“I am a woman without children. I’m a fertile woman who can’t have children. It’s more painful than physical inability.”
I’ve been cleaning cupboards. Lots of stuff going into the recycle bin. But these words scrawled on the inside back cover of a yellow notebook from a college European Literature class in 1989 caught my attention. At that time, I was four years into my marriage with Fred. I was 37 years old and making my second attempt at grad school while working as a full-time newspaper reporter. I struggled to take care of home, husband, and my youngest stepson, who had recently moved in with us. It wouldn’t be long before I dropped out of school again because it was too much.
But that note written in tiny cursive where no one else would see it reminds me of how terrible I felt in those days about not having children. All around me, friends and relatives, including my stepdaughter, were having babies. My period every month reminded me that I was not and would never be a mother if I didn’t change my situation ASAP. I was angry and sad and certain that life was NOT FAIR.
Many years later, I have become part of a childless community where most of the people speaking out about it have had fertility problems. They suffered through surgeries, IVF treatments, and miscarriages. They went through hell trying to conceive and bear a child. How can I grieve or complain when I didn’t go through all that? As far as I know, I could have had a baby with no problem—if I had a different husband.
The first husband was never ready, and the second was done with children. He had had a vasectomy and was not going to reverse it. Nor was he willing to adopt. So, no babies for me.
It hurts that I never had a chance to try. Well, there were a couple times without birth control over the years with men who still had sperm, but nothing happened. It’s probably for the best. Those men were scum. But when I imagine lying in bed with a man who says, “Let’s make a baby,” I want to cry.
Yes, I watch too many movies.
People are all too eager to tell me it’s my own damned fault. I should have demanded babies, even if I had to find a different partner. Do I have any right to grieve? If you’re in the same situation, do you?
My former neighbor, a pretty young woman named Brittney, turned up with a newborn the other day. Her third boy. This girl clearly has no problem having babies. Me, I just have an ancient dog who can’t hear and can barely walk.
Not fair? Or just the way life is?
1989 was a long time ago. I’m not 37 anymore. But I feel for that curly-haired woman looking away from her notes about Aristotle’s poetics in literature class, thinking about the babies she was never going to have and writing that tiny heartfelt note.
What do you think? If we accept a life with a partner who can’t or won’t give us children, are we entitled to feel bad about it, as bad as someone who has struggled with infertility? If you left a note to your future self about your childless situation, what would it say?
Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com
Childless by Marriage 
I believe our pain is our pain. People don’t have the right to tell us what we should or should not grieve. That doesn’t mean they don’t do it anyway!
Also, just because a decision was made that led to no children, it doesn’t mean you can‘t grieve the consequences.
My two cents’ worth!
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Sue,
As always you’re the voice of reason.
I have gotten inundated with questions as to why I don’t have children. My wife had two sons from her first marriage. We agreed not to have kids. And as you know I’ve had problems being a stepfather. And the fact I didn’t have my own kids has fomented resentment
within me. And I’m not dealing with it very well.
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This is a valid grief and needs to be grieved like any other significant loss.
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If I left a note to my future self I’d say run! It has been excruciating and I’ve lost so much. I used to be sweet.
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It is awfully hard, but I bet you’re still sweet.
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Sue, thanks for your blog. I pop in from time to time. Always glad to read your posts.
I’m early 40s, married 15 years.
His choice, we won’t have children – his fears, anxiety, disinterest, whatever. He had a different answer before we got married. We’ve been through counseling and there isn’t always a good answer as to why.
But, it’s not going to happen and at this point I’m just accepting it. Thankfully my closest friends have mourned with me.
At this point I’m also tired of thinking about it or trying to talk about it. But, he hears my anger from time to time… I don’t hold it in but I do try to be as kind as I can be. We each have our flaws.
So, is it my fault? Maybe I accepted it to easily, but I suppose it’s also my fault for the moments of joy and life we do have together because I’ve stayed. And at least we communicate better now than we ever did. Even if sometimes it’s my anger/frustration.
I do tell myself that no one’s life is perfect and the world is a complicated place. But I think the grief and anger will always be there resurfacing from time to time, even if the Lord would have me behave better.
For my 40th birthday I stayed up late reading Ecclesiastes. I still revisit some of what I read that night as I entered what I knew was a definitive decade of accepting childlessness (for me):
Do not say, “Why were the old days better than these?”
For it is not wise to ask such questions (7:10)
When times are good, be happy;
but when times are bad, consider this:
God has made the one
as well as the other.
Therefore, no one can discover
anything about their future (7:14)
No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun. Despite all their efforts to search it out, no one can discover its meaning (8:17)
Thanks for your writing, your questions and introspection. Hi to all.
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Thank you, Jill. That’s beautiful.
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How did you know this is exactly what I’m going through right now. I am 35 and my husband has clinical anxiety. He always told me “maybe” on having kids but within the last year or so it seems it’s definitely “no.” I love him. I want to grow old with him. But a part of me wonders if I’ll resent him for not having a child with me. News of friends and family getting pregnant break my heart every time. I feel so incredibly stuck. My therapist is trying to help me but even she doesn’t know how to. I just need to know that I am living the life God intends because I really don’t know right now…
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Katie, I don’t think we ever do know for sure that we’re living the life God intended. I do think He leads us in certain directions, and maybe this is where we were supposed to be. But I will also confess that after watching a happy family at a baptism this morning, I cried all the way home. You might resent your husband sometimes, but the love can carry you through.
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To my former self I’d say run like the wind
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