Facing a future with no children used to drive me crazy. Back when I was fertile and married to a man who was not, I cried a lot, mostly where he couldn’t see me. I resented my friends whose lives revolved around their kids. I did not want to hear their happy stories or look at their pictures. Baby showers? What do I know about babies? Count me out.
As far as I knew, there was nothing wrong with my baby-making parts, but they were being wasted, evidenced by painful periods every month, reminders I was running out of time.
Now I’m 72, childless and widowed. Although being alone can be difficult, I have to tell you that I don’t think about childlessness all the time anymore. If you are in your 20s, 30s, or early 40s, feeling bad because you wanted children and might never have even one baby, know that it does get easier. Like any loss, it doesn’t go away, but you do learn to live with it.
Yes, you will feel breakthrough grief and anger. You’ll see a family at play or hold someone else’s baby and think I could have had that, but as you get older, it will become a less important feature in your life. You will wonder who will care for you in old age, but know that even if you had children, they might not be available to help.
When you’re surrounded by people getting married and having babies, you feel excluded, jealous, and angry at whatever keeps you from having the children you always wanted. Or you resent the people who keep pushing you to have the children you never wanted. You’ll regret it, they warn. What if they’re right? It can be a brutal time.
The night before my 40th birthday, I had a meltdown that I describe in my Childless by Marriage book. At a Catholic women’s retreat, everyone was talking about their kids. Our guided meditation put me face to face with what I had lost, and it felt unbearable. As the women running the retreat held me, I sobbed in front of everyone. I felt broken. It didn’t help that I really wanted a drink, and there was no alcohol around.
But as I approached menopause, so many other things took my attention. My writing career was taking off. I was performing music almost every weekend. I earned my long-delayed master’s degree. We moved from San Jose, California to Oregon and experienced a very different life in a small coastal town.
My mother died, my husband was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and my father needed lots of help before he passed away. You hear about the “sandwich generation,” about people caught between caring for their children and caring for their parents. Without children, we can be open-faced sandwiches, helping our older relatives without neglecting our children.
By my 50s, people stopped bugging me about having kids, and my friends were free to do non-kid activities again. Yes, the grandchildren came, but that was an off and on thing. We could still be friends.
Do I wish I was a grandmother? Sometimes. but childlessness is not at the front of my mind anymore. I took a different path, and it’s too late to turn back.
With every choice, you lose the chance to pursue the other option. By moving to Oregon, we lost the chance to grow old in San Jose, closer to family and so many resources that don’t exist here. If I had married someone else or not married at all, my story would be different. You choose one road and let the other one go.
I can torture myself by imagining what it would be like to have children, how they would look, what we would do together, how I would hold my grandbabies in my arms. But my life didn’t go that way, and I suspect that’s how it was meant to be.
Not having children has given me the gift of great gobs of time that mothers don’t always have. Time and freedom. I don’t have to find a babysitter or take a kid with me if I decide I want to go to lunch, take a walk on the beach, or spend the night elsewhere. I just go.
Would I trade my freedom for a walk on the beach with my son or daughter, maybe with their children splashing in the surf or building sandcastles? In a heartbeat. But that’s not on the menu for me. And I’m 80 percent okay with it.
Maybe you’re at that age when becoming a parent would still be possible under other current circumstances and you’re driving yourself crazy trying to decide what to do: Leave your partner in the hope of finding someone who will give you kids? Try IVF? Hire a surrogate? Adopt? You may fight with your partner over it and cry a lot.
I know how bad it hurts. I’m saying that later it will be easier. Childlessness will not be the center of your life, and that makes room for other things, wonderful things.
That’s not nothing.
How about you? Are you going crazy over being childless? Do you regret the choices that led you to be without children? Did you have a choice? Do you think you will ever be okay with it? Or are you fine with it now? Have you found peace with your situation? How?
I’m great-grandmother old. Tell me how it is for you at whatever age you are.
I welcome your comments.
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If you enjoy this blog, you may want to visit my Substack, Can I Do It Alone?
Childless by Marriage 
I’m ten years younger than you. I don’t want to categorise it as mother/grandmother or greatgrandmother old, because my friends and family are all in very different phases at different times. My 70 year old friend has children but no grandchildren. One of my sisters has a grandchild older than my other sister’s child. And I especially don’t want to define women by the parental status they have/might have had.
I can vouch for what you are saying. The grief of that immediate shock of lifelong childlessness passes – especially with menopause, I found – and it is a part of us but by no means dominates. I rarely feel it as a loss these days (although that said it hits when you least expect it!). It’s just a fact of my life. I’ve said a lot that to dwell on it would be self-torture, and would be both the loss of the life that I wanted to have, and the loss of the actual life I have. That would be a true tragedy. Embracing the reality of the rest of our lives is a gift and a joy.
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You’re right about identifying by what parenting status we might have had. Unfortunately, we lack terminology. Jody Day calls us crones or elderwomen. I am that age, too.
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I have a daughter, whom I abandoned 45 years ago. I’m very sorry about this. At that time, I did not have the opportunity to raise a child. I didn’t have any more children. I tried to find her, but unfortunately no results. The older I get, the harder it is to live with.
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That is so hard. A friend of mine did find her daughter, but the daughter didn’t want a relationship. It’s heartbreaking. I hope you do find peace someday.
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When I was writing the words “I changed my mind about having kids, should I talk to my husband” on Google, I didn’t think I would find a blog by a writer who wrote every feeling I had and will have. Discovering your blog felt like a gift. You’re a wonderful writer and I wonder do you also make music still? Thank you so much for continuing to light a path I never thought I’d find people in. Lots of love ❤
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Silk, thank you so much. I’m glad I can help in some way. Yes, I still do music all the time. Thanks for asking.
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I agree the daily pain of childlessness passes. Friends have children who are mostly in their late teens now. I’m dreading them becoming grandparents. I’m not sure I’m at peace with it but I know that ship has sailed.
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My husband had a vasectomy long before we met. He eventually changed his mind and came to regret it. I’ve always wanted to be a mother but that will probably never happen. Reversals exist but I’ve looked into it and in our case, the odds of success are not good. I’m so young. I’m in my 20s. The grief feels enough to break me.
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I’m so sorry. If he’s willing there are options, but it’s hard.
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That is so very hard. I’m glad you reached out here, continue reaching out and find others that see your grief. As I went through a place where I couldn’t see straight for this unnamable grief that had overtaken me, my minister sat with me, week after week, month after month, and saw, witnessed, acknowledged the depth of the pain. My heart is full of compassion for what you are experiencing. Grief does break us, so well put.
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I’m not sure if anyone will ever read this comment but I just wanted to say thank you for writing this blog. As far as I can tell, I’m one of the few men who get to experience this issue. For whatever reason, maybe just societal conditioning, I have always wanted a family and spent my entire life picturing what it would be like when that day came. My wife of almost 10 years has always said that she’s open to having children but so far has been unwilling to try. Since we are both around 40 years old I have slowly and reluctantly been coming to the realization that it isn’t likely to ever happen and the pain is more than I can bear at times. I know that this pain and emptiness is not likely to ever go away completely but it’s good to hear that it gets easier with time – I hope you’re right.
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RH, you are at the age when it seems to hurt the worst because you know you’re running out of time. I hope you are talking about this with your wife and making your feelings clear. Thank you so much for sharing a male viewpoint.
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I feel your pain. I’m in the same boat but its been my husband who’s reluctant.
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Thank you for writing and sharing this! As I was searching for “answers ” to what I’m currently going through, I’m happy to have found your blog.
I’m in my late 40s, husband didn’t want children (already had 1 from previous marriage) His fear was everything he had gone through in his first marriage and thereafter when it came to custody, coparenting, etc. I always wavered back and forth on whether I wanted a child. When I was younger, I always wanted children, I wanted a LARGE family. I wanted to have the life I didn’t have as a child. I wanted siblings to have one another to lean on when they got older, I wanted a large table at Christmas and Thanksgiving with laughter and togetherness.
As I got older, I wasn’t sure. I saw how difficult it was with my husband’s child, there were many disagreements on how to parent despite me trying to stay far from inserting myself, I was dragged in but then trampled on. Let’s just say that eventually, it all left a bitter taste in my mouth. I separated myself from caring much, for a long time. Fast forward to now, the window to have my own , let alone multiple is close to closing. Regrets have set in. I find myself asking about what ifs but also seeing how financially difficult it would be and honestly at this age, I’m already tired from regular life.
I do get asked from strangers if I have children, rhen the head tilt comes when I say no…that alone can set me spiraling because I guess at this moment I’m full on grieving it all. I have found that sometimes I am angry at my husband but also at myself. I’m just trying to navigate it all at this very moment.
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Andea, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You’re at the age when it really hits home, and you are grieving the loss of a dream. I hope you can find peace with all of it.
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