the same “arrogant, self-righteous, elitist” brush, I stomped off and took a long, hot shower.

This woman was clearly on a mission (she posted about half a dozen comments to the same article) and I can’t believe I let her anger get under my skin.

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What’s under your skin today?

I have a large scar on my left knee. It has black lines of grit in it, and smooth patches of scar tissue that catch the light on an otherwise rough patch of skin.

My scar is 30 years old and I don’t think about it very often anymore. It doesn’t hurt, even when I poke it, and the wound that caused it healed long ago.

But if I think back to the day I got my scar, all the memories and the pain come flooding back. I remember the bike accident. I remember riding through the trees on a gorgeous sunny day, laughing with my friends and flirting with a boy I liked. I remember trying to get his attention and catching my front wheel on his back tire. I don’t recall sailing through the air, but I must have done, because I do remember skidding along the trail, trading bits of knee for bits of trail.

I remember sitting in the bath at home and crying as my mum tried to clean the wound. And I remember my older brother—a bit of an expert on injuries and scars—gently coaxing me to scrub out the grit or be left with a terrible scar.

I also have a vague recollection of a discussion among adults (not my parents) about plastic surgery and what a shame it would be if a “pretty girl” was disfigured by an ugly scar.

It all happened so long ago, but dredging up these memories can bring back all that pain, my embarrassment, the tenderness of my brother, the feeling that my scar would make me “less than” I could have been. I can feel all of it again as if it had happened in more recent memory.

Emotional Scars

I feel this way about my infertility and childlessness, too. Most days, I don’t think about it anymore. But lately I’ve been writing about grief and loss, and some of those awful feelings of sadness, anger, and deep, deep loss have been coming back to me.

It’s taught me that the healing process for emotional scars is much the same as for physical scars.

You have to suffer some terrible pain to clean the wound. You have to struggle through the initial all-consuming grief. You have to ask for support from people who might not know how to give it. You have to walk again, even if every step is agony. You’ll meet people who will see you as damaged and less than you could have been, because you no longer fit into their ideal of perfect.

But over time the healing begins. You’ll knock your healing wound a few times and break it open again. In one particularly unfortunate incident, you’ll fall on the same wound and end up with a double scar. But you’ll remember how much you loved riding a bike and you’ll take it up again. And you’ll meet new people, who don’t care whether you have one ugly knee, because they’re more interested in some other facet of who you are. And you’ll realize that being a “pretty girl” wasn’t what you were destined to be anyway, and you’re happy being an outdoorsy girl who’s accumulated a multitude of scars since then.

And when you’re shaving your legs (which is trickier because of the scar) you might sometimes recall how you got the scar and the pain you went through. But most days, you won’t even think about.

Having a big scar on my knee means I never got the opportunity to be a leg model, but I got to be so many other things instead, things that have made my life journey quite interesting. My infertility scar is much newer than my knee scar, but it is healing in ways I couldn’t have imagined when it was new and raw. And the things I never got to do or be have left room for so many other opportunities.

I’ve been spending more time than usual alone lately and it’s not good for my head. I’m beginning to talk to myself and some of those conversations aren’t good.

When I’m busy working, my brain and I get along just fine, but in the evenings, when I’m padding around the kitchen making dinner, doing dishes, or folding laundry, the conversations start.

You know the ones I mean. I pick up an issue that’s been bothering me, something someone said that stung, or some other injustice or conflict that’s gone unresolved. Then I set about solving the problem, confronting the offender, and getting into a big fight in my head. (Please tell me I’m not the only person that does this.)

Usually I gravitate towards the worst case scenario. I end up working myself into a lather over something that hasn’t happened, and may never happen.

Finally, I have to remind myself that my body can’t tell the difference between real conflict and imagined, and so it’s busy pumping all those stress hormones out into my blood stream, which isn’t doing my health any good. That’s usually enough to stop the arguments – at least for a while.

I used to do this a lot when I was busy beating myself up over infertility, trying to figure out why it happened – or more to the point, what I had done to make it happen to me. I’d think of all the choices I’d made along the way and imagine if I’d started earlier and had children with someone who wasn’t right for me, instead of waiting so long for Mr. Fab. Does any of this sound familiar?

Once you get that negative self-talk going, it’s easy to convince yourself of all kinds of things that aren’t true. And is that really going to help the healing process? Probably not. More likely it’s just going to create more stress and give you wrinkles.

So today, as you’re going about your business, listen to what you’re telling yourself. We all have plenty of real conflict in our lives; let’s not add to it by creating more in our heads.

Here’s a good article that explains more about the science of self-talk.

This topic came up in the community forums a while back and it’s one that I see over and over again. As I settle into the New Year, I’m thinking about my upcoming (and some overdue) health check-ups—teeth, eyes, and, of course, the annual visit to my OB/GYN. The latter prompted this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

OB/GYN office walls plastered with baby photos

Given that this is so often the first of many stops on the fertility trail, and given that so many of us don’t have children, but wanted them, doesn’t this seem a tad insensitive?

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What’s under your skin this week?

How do you know when it’s time to stop pursuing your dreams of motherhood? How do you know when enough is enough, when you have to reclaim your life and make new plans? It’s not a simple question to answer.

There were several moments that I wrote about in detail in I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home. These were moments when I knew, deep down, that I had to stop treatment and had to find a way to move on without children.

The first was when I was sitting at a bus stop on my way home from my third doctor appointment of the week. I realized that getting pregnant had become a full-time job and that it was consuming every aspect of my life. Case in point, I don’t even remember why I was taking the bus (two buses, actually) to my appointments, but I do remember that this had become my habit. I can picture myself now, staring out the bus window, almost in a trance, so wrapped up my world of infertility, I was barely aware of my actions. I knew then I had lost touch with reality and myself.

Another point came not long after Mr. Fab realized that adoption wasn’t going to be a viable option for us. This really should have been the stopping point, but before long I found myself in the infertility section of the bookstore, browsing a book by a doctor who had performed fertility miracles through Chinese Medicine. I bought the book, even though we’d already traveled far down that road. When I mentioned it to Mr. Fab, he said all the right, supportive things, but I saw his face drop for a moment. I knew that he was wrung out, that he had reached the end of his journey, and that I should have been at the end of mine, too. But by the end of that week, I had an appointment with the miracle doctor and I was back on the bus, both literally and figuratively.

One of my last lightbulb moments came when Mr. Fab’s first grandchild was born. That passing of the motherhood torch to the next generation served to tell me that it was time for my journey to end. I had done all I could, motherhood wasn’t going to happen for me, and I had to let it go.

In between these events, and even after I was sure I would not be a mother, there were many moments of doubt, of second-guessing, of what-ifs. But for every step backwards, I took two steps forward toward recovery, and then three, and then four, until the backward slips became fewer and eventually stopped.

I imagine each of you has a similar story of realization and doubts. What were your “lightbulb” moments and how did you finally know it was time to stop?

As the New Year begins and everyone around you is posting about goals for the year ahead, do you find it hard to envision a future that doesn’t include children?

This is the topic for this week’s Whiny Wednesday:

Feeling lost

Tell us what’s going on with you.

Well, here we are in 2020, and I think it’s safe to say that most of us are ready to see the back of last year. Between political craziness, tragic news stories, and a general feeling of uneasiness in the world, I’m ready for a fresh start.

I do love the New Year for the potential it brings in terms of a clean slate and the chance to make big changes. And yet, in the past, I’ve ended up putting pressure on myself to fix all the things that are wrong with me. My goals have included losing weight, exercising more, doing a better job of keeping in touch with people, and on and on—a long list of things I’m doing wrong.

But a couple of years ago, I started to change my outlook. Instead of treating myself like something broken that needed fixing, I began looking for my potential and making progress with the things I’m doing right. Last week, I wrote a post about it, Looking for Potential. Do take a look as I think you’ll find it a kinder, gentler way of approaching the New Year.

So, as we go into this year, I want to encourage you to be kind to yourself, too. Instead of trying to fix a laundry list of shortcomings, perhaps you could look for where you’ve made progress over the last year and focus your energy there.

For example, let’s say you have a friend who you’ve avoided because her children are the same ages yours would have been and you can’t bear to see her. Maybe you ran into her last year and realized you’ve missed her company. Could you set a goal to reach out to her, give her a call or send a quick email note, maybe broach the topic of getting together?

Or perhaps you’ve been reading this blog for a while or working your way through my, or someone else’s, book and you’ve hit a spot where you feel stuck. Maybe a goal would be to find a therapist, counsellor, or support group and get some additional help.

This healing process takes time. Oh, man, does it take time! But progress is made by inching forward a little at a time. So, don’t try to take giant steps forward. Instead, be kind to yourself and take the tiniest, most doable step possible, something you can actually accomplish and feel good about.

How could you inch forward on your journey this year? What’s the smallest, no-sweat step you could take? Let us know in the comments, and if you need a little encouragement to take it, just ask.

For now, I wish for you a genuinely happy new year.

Well, here we are in 2020, and I think it’s safe to say that most of us are ready to see the back of last year. Between political craziness, tragic news stories, and a general feeling of uneasiness in the world, I’m ready for a fresh start.

I do love the New Year for the potential it brings in terms of a clean slate and the chance to make big changes. And yet, in the past, I’ve ended up putting pressure on myself to fix all the things that are wrong with me. My goals have included losing weight, exercising more, doing a better job of keeping in touch with people, and on and on—a long list of things I’m doing wrong.

But a couple of years ago, I started to change my outlook. Instead of treating myself like something broken that needed fixing, I began looking for my potential and making progress with the things I’m doing right. Last week, I wrote a post about it, Looking for Potential. Do take a look as I think you’ll find it a kinder, gentler way of approaching the New Year.

So, as we go into this year, I want to encourage you to be kind to yourself, too. Instead of trying to fix a laundry list of shortcomings, perhaps you could look for where you’ve made progress over the last year and focus your energy there.

For example, let’s say you have a friend who you’ve avoided because her children are the same ages yours would have been and you can’t bear to see her. Maybe you ran into her last year and realized you’ve missed her company. Could you set a goal to reach out to her, give her a call or send a quick email note, maybe broach the topic of getting together?

Or perhaps you’ve been reading this blog for a while or working your way through my, or someone else’s, book and you’ve hit a spot where you feel stuck. Maybe a goal would be to find a therapist, counsellor, or support group and get some additional help.

This healing process takes time. Oh, man, does it take time! But progress is made by inching forward a little at a time. So, don’t try to take giant steps forward. Instead, be kind to yourself and take the tiniest, most doable step possible, something you can actually accomplish and feel good about.

How could you inch forward on your journey this year? What’s the smallest, no-sweat step you could take? Let us know in the comments, and if you need a little encouragement to take it, just ask.

For now, I wish for you a genuinely happy new year.

A reader sent me a wonderful blog post that I wanted to share with you as we go into the New Year. It begins with this quote:

“We spend January 1 walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives… not looking for flaws, but for potential.”

~Ellen Goodman

I really relate to this quote because, in the past, this is exactly how I’ve approached the New Year. I’ve gone room-to-room looking for all the things wrong with me and resolving to fix them in the New Year. Come year-end, I’d look at my goals for the previous January and inevitably find that I’d fallen short, let myself down yet again. So, I’d resolve to do better the next year, to make it the year I improved myself.

I’m not sure whether it’s facing the reality of infertility that’s made me realize there are things about me that just cannot be fixed, or if I’ve just reached an age where I’ve decided to be kinder to myself. Whichever it is, I’ve adopted a new philosophy about New Year’s resolutions.

I no longer resolve to fix my flaws. I’m not going to aim to lose weight or organize my house or try to be more stylish. Nor am I going to compare myself to others—especially women with children—and find myself falling short. I am who I am and, even though I’m far from perfect, I don’t need to be fixed.

Instead I’m looking for ways to tap my potential and be the best version of me I can be. Instead of resolving to be who I’m not, I will try to nurture the best of who I am. I will set goals that point me in the direction I’d like my life to go and not worry about whether the “me” that arrives there is perfect.

As you head into the New Year, will you be making resolutions or setting goals? If so, are you being kind to yourself or are you treating yourself like something that’s broken and needs to be fixed?

It has been a pretty wild year, hasn’t it? I am certainly hoping that 2020 shows some big improvements.

But, before we close out this year, here is your last opportunity to rant this year. It’s an open forum (within reason), so feel free to get things off your chest so we can start fresh next year.

Happy whining!

My overarching message around the holidays has always been this:

Do what you need to do to protect yourself when your emotions are still raw. Back out of the holidays all together, if that’s what feels right. Create new traditions that suit who you are now. And most of all, hang in there, because it does get easier, and eventually you’ll find a way to make the holidays joyful again.

But, this year, I want to make an amendment. Because, the truth is, for some of you, the holidays might keep sucking for a long, long time, and my being all Pollyanna about it, isn’t going to change that.

For years, I have followed my own guidelines for holiday survival. After a couple of years of trying to force the Christmas spirit, we chose to opt out of Christmas because it was too sad. Then, for a number of years, we made a point of going away and doing something totally non-traditional. It wasn’t “Christmas” as I’d envisioned it, but it felt right for us, and we enjoyed the season again.

I thought I had a different attitude about Christmas. Mr. Fab and I like staying at home, just the two of us, and keeping it low key. We put up a tree and decorated the house. We’ll keep up our new tradition of celebrating on Christmas Eve and it will be a “nice” Christmas, not perfect, but good enough.

I’ve talked to several friends, fellow bloggers who, like me, are several years into being at peace with not having children. They each talked about plans for a quiet celebration, of an adapted holiday experience. And each of them also added that some part of their plans had triggered the old sadness or poked at a tender spot. Not one of us gushed about the jingly joyful celebration we were planning. Instead, we talk of an “almost-but-not-quite” Christmas.

As I was rooting around in my mind, trying to find a point to this post, I suddenly thought about my dad. My dad hated Valentine’s Day, not because of the commercial tackiness, but because his own father had died on February 14^th. Even two decades later, he couldn’t find joy in the day, and none of us expected him to. I tiptoed around him and, by February 15^th, he was his old self again. As a young girl, hoping to get Valentines in the mail, I couldn’t understand why my dad felt this way. But, of course, I understand it fully now.

I stand by all my guidelines about the holidays: It does get easier. You will find a way to get through the holidays and even enjoy them again. But, odds are, they will always tap a sore spot and serve as a reminder of what’s missing. It might always be “almost-but-not-quite” Christmas.

But, before you know it, it will be January again, a new year and a fresh chance to live the life you do have to its fullest. I don’t know about you, but the New Year is fast becoming my favorite holiday of all.

We’ve all run up against people who don’t understand us or who simply don’t want to hear about “it” any longer. So this week’s Whiny Wednesday is your chance to talk about:

The Things I Can Never Talk About

You are being heard. -x-

Every year it seems I get caught out with a bout of the Holiday Blues.

After a really fun and non-traditional Thanksgiving with wonderful friends, I headed into December ready to celebrate the holidays my way. Then Bam! I came down with the Holiday Blues.

There will always be things I wish were part of my festive season, like hand-delivering gifts to my family, shopping for small children, and creating the kind of Christmas I had as a child. But it wasn’t theses losses and what-ifs that gave me the blues this year.

Maybe it was the rainy weather that kept me indoors for much of the week. Maybe it was the end of year racing towards me highlighting the things that didn’t get accomplished this year. Or maybe it’s that Christmas doesn’t really feel like something to celebrate anymore.

Finally, I took my own advice, and that of a couple of friends, and dusted myself off. I bought a tree, made plans for Christmas Eve dinner at a favorite restaurant, and wrote and sent my cards. And then I made myself a cup of tea and sliced off a chunk of proper English fruitcake, and I curled up in a chair and wrote in my journal.

I made a list of everything good that happened this year—all the fun things I did (see photo below, for one), the challenges I overcame, the goals I reached this year, the friends I spent time with, the family I visited.

And guess what I discovered? It’s been another great year this year. I have lived my life, perhaps not always to the fullest, but to the best that I was able. And I had a good time doing it.

That, I think, is plenty of reason to celebrate.

My mailbox is feeling bloated. No sooner did the election junk mail end than the holiday catalog avalanche began.

I’ll admit I do get a degree of pleasure trying to figure out how I got onto some of the more obscure mailing lists. But I also want to know why I get so much kid-oriented marketing material. Someone clearly has not been doing their demographic homework.

Which bring me to this week’s topic:

People who assume you have children

 It’s Whiny Wednesday, so feel free to air your grievances.

“Are you the adult you dreamed of becoming?”

I laughed when I read this question on Facebook. No! Of course I’m not. The adult I dreamed of was an international engineering consultant, living in a large house with a circular driveway, with a fabulous husband and four beautiful children, including one set of twins.

Aside from the fabulous husband, that adult is almost the polar opposite of the adult I am now. I’m a writer, who works from my very small rented beach cottage, and of course, there are no children in my picture. And yet, once I stop to consider my friend’s question, I realize that I’m a lot happier as this adult than I would have been had my expectations been met. I’ve met the person I’d once dreamed of becoming; she wasn’t a very happy person and she definitely had more grey hairs than me.

Half the battle of coming-to-terms with a life without children is letting go of our expectations—and creating new ones. This is never more true than during the holiday season, one of the most difficult times of the year to be childless.

When I think of my expectations of what Christmas should be like as an adult, those four children are always there, gathered around the tree, gathered around the dinner table, and then gathered around me as the day comes to a close. Even when I realized that children wouldn’t be part of my life, I still strived to make Christmas live up to my expectations. Consequently, Christmastime was very sad time for a number of years. I knew there was no way my expectations could be met, and eventually I stopped making an effort to celebrate.

The worst year was when my husband and I found ourselves sitting at home, with no Christmas tree, no plans, no celebration, and we knew we’d allowed our lack of children to take over our lives. We also realized it was time to set new, more realistic expectations.

When I took a step back and looked at what I really wanted for Christmas, not on the surface of gifts, family, and decorations, but on a deeper emotional level, I discovered that my spiritual wish list included love, peacefulness, companionship, and a good dose of silly fun. I needed to explore new ways to get what I really wanted.

It took a couple of false starts to find a new way to celebrate Christmas, but a couple of years ago we nailed it. Mr. Fab and I rented an apartment for three days in a nearby beach town. We celebrated on Christmas Eve with a lovely dinner at an historic hotel with an enormous Christmas tree, roving carolers, and even an outdoor ice rink (in Southern California!). On Christmas Day, instead of sitting at home feeling sad about a pathetic Christmas for two, we went to the zoo, like a couple of big kids, and had a whale of a time. I even got to feed a rhino and have an ice cream. We both agreed it was the best Christmas we’ve had for a long time, plus there were no tantrums or mountains of dirty dishes to deal with.

It’s hard to let go of our expectations, especially when they’re often so deeply engrained, but if you’re struggling to find your holiday cheer this year, I encourage you to look beneath the obvious losses and examine what’s really missing for you. Even if you can’t meet your tangible expectations of what the holidays should be, you might be surprised to find you can satisfy your true needs in unconventional—and unexpected—ways.

Even the most festive among us has to hit holiday burnout at some point. And if you’re trying drum up your holiday spirit and keep coming up empty, you may have hit this point sometime around Halloween.

So this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic is simply:

The Holidays Without Children

Feel free to unleash your inner Grinch…or not.

My friend was recently sideswiped by sadness. Like me, she’s been off the “baby train” for several years and has truly come to terms with the fact that she won’t have children.

Then she had a birthday and found herself totally sideswiped, caught off-guard by her grief, and in the kitchen having a meltdown.

What happened?

She’s not sure and neither was I. Maybe her birthday signified moving one step closer to menopause and the final loss of the possibility of motherhood. Maybe spending time with a friend’s son reminded her of the missing part of her life. Maybe she was feeling alone in her family-oriented community.

The point is that sometimes, even when we’re sure we have it together, even when we’ve done the grief work, even when we’ve cried an ocean and think there’s nothing left to resolve, sometimes we just get sideswiped.

Has this happened to you? What unexpected trigger has caught you off-guard?

In honor of Thanksgiving, I’m continuing Life Without Baby tradition. Instead of the usual Whiny Wednesday, I want to ask you this:

What are you grateful for?

Often when we’re in the thick of grief it’s hard to find anything positive, but my Thanksgiving wish for you is to find a patch of sunshine this week.

Next week we’ll get back to whining. 😉

By Lisa Manterfield

It’s Thanksgiving here in the U.S. this week. For many of you, that’s going to mean spending a long day, perhaps a long weekend, with people who care about you, but perhaps don’t really understand what you’ve been through or what you’re going through still. It can make for a lot of unintentionally hurtful comments, strained emotions, and reignited grief.

The news this year has been unbearable too. Fires, hurricanes, mass shootings, and political shenanigans. I think it’s safe to say that most of us have been completely worn out by all that’s going on in the world.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been hibernating from the news and social media, needing an information detox. As a result, I’m sleeping more restfully, spending more enjoyable time with Mr. Fab, and my brain is starting to function with clarity again. In sitting down to write this post, I also realize that I haven’t had any of the weird headaches I’ve been experiencing for the previous month or so.

I’m aware that this seems like I’m sticking my head in the sand, but I prefer to call it self-care, putting my own needs first for a while, so that I can regain enough mental strength to keep moving forward.

I also believe that self-care is one of the most important tools for making it through the upcoming holiday season, especially if your grief is still raw. But even if you’ve been making progress, the holidays can be a breeding ground for tactless comments, reminders of loss, and emotional triggers galore!

So, here are a few suggestions that have helped me navigate the holidays over the years:

Say no to difficult events. If you know a gathering will be problematic, make an excuse and don’t go. You may have some guilt about it, but that will pass, and you’ll end up much better off emotionally than if you go and end up upset. If you’re in the early stages of grief, take a year off from the holidays. Seriously. The holidays will be back next year, and they’ll get progressively easier to deal with.

Have an escape plan. If you do go to a gathering that might be difficult, have an escape plan. That might be as simple as borrowing the host’s dog and going for a long walk or volunteering to be the person to run to the store for last-minute ingredients. A little time alone is like a mini detox, so you can gather yourself together before facing people again.

Use this community. I promise you, you won’t be the only person looking for an understanding ear over the holidays. Use the community and connect with someone who know what you’re going through and can offer support and encouragement.

Plan some post-celebration self-care. Know in advance how you’ll take care of yourself after the event. Go home and take a long, quiet bath, or a long walk, or plan to do something with someone whose time you enjoy.  If you can, schedule a post-Thanksgiving detox day.

If you need more ideas for getting through the holidays, we have several resources available. There’s an entire chapter on navigating the holidays in both Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen and Life Without Baby Workbook 3: Dealing With the Day-to-Day Challenges, and a book full of inspiration and tips in Life Without Baby Holiday Companion. Finally, here’s the link to the community forums, where you’ll already find several holiday and family-related threads going.

Please take advantage of these resources and this community and make sure you have a happy Thanksgiving. –x-

This week’s Whiny Wednesday topic comes from a reader and is ripe for a rant and perhaps some ideas.

She writes:

“I still haven’t figured out how to make friends with people my own age (40s) who have children. I often feel disposable, or okay to invite to things when it suits them. I’m a thoughtful, caring person who deserves better.”

What do you think about this? It’s Whiny Wednesday, so let it all out.

One of the big changes I’ve seen since starting this site almost ten years ago is that the topics of infertility and childlessness are being brought out from behind closed doors and are being discussed in more public forums.

Whereas once I felt as if I was the only person talking openly about this, I’ve since found an incredible network of fellow bloggers and authors writing very intimately about their stories. I’ve also received several requests to complete surveys from researchers who are exploring the effects and issues of unplanned childlessness.

Women in the public eye are finally being open about miscarriage and infertility. It feels like a huge step forward to have such visible public figure speaks openly about a subject which has been so taboo.

In your corner of the world, you may still be feeling that NO ONE is talking about this, that no one understands what you’re going through, and even your closest confidants don’t want to talk about it. Sadly, I think this is still true for most of us. But the tide is turning, and the more we talk about this topic and the more we venture out and start these conversations, the less taboo it will become.

Even if you’re not ready (or feel as if you will never be ready) to start your own campaign for understanding, you’re already part of this quiet revolution. You’re here, you’re talking about your experience with others, you’re sharing comfort and encouraging other readers. Even if you’re doing all of this anonymously and even if you’re coming here in secret to contribute to these conversations, you are part of the change that’s coming.

This issue is never going to go away, in fact I believe that our segment of the population will only continue to grow (but that’s another post for another day), but perhaps in the future, our sisters who need help will be able to pick up a leaflet from their doctors or walk into a local support group or sit down with a friend over coffee and feel comfortable talking openly about what it feels to not to have the children you wanted.

This topic came up on the community forums a while ago and I thought it was a great topic to explore here on Whiny Wednesday.

Not being treated like a “real” adult because you’re not a parent.

I’ve certainly experienced this myself and talked to friends who say they’re still treated like a kid because they don’t have children of their own.

How about you?

With Thanksgiving just around the corner here in the U.S., and seasonal goods already moving off the shelves, the holiday season is well underway. I’ve been hearing holiday music in stores for weeks, and know of people who’ve had their Christmas trees up since the beginning of November!

For many of you, the festive season might not be such a fun time. Traditionally, whichever holidays you celebrate, they include family gatherings, which might mean facing insensitive relatives and prying questions about children. It can be one of the most difficult times of the year, with social gatherings, kid-oriented activities, and constant reminders of the many ways we don’t get to celebrate the holidays.

I love that this community includes new readers and seasoned pros, so let’s help one another out this year by sharing ideas on getting through the season with our hearts intact.

What are some of the issues you know you’ll face this holiday season? What events are you dreading? What’s going to be hardest for you?

And perhaps most important of all, how to do plan to get through the season with minimum emotional damage?

If you’re looking for some guidance from those who’ve walked this path before you, make sure to add yourself to your gift shopping list this year. Here are some books written by members of our community. Please consider supporting their work, so that they can continue supporting all of us.

Lesley Pyne’s Finding Joy Beyond Childlessness: Inspiring Stories to Guide You to a Fulfilling Life shares real-world experiences of infertility survivors alongside Lesley’s gentle guidance. Lesley is a role model for redefining yourself after infertility and finding peace with a childless life.

In Living the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Future Without Children, Jody Day takes you by the hand and leads you through her process of facing grief, letting go of lost dreams, and rebuilding a new kind of life.

Jessica Hepburn has two books on offer. Her first, The Pursuit of Motherhood tells her own heartbreaking story of her quest to become a mother. In 21 Miles: Swimming in Search of the Meaning of Motherhood, Jessica tells the “next chapter” of her story, her quest to find meaning in her own life and shares inspiring conversations about motherhood with some female powerhouses.

And I’d be remiss if I din’t include my own books on this list: Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen, and Life Without Baby Holiday Companion, a compilation of stories and advice to get you through the holidays, written together with Kathleen Guthrie Woods.

I hope you’ll find something here to help you through this difficult time of year.

November is the month for Bonfire Night in the U.K. As a child, it was one of my favorite nights of the year, second only to Christmas Eve.

We’d have a bonfire in the backyard, and my dad would bring home a box of fireworks to set off and a couple of packets of sparklers. We’d have baked potatoes and roast chestnuts, and my mum would make parkin and gooey, delicious bonfire toffee. It was an evening spent outdoors, clustered around the fire. It was about friends and food and a little bit of danger.

It’s one of the many things I miss about my homeland, and it’s one of the traditions I would have enjoyed sharing with my children. And that’s the topic for this week’s Whiny Wednesday:

Traditions you won’t get to share with your children

Happy Bonfire Night and happy whining.

Before I was even pregnant, I imagined my children vividly. I laid out a smorgasbord of family traits and handpicked the best of them.

My son, Valentino, would be named for my husband’s favorite uncle, and he’d be a chip off the old block. He’d have his daddy’s good looks—the profile of an Aztec Prince—paired with Grandma Tilly’s curiosity and great-grandpa Aureliano’s piercing green eyes. I pictured my Valentino to be charismatic and creative; he’d love music and art, and of course, he’d adore his mother.

My daughter, naturally, would take after my side of the family. Sophia would be named for my dad’s mother and would inherit her spirit of survival and her generosity, and she’d get my straight hair, so I’d know how to deal with it. I could picture Sophia easily, and I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you that I knew she would be beautiful.

Before they were born—in fact, before they were even conceived—I imagined my children to life, and they were absolutely perfect. And why wouldn’t they be? Does any mother really imagine her future offspring any other way?

But here’s the thing. My children are perfect. Sophia and Valentino could never be anything but perfect, because they never got the chance to exist anywhere but in my imagination.

I was 38 years old, and four years into trying to conceive my children when my doctor pulled out a notepad and drew a lopsided oval. “Imagine this is your ovary,” he said.

“You have one producing follicle.”

It just takes one, I thought, but the doctor looked at the wall just past my eyes and I could tell this news wasn’t going to be good.

He explained what was going on in perfectly logical, unsentimental, doctor speak—I assume—but what I heard was:

“A normal ovary should have 6-10 good follicles, but you have mumbo-jumbo-icky-sticky-messed-up-insidy-bits-itis, so you have a snowflake’s chance in hell of having a baby.”

The actual math worked out like this:

Mr. Fab (my hubby) plus Lisa (that’s me) to the power of love, equals big fat nothing, no baby to infinity.

Mr. Fab plus Lisa times IVF times unknown X equals approximately 25 percent chance of conception.

Mr. Fab plus egg donor minus Lisa minus love, all to the power of voodoo times big bucks squared equals a 50-50 shot, maybe baby, maybe not.

I can’t move on from this particular part of the story without mentioning that up until this point, IVF had been sold to us as the silver bullet, the sure thing, with glossy brochures showing healthy bouncing babies and glowing parents. There was no mention of the outrageous expense, the painful injections, or the emotional toll of the slippery slope of hope, expectation, and disappointment. The odds quoted covered the vast spectrum of all women, all ages, all scenarios and were not calculated for one Lisa, one set of dud ovaries, one desperate attempt. Instead we were simply told, “It will all be worth it when you get your baby.”

I’m sure the doctor expected us to say, “Where do I sign?” But his glossy offer wasn’t nearly good enough for me to bet my money, my body, and, most of all, my heart on, so we said, “No thank you,” and left.

There’s a lot more to this story of course, enough to fill two books and more than 1,500 blog posts. Suffice to say, my husband and I, armed with information from every possible source, explored all the avenues available, but ultimately our children, a pregnancy, even a near-miss, eluded us. We made the hardest decision of our lives and started trying to figure out how to build a life that didn’t include Valentino or Sophia.

It’s been a long road of acceptance, filled with a lot of tears, much stomping around being furious at the world, and yes, I’ll admit it, a fair bit of glaring at mothers who don’t fully appreciate the children they’ve been given, and griping about the unfairness of how life’s blessings are sometimes doled out (see any Whiny Wednesday post for details.) But I’m doing pretty well at this childless thing now.

That said, my wounds have scabbed, rather than healed, and I have yet to put myself through the torture of accepting a baby shower invitation. The last one I went to was for a baby boy who’s now in middle school. I’ve sent gifts and visited every friend’s newborn, but I just couldn’t face all that comparing pregnant bellies and passing around impossibly tiny onesies, or the smiling faces saying, “You’re next!” I knew I’d just end up hyperventilating in the guest bathroom again.

But if a well-meaning, but stressed-out mom tells me, “You wouldn’t understand; you’re not a mother,” I can now simply grit my teeth and try to put myself in her shoes. I’ll suggest that maybe because I’m not entrenched in the child-rearing wars, I could offer a different perspective, and that perhaps my four decades of preparing for my own children, might give me some grounds for an opinion.

And when this mom tells me how perfect her children are, I’ll just smile and nod, because I know that mine are perfect, too. My daughter, Sophia, is whip smart and beautiful, and has never slammed a door or yelled that she hates me. And my son, my Valentino? He’s just so handsome, with those gorgeous green eyes, and oh, how he loves his mother.

I know every mother thinks her children are perfect, but in my memories and in my heart, mine really are—and they always will be.

Tomorrow is Halloween, which for many of us means streams of cute children knocking on our front doors.

Love it or hate it; it’s hard to avoid it. So the discussion topic for this week is:

How do you handle this difficult holiday?

As it’s Whiny Wednesday, there’s room for your gripes here, too.

In the very early stages of our relationship. Mr. Fab and I discovered all sorts of odd things we had in common, one of which is that we both played the trombone as teenagers. We talked about learning to play again, and we finally found a used instrument in good condition.

The main difference between a trombone and other brass instruments is that you make the notes by moving a slide up and down, rather hitting a key. It makes it a lot more difficult to hit just the right note. It’s also what makes the trombone so much fun to play, because you can slide easily from note to note, up and down and back again.

The reason I’m telling you all this is that today I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole coming-to-terms process. I’ve been thinking about it in terms of school grades, with the freshman class having just made the decision to live childfree or to stop fertility treatments, and having no idea how to start getting used to the idea. They eventually graduate to acceptance and begin to find a way to get happy, and ultimately go on to live a full and happy life without children.

But it’s really not that simple. You never really do hit all the notes precisely and in order. It’s much more like playing a trombone, where you slide from one state to the next and sometimes back again. One day, you’re content and determined to make the most of your situation, then something happens to trigger all those old emotions and you find yourself sliding back down. Then you get to talk someone who understands you and you feel like you can really figure this out…until your friend announces a pregnancy and back down you go again.

So, I’m wondering, where are you on the sliding scale of coming-to-terms? Where are you right now and have you been better or been worse? Do you feel that, even though you have setbacks, you’re slowly moving towards a place of peace, or can you see no way to ever come-to-terms with your lot in life? Or have you already been up and down the scale and have finally found a place of contentment? I’d like to know.

Why is it that people have no problem asking, “So, why don’t you have kids,” or “How come you don’t like children?” or “Don’t you think not having kids is selfish?”

Could you imagine if mothers were asked the inverse? “So, why do you have kids?” “How come you like children?” or “Don’t you think having kids is selfish?” I wonder how many people would have an answer.

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What’s your gripe this week?

Halloween is a holiday that others assume everyone is joyous about, but for many of us, it’s a holiday that surprises us with all kinds of triggers. Halloween delivers a steady stream of Other People’s Children—all impossibly cute—to our neighborhoods, Facebook pages, and workplaces. It’s hard to avoid it when it comes, quite literally, knocking at your own front door.

Around Halloween, it’s a good idea to steer clear of social media, the mall, and kid-related gatherings. If you live in a family-friendly neighborhood, you might also have to deal with a steady stream of adorable munchkins.

As always, it pays to have a plan so you don’t find yourself hiding behind the couch with the lights out, pretending not to be in, because the first set of trick-or-treaters reduced you to tears and now you’re trapped in your own home. And, by the way, this is a real-life story from a reader, not a humorous hypothetical scenario.

So, how will you handle it? Do you want to turn out the lights and pretend you’re not home? Do you need to make alternative plans so you don’t have be at home during trick or treat time? During those years I wasn’t ready to face it, I’ve turned off the front lights and hidden in a back room of my house with a book. I’ve also left home before dusk and gone to dinner and the movies. Other years, I’ve decked out the lawn, bought a cauldron of sweeties, and fully embraced other people’s children (although I’ll admit there was more of the former before I could muster the strength for the latter). If you feel you want to participate by handing out goodies, consider inviting friends over for dinner so you have a back-up for answering the door, and be ready with a Plan B in case you suddenly discover you’re not as ready as you thought.

The holidays are always going to be challenging, but being aware of the emotional triggers and having a plan in place can help you to get through them and maybe even have some fun.