Today, as we sit breathing smoke and looking out at orange sky from wildfires burning all over Oregon and California, we have a guest post from “Kimberly.”
I just discovered the term for the grief that has been building up in my throat and tear ducts yesterday as I was scouring the internet for anything to define my current emotional state, and I finally found it: childless by circumstance. Finally a phrase to equate with this heavy unwavering feeling that pervades my soul.
I always wanted kids, since I first taught kindergarteners at Vacation Bible School at the tender age of 13. Sunday school followed that, and I even became a nanny at age 22 to an adorable toddler named Alex. My life was to be filled with kids—dirty diapers, tiny fingers grasping my thumb, wispy, sweaty baby hairs that I would tenderly wipe away and salty tears that would dry up instantly with my hugs.
But then I fell in love at age 27 with a man 10 years my senior, separated from his wife, with 10 and 14-year-old children. We dated on and off for years, a desperate and mesmerizing love story. I tried countless times to move on from him and start a fresh relationship with someone who could give me the safety I craved, complete with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. But he was my soul mate, so I followed my heart and married him finally at age 37. He never wanted more kids and told me so, but I guess I believed that love would eventually change his mind. It didn’t and I accepted that—or I thought I did because I grew to love his children, especially his daughter, like my own. I even bought Natalie her wedding dress.
Then Natalie got pregnant at age 26, and I grew so excited at the thought of becoming a grandmother at age 44. Except once the baby was born, the grief hit me like a tidal wave. Here was what I could never have. The loss of the life I dreamed about was amplified and triggered by her newborn, and I realized I had never told one person in my life how much it hurts to lose my baby dream. I never even whispered it. I just bottled it up into some tiny piece of my heart and hoped that being a stepmother and eventually a grandmother would be enough. No one knows how hard it is to walk in my shoes every day with a profound sense of loss—what a burden I feel—and how lonely it is to be childless by circumstance.
I have a friend right now who is almost 41 and actively trying to get pregnant for the first time. She too married later in life and was never sure if she wanted to have children. But then out of the blue it hit her, that yes, this is the path she wants to go down. Somehow I have become her confidante and the only one she tells about all that she is going through. It never occurs to her how much this might hurt someone like me, someone who never got the chance to have kids. How each time she calls me, I end up sobbing afterwards, how I do not think I am strong enough to support her in this journey, how much I wish that journey was mine.
Kimberly, we do know how you feel because many of us feel the same way. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
Well, readers, comments? Commiseration? Hugs?
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Please pray for everyone involved in the western wildfires, including the firefighters and the thousands who have had to leave their homes. The heat is extreme and the wind near-constant. Here on the Oregon coast, the sky is orange and full of smoke, and it’s almost dark at 10 a.m., but we are safe so far.
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Do you want to tell your story at the Childless by Marriage blog? I’m looking for personal stories, 500-750 words long, that fit our childless-by-marriage theme. You could write about infertility, second marriages, partners who don’t want children, stepchildren, feeling left out when everyone around you has kids, fear of being childless in old age, birth control, and other related issues. Tell us how you how you came to be childless “by marriage” and how it has affected your life. Or you could write about someone else. We love stories about successful childless women. We do not want to hear about your lovely relationship with your children or how happy you are to be childfree. Not all submissions will be accepted, and all are subject to editing. If interested, email me at sufalick@gmail.com.
Childless by Marriage 
I feel so sorry for Kimberly. It is very lonely to carry this burden and to suffer this pain in secret. It’s sad that her friend has not considered that this could be a sensitive subject for her.
It won’t be easy but for the sake of her own feelings and to protect her from further heartbreak, I think it would be best to let her friend know that she finds it very hard to listen to her talking about her plans for a baby. It’s not like she is going to stop talking about it otherwise. If she does get pregnant then Kimberly will be expected to support her friend throughout the pregnancy, birth and to be ‘Auntie Kimberly’ to the baby as he or she grows up. If she doesn’t get pregnant, she will have to be there for her through tests or treatments or as she comes to terms with being childless, all the while never talking about her own experience. She already has enough on her plate coping with her stepdaughter’s baby.
How much she tells her friend about the reasons why she can no longer hear all that stuff is for her to decide. If her friend then continues to offload onto Kimberly then that would speak volumes about how important Kimberly’s feelings are to her. It may be that her friend is willing to be a confidante to Kimberly and it is actually a good thing that they have this conversation sooner rather than later.
Two weeks ago my brother told me that he and his partner are going to try for a baby later this year or next year. Luckily it was on the phone so I didn’t have to worry about making the right face. It would be wonderful for them, and for my parents to finally be grandparents aged 70 and 72. I can’t begrudge them it but it will be very hard for me. I feel like it would break me. As I went to bed that night, I hoped that I would die before he or she is born. I’m getting prickly eyes thinking about it all again now.
I have no-one to confide in as my Mum will say I’m being selfish and I never talk about this subject with my partner for obvious reasons. I know I will be expected to be there at all stages for them but I can’t bear to even look at a picture of a baby bump or be anywhere near babies and small children. It may well be time for a difficult conversation of my own.
Sue, I’m sorry that you live so close to the wildfires. Thinking of you and hoping that you stay safe and well.
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Thank you, Jo. The fires are closer than they were yesterday, but we’re not in danger so far. Just a lot of smoke.
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Reading this took me back to a very, very hard time in my life. My best friend, who I talked to on the phone every day at the time, was going through some custody hearings regarding her boyfriend’s daughter. We talked about everything so of course we talked about this. It was very hard on my friend. And, apparently, it was very hard on me too. I realized the conversation topic was greatly affecting me and, as much as I didn’t want to, I HAD to tell my friend. So I told her that I was sorry but that I couldn’t listen about that topic anymore, that it was affecting me too much. She got frustrated, saying it had nothing to do with me. I shared that it wasn’t my situation, but considering how much I wanted to be raising children, listening to everything was affecting me much more than it should have. I admitted that I couldn’t keep her situation separate from my own feelings about my life. It wasn’t a great conversation because I was embarrassed by my feelings and she was frustrated because she didn’t understand, but she respected my needs and we didn’t talk about it anymore. I was sorry I couldn’t support her in that way, but I couldn’t so that was the fact of the matter.
Yeah, that was a long time ago, but it definitely sucked. It was also all before I was even trying to get pregnant.
If I could suggest one thing to this brave writer Kimberly, it would be: Keep Talking/Writing. Tell a friend, start a blog, heck, send me an anonymous email. Just, Get. It. Out. Talk about your pain. Acknowledge your losses. Cry, complain, rage, and/or vent. I say this because writing and connecting with others, even if they’re people on the Internet whom I haven’t met, has helped me immensely. Even when you feel like it, you are not alone. ❤
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Phoenix, thank you so much for these kind and wise words.
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