choosing a childless life

Would you rather be childless than single?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless widow, choosing a childless life, choosing between love and children, divorce, husband doesn't want kids, living alone, wife doesn't want kids , , , , , , , , , ,

Are you terrified of ending up alone?

It’s okay to admit it if you are. Most people feel that way. I’m not as afraid as I used to be because I have been on my own for many years, but I know people who absolutely can’t handle it. No need to feel bad about that. Animals hang together for safety, and we’re hardwired to do the same.

In June 2021, I published a post titled “Do we commit to less than perfect partners because we’re terrified of being alone?” It’s still a good question.

I suspect I married my first husband because I was afraid no other man would want me. As I wrote in 2021, no one asked me out until I was in college. Too nerdy, too fat, not social enough, parents too strict? I don’t know. I was already wondering if I’d ever find anyone, if I’d be like my Barbie doll without a Ken.

I was afraid no man would love me when everything in my world told me a woman needs to get married and have children. So when someone finally wanted to date me, I didn’t ponder whether I liked him; I said yes. And I continued to say yes through a first marriage that failed and a series of unsuitable boyfriends between marriages. When I think of all the garbage I put up with just to hold onto a man . . .

By the time I met Fred, I had come to believe I would be single for the rest of my life. What if he hadn’t come along? I hope I wouldn’t have married another dud just to have someone. I know people who have done that. Don’t you?

When we want and expect to have children, when we are physically able and have no reason not to, and our partner says, “Nope. I don’t want to” or “I’ve already got my kids and don’t need anymore” or “maybe someday, definitely not anytime soon,” why do we stick with them anyway?

Is it love or fear of being alone? I knew my first husband was not a perfect match. I saw red flags all over the place, but I still married him. Because that’s what women my age were supposed to do. I had visions of domestic bliss and babies and a happy family life. None of that happened. What if instead of moving from my parents’ house to the apartment I shared with my husband, I had created my own grownup life first?

My second husband, Fred, was definitely a keeper. Such a good man, so in love with me, dependable, the kind of guy who puts up with your relatives and sits with you at the hospital when you get sick. But he had three kids from his first marriage and wasn’t willing to have any more. Should I have said no to him? I was 31 and fertile. I should have fought harder. Shoulda woulda coulda, right?

By the time Fred came along, I had been single for several years. I could have carried on by myself. But I chose to marry him. I chose to accept his kids as mine and not have my own. This time, the love was enough to make up for the rest.

I never expected Fred to be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in his 60s and die at 73, leaving me alone, probably for the rest of my life. I did not choose this. But here I am, alone in the house we bought together on the Oregon coast. Even our dog has passed away. It has been 15 years since Fred moved into a nursing home, 13 years this month since he died.

If I made different choices at the beginning when I married the man who seemed to be my only choice, would my life be completely different now? Would I be surrounded by grown children and grandchildren? I’ll never know.

This raises multiple questions for me, and I would love to know what you think.

* Do we commit our lives to someone less than ideal because we’re afraid of being alone?

* Are we willing to leave a partner who won’t give us kids and risk ending up alone if we don’t find someone else who does want to be a parent?

* What if this relationship ends in divorce or widowhood and we are left alone anyway?

Our world is set up for couples and families with children. It’s not easy when your “family photo” is a selfie. But we can do it.

I have started a new Substack series titled “Can I Do It Alone?” The answer to that question is, “Heck yeah.” Apparently, a lot of people are worried about being alone. The subscriptions and comments are flooding my inbox. If you’re interested, take a wander over to suelick.substack.com and see what that’s all about.

Meanwhile, here at Childless by Marriage, let’s talk about it. Did we settle for a childless life out of fear of being alone? What if this relationship ends?

Thank you so much for being here. I treasure you all.

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Childless Travel Robert Frost’s ‘Road Less Traveled By’

Sue Fagalde Lick childlessness, choosing a childless life, losing friends when they have babies, when your best friend gets pregnant , , , , , , ,
Metal gate in foreground blocks access to rutted road surrounded by trees going off into the distance.

Yesterday was Halloween. I imagine it was a busy day for people with children. Moms and dads would be dealing with costumes, candy, parties and trick-or-treating while their excited kids drove them crazy. Me, I put on my orange sweatshirt and pumpkin earrings and settled in for an ordinary day. I have no children, and we don’t get trick-or-treaters out here in the woods.

Halloween is just one example of how parents and non-parents live in different worlds. The differences are small at first, but they grow exponentially over the years.

We all start out as young people whose lives revolve around family, school, hobbies, friends, sports, jobs, and maybe church. But we grow up. We pair off. When your friends, siblings, and cousins have children, suddenly their lives revolve around their offspring because the little ones need constant attention. Hobbies, social life, and friends fall away.

Meanwhile, you’re still busy with school, work, hobbies, and relationships. Instead of caring for children, maybe you travel, build or remodel a house, or study for a master’s degree or PhD. You try to socialize with your old friends, but they’re busy with their kids. They have new friends, friends who are also parents.

You get older. At your high school reunions, the others talk about their children and grandchildren. They brag about their kids’ marriages and their jobs and commiserate about their problems. You talk about your work, hobbies, and travel. All you have in common is fading memories of your school days and worries about your aging parents.

In old age, your parents are gone. No younger generation is coming up behind you. Your family is shrinking. Your parent friends send Christmas cards filled with news about their growing tribe of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. You send a photo of your dog or cat. If you meet these friends at a reunion or a funeral, you have nothing to talk about.

Yes, there comes a time when the kids are grown and you can come together with the parent people again, but their family will always be their top priority. At times, you will envy them and grieve for what you have missed. At other times, you will relish the freedom that allows you to be more than “Grandma” or “Nana.” You are still a full-fledged person with your own name and dreams that you are still chasing. Do they envy you? Sometimes I’m sure they do.

You live in different realities now. You can visit, but the bridge between worlds is a shaky one.

If you are still deciding whether or not to have children, consider how your life will take a different path. It’s not necessarily better or worse, but it is different, and the distance between the two ways your life could have gone will get wider and wider.  

Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” ends with these lines:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Have you seen the divide happening in your own life as friends and family become parents and you don’t? What do you think about all this? I welcome your comments.

Photo taken on Thiel Creek Road, South Beach, Oregon, copyright Sue Fagalde Lick 2015

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Choosing childlessness for God or art

Sue Fagalde Lick childless priests and nuns, choosing a childless life, sacrificing children for career

A woman at church came flaunting her eight-month-old granddaughter yesterday. She brought her right up to me and another childless woman in the choir, apparently thinking that because we’re female, of course we want to see the baby. The child is beautiful, a blue-eyed doll who stared at me the whole time. I was appropriately complimentary, even as I felt that familiar squeeze of pain. Put simply, I want one of those and I’ll never have one.

But anyway . . . We’ve been talking about religion and how we might feel especially left out at church. Let’s look at another aspect, which I suppose is particular to the Catholic church. Priests and nuns take vows of chastity. They agree to never marry or have children. They sacrifice parenthood for a life devoted to God. In essence, they take God as their spouse. Although occasionally someone leaves the religious life to marry and have a family, I have never heard any religious people who stayed with it complain about not being able to have children.
The reasoning in the church is that one cannot be fully committed to the religious life with the distractions of a human family. In other churches where marriage and parenthood are allowed, the ministers seem to make it work, but not always. For example, one Episcopal priest I know decided not to get married because she felt she couldn’t do both effectively.
It’s not only priests and nuns who decide they can’t be parents and do their life’s work at the same time. Many artists of all sorts choose a life without children. Although I always thought I could write and be a mom, too, I often wonder how I would have had time to do my writing and music while raising a family. Perhaps I would have had to wait until now, when my children would be grown and living elsewhere, to dive into my career. All those years not raising children gave me the freedom to pursue my dreams. If I were the one showing off the baby grandchild, I would not have been able to concentrate on playing the piano at church, a job I love.
I’m just saying that sometimes people choose a life without children because it fulfills them in other ways. Maybe we didn’t choose that life. Maybe it chose us, but maybe we’re meant to do something else, something we couldn’t do if we had kids. Think about it.