child-free by choice

Lessons and a legacy

On the 7th November 2007, my life changed forever.

In a very small ceremony in Toronto's Civic Hall, I married the man who completed me. Together, we embarked on a three year journey characterized by security, comfort and love. We had our moments and arguments, but we enjoyed a really good marriage. The overwhelming feeling I remember experiencing in those days is safety. 

People are often surprised when I tell them I'm divorced. In my head, I desperately tell myself this is because I look far too young to have been through this particular mill, or because I'm simply so amazingly wonderful that no-one could possibly imagine anyone wanting to divorce moi. I tell myself these things to stave off the fear that they're astounded that anyone would be daft enough to marry me in the first place. And of course, the next natural question for them to ask is "What happened?!"

I find it hard to know how to pitch my answer. Its pretty much impossible to hit the right tone in an everyday conversation. I have no idea if its even possible to convey-within a few sentences of a polite conversation- what it feels like to have your entire world shattered, being forced to give up all your hopes and dreams and worldview in the process, and yet also how you are utterly amazed at yourself for getting through it all relatively unscathed. At least I can now just give them this link and tell them to get back to me in twenty minutes

I usually find myself sounding far too dismissive of it, as if it was all a bit of a breeze and I barely even noticed it happening. But the other alternative is to sound like I'm still a gibbering wreck because of it, which I'm really not.

It was all very sudden. There was an inclination that something wasn't quite right for a week or so before, but nothing too terrible. On Christmas Eve I was feeling a bit wistful. I told him I was worried, to which he said "Don't be so daft. We'll be together for ever." That's an exact quote, by the way. I feel like its burned into the inside of my skull, and can actually see the words scrawledin sooty black. Two days later, on boxing day, he told me he wanted to divorce. He had decided he wanted children, and there was no longer any place for me, and my lack of desire for children, in his life. This was not negotiable. There was no room for trying, marriage counsellors, pleading, nothing. He'd decided that I just wasn't worth fighting for, and that was that. This may have been the best and worst part of the whole thing. Its utterly crushing to know that you're not worth any effort, but his absolute certainty that this was It meant that I was saved from having to hang on for months on end, telling myself that he might just change his mind. I was saved from limbo, but tipped into hell. 

The embarrassment is possibly the worst bit. Having to acknowledge that you've failed at what you consider to be the most important and central bit of your life- if not your entire life itself- is truly awful. To this day, I'm terrified of meeting anyone who i haven't seen since it happened. I'm going to a wedding soon in which there will be people there who I haven't seen from school, and I'm already preoccupied with how much of an utter failure they will think i am. I don't think I'll ever quite shake this feeling.

I used to honestly believe that he was my world. I used to worry about him getting ill and dying and whether or not I'd survive without him. I always concluded I wouldn't. I used to think that love was the single most important thing that could ever happen to me, and that if I didn't have it with this man then my life meant nothing at all. I thought I was quite pathetic, emotionally, and that I would never be able to cope with half of the things that most people go through as part of their daily lives. Other people could cope with divorces, but not me, I thought. I'm left both terrified that I won't ever feel like that over someone again and terrified that I will. I thought he made up for all my faults and that as part of a couple they would be forgiven, whereas on my own I wasn't worthy of anyone's consideration. 

However, approximately two weeks after that fateful Boxing Day, I had my own flat and I was absolutely loving living on my own. My friends- who I had mildly neglected during my marriage- rallied round and were and still are properly, properly amazing. All of that love that used to be directed at one man is now spread liberally over all of them. I've discovered a fierce loyalty that I didn't know I had. I've gotten myself involved in many things that I would never have dreamed about being brave enough to do during my marriage. these things would seem tiny and inconsequential to anyone else, but to me they are a lifeline.

I totally surprised myself. I didn't sail through it all, by any means, but I surpassed my own expectations of how I would cope with flying colours.  I know now that I have a capacity to cope with things that I would never have discovered if this hadn't happened to me. I have a renewed confidence that, when terrible things happen, I'll survive in my own right. I have faith in my own personality, and know that I don't need another person as a prop. A relationship is an optional extra, not a baseline requirement. My friends come first, above all things. I've learned that support comes from the most unexpected places (@eyeswideshut75, I'm looking at you, amongst others), and that asking for help is not in any way shameful. These are lessons that I'm bloody glad I now know.

I'd love to end on that positive note, I really would. But alas, its not that simple. I'm left with an inherent distrust of anything nice that's said to me. All of my beautiful ideas of love are shattered and I now know that its most definitely not All You Need. I've been unable to say and feel the word ever since in relationships, and have purposefully shied away from a few opportunities because of the terror of letting myself go. I have to fight with the cynicism that raises its ugly head every time a friend announces an engagement, or I go to a wedding. It's not the done thing to laugh bitterly out loud at the vows, I hear. This doesn't mean I'm not genuinely happy for them, I really am. I just hate the fact that my right to feel the excitement and happiness that blissful ignorance brings has been taken away from me.


If you ever visit Toronto Zoo, you'll find a little brick in the pavement just outside the gift shop which commemorates my wedding. It'll be there forever (or at least whilst the Zoo is still there), but the concept of forever has been ruined for me, and I don't think I'll ever get it back. Sometimes I think about how we have let that little brick down. 

Anyway, there you have it. I'm not one for mystery, and prefer to have things out in the open. It's cathartic to tell you all, dear readers, this sort of thing, and I'm pretty sure that if this really was just a blog about skepticism in healthcare you'd be bored shitless by now. So forgive my oversharing, and this muddy little puddle of melancholy in an otherwise bright and beautiful day.

Hxxx

A particularly awkward situation

I've written once before about my decision to be child-free, when I wrote a bit about the generic awkward conversation which invariably happens. This time I want to tell you about one particular situation in which child-free women frequently find themselves: The Holding Of The Baby.

Attribution: Godless girl

Attribution: Godless girl


Now I'm lucky in that my friends and family are, on the whole, very supportive of my decision. It's become a running joke at work that if there Is a baby about, I get forewarned so that I can find somewhere safe to hide in time. I'm lucky in that my workmates and friends know what I'm like, and they don't tend to take it as a personal slight when I don't turn into a gooey mush at the sight of their cherubs. They even usually manage to smile politely when I refer to their child accidentally as "it".

However, I'm not always so lucky, and the Holding Of The Baby ritual can be one that is so cringe-worthy that even writing about it now sets my teeth on edge. 

I have no interest in holding a baby. I'm clumsy, and likely to break it, which apparently isn't the done thing. I also just don't see the point of it: I can see perfectly well that its a baby from where I'm standing, thank you very much. I'd go so far as to say that holding a baby or child terrifies me. I remember on one occasion being at the ex-husband's sister's house with her two kids snuggled in cuddling me. Whilst I was informed that this was a touching scene externally, I was in total, full-on terror mode internally, with cold sweats, palpitations, and adrenaline generally screeching RUN AWAAAAY!! In my ear.

At first, they act like its a game. "Ooh, let's see if we can get H to hold the baby, that'll be funny". I can cope with the joviality initially, skipping around and performing various feats of ducking, diving, and slapstick comedy to get away. And then there's a point when it's not that funny to me actually. I really, really do not want to hold it-I mean him or her- thank you.

"Oh go on"
"No, really, it's fine. I'll just break it- erm him or her I mean"
"No go on, it'll be fine"

And so, I am trapped. There is nothing At all that I can do to get out of this situation, so I'm going to have to hold the baby. And I know exactly what's coming, and I know that it's going to end up in disappointment for us all. 

So, the bundle of joy is handed over, usually with the involvement of a precarious moment in which I narrowly avoid accidentally breaking its neck, and the following happens;

......
......
......


That's it. Nothing at all. All I think about is "when will this be over?" Or 'please cry so I can hand you back' or 'if you release any form of bodily fluid onto me I will be very, very unhappy'. And then I look up to observe a sea of expectant faces, all waiting in unison to see the miraculous conversion of the child-free to broody desperation to have a thing of such perfection in my life.

'After all', the parents might have been thinking, 'my child is THE most beautifully cute, wonderful,  overwhelmingly brilliant bundle of perfect genius that has ever lived. My baby is special, and better than everyone elses' normal, run-of-the-mill babies. She probably just doesn't want children because the only children she's been introduced to so far pale in comparison to my child. "As soon as she sees my child, that's when the maternal instinct will hit' Of course, I have no idea if this actually is how parents do think, but it may be one explanation for why The Holding Of The Baby is often forced upon the child-free. 

So what is one supposed to do in this situation? Well, I could lie, but I'm a truly a terrible actress. So instead I imperceptibly shake my head sadly and try to say something bland and apologetic. I'm sorry that your child isn't special enough to convert me, I really am, but it isn't. The doting parents are left disappointed, the spectators slump away like they've just witnessed a thorough trouncing of their favourite team, and I'm left crushed and embarrassed  that I'm the reason for all this disappointment. 

It's really not a nice feeling. And it could be very easily avoided by just acknowledging that not everyone wants to hold babies, not even yours.

If you're a parent, you might think that I'm being confrontational and unfair here. But all I'm asking for is that my life choice is respected. I wouldn't bring my cat into work and force those who dislike cats to hold him, as I respect the fact that some people don't like cats or want them in their lives (I also know my cat is a particularly violent individual and I don't want any lawsuits for loss of eyes or limbs, thank you very much.). It would just be lovely to have a refusal to Hold The Baby accepted unquestioningly.

Hxxx  

Thoughts on a child-free life

In my initial post, I said that I would mainly be blogging about skepticism in healthcare. Well, it turns out that I'm actually more able to churn out random nonsense about other -occasionally rather deep- aspects of my life more easily. And, as i'm getting more involved in skepticism as a whole, it's amazing to me how it's touching all the other aspects of my life as well, reinforcing vaguely held ideas and making me much more able to express my views to other people.

The other night I was at a bit of a 'do at a friend's house, and I had a conversation with one of my friends who I think is absolutely brilliant but I don't see that often in which I found myself employing some skeptical skills unexpectedly. The conversation was about the thorny issue of children.

So, here we go. I don't want children. Here is the standard conversation that I am used to pretty much every time these words leave my mouth:

Other Person:  "Oh.... OH?! REALLY?"
Me: "yes, really"
Other Person: "what, ever?"
Me: "no, never. At least I can't see myself ever having a space or need in my life for them in the future"
Other Person: "But you don't know what you're missing!"
Me: "yes, yes I do, thank you very much."
Other Person: "but it's different when it's your own"
Me:  "I'd rather not take the chance that it isn't"
Other Person: "oh, I knew someone (or alternatively, I used to be) just like you. And they (I) went on to have 20 kids and they (I) love them to bits."
Me: "umm, right. Well I don't think that's going to happen here"

And so it goes on, time after time, as if one day, during one of these generic conversations, I'm going to go "actually, do you know what, you're RIGHT!, I'm off to procreate RIGHT NOW"

I actually believe that the idea that you'll have children is very similar to religion, in that it sadly often doesn't even occur to people that there is an alternative option. It's just accepted as routine that you'll grow up, you may get married, and you'll have kids. I doubt many people ever think to challenge this notion, and as a result I think a lot of people don't address their own concerns about becoming parents before they do, and I'm sure this is a source of great angst and sadness in the world today.

I'm often confronted with a momentary look of blatant hatred when I confess that I don't want kids to people, before they get the chance to rearrange their face.  I sometimes get the feeling this may be a "hey, damn, I wish I'd thought of that!" reaction. Sometimes I see people over-enthusiastically posting on Facebook about how marvellous their kids are and I really can't tell who they are trying to convince.

My friend has found herself having to think about whether or not she wants children, because other people are constantly forcing her to think about it. Because she's been with her boyfriend for a prescribed amount of time, the "when are you getting married, when are you having kids" conversation is being thrown at her regularly. We talked for a while and it seems she's inclined to think she doesn't want them, but its such a social norm that she almost can't believe that this could be an option for her.

As you'll know from my previous post about atheism, I agree very much with Alom Shaha's notion that atheism needs to be more visible as an option to stop a lot of misery. I think similarly about not wanting children. I'm told I'm selfish for not wanting them, that I'm abnormal, that I'm somehow doing my gender and humanity a disservice. And I am selfish, but is it not more selfish to have a child because its simply what you do, then potentially spend a lifetime suppressing low-level regret and resentment? I could start on about overpopulation, blah blah blah but that's usually just too much effort for these types of conversation.

It strikes me that, like a lot of things in life, most people take this decision on face value instead of examining it with skeptical principles. And, after questioning yourself and your deeply held beliefs and societal norms, you still want to go ahead, then fine, I sincerely wish you all the best. It seems to me that a healthy dose of skepticism- in all aspects of life- is always worthwhile.

Like atheism, I've confronted my lack of desire for children, and I accept and embrace it, even in the face of some moments of fairly serious pressure to the contrary. I have no need or space for a child in my life, and I can make my own purpose and legacy without having to create and drag a new life into the equation. I'm comfortable with my decision, I just wish that everyone else was as comfortable with it as I am. Comfortable enough that the sort of conversations above- that I and many other child-free people (by which I mainly mean women) have to go through all the time- don't have to happen anymore. Comfortable enough that its an accepted life decision and not seen as an eccentric quirk.

I could rant on for days about this subject, and I may well revisit it in future posts. I hope that's not too boring for you.

Hxxx