PicoBlog

The other day, my dental hygienist made small talk as she cleaned my teeth: “so, do you have any kids?” “Nope,” I sputtered through a mouthful of dental instruments, and quickly changed the subject to something where I could contribute to the conversation.

In the past, this question would have brought about a twinge of grief or shame, but I found myself unfazed this time: over the past few years since I wrote a piece on my indecision around children, I’ve come to (relative) peace with the fact that I won’t have my own kids. It’s been a lot of therapy, re-reading Cheryl Strayed’s piece “The Ghost Ship That Didn’t Carry Us” a billion times, and just the blind faith that whatever path I take, I will be ok.

And because of that peace, I hadn’t thought about this topic much recently until I started taking steps to put together a local group for women in their 40s/50s who are without children: as I enter the peri/postmenopause phase of my life, I’ve yearned to have a group around me of women who are on a similar life path.

“Child-free or childless?” someone asked, inquiring about the group. I had to do a quick google search to learn the differences in the terminology. “I guess either?” I said, “it’s not so much the reasons WHY you do not have children, but the state of existing.”

That apparently wasn’t the right answer: it was then that I learned that childless/childfree is generally seen as a stark dichotomy, not a continuum.

If you are child-free, you are vocally proud about your decision to not have children, and it is usually for a moral or a social reason. If you are childless, you are grieving your inability to bring something into the world you desperately wanted with all your being.

I am neither of those: honestly, I probably fall somewhere in the middle. A bit melancholy and wistful about a life path that could have been, but having faith that the path I’m on will also be beautiful. I’m lucky, I suppose: unlike many of my peers, I don’t feel judgment from others for not having children. But I do feel pressure to FEEL a certain way about not having children.

Our culture generally finds it reprehensible if you show ambivalence around having children: we understand people on both ends of the spectrum (firmly yes/firmly no), but those of us that float around in the middle, indecisive and personifying the shoulder shrug emoji - we are the weirdos.

I’d say I’m childless by circumstance, with the opportunity never really presenting itself in a way that I felt comfortable even considering. At 40 and single, I don’t really see the opportunity presenting itself in the future. And because of that, I don’t know where I fall on the spectrum, which creates an issue when trying to find groups of women in a similar life position.

[Note: I know many women chose the wonderful option of becoming a single mom by choice. I think that’s a beautiful path and I have so much respect for those who choose that. While I do have frozen eggs and I could go that route, it is never something that has called to me].

There are wonderful communities for women who are childfree and wonderful communities for women who are childless, but it’s an empty space for those of us who fall somewhere in the middle of those polar opposites. I can’t empathize with women who have been through countless fertility cycles only to still not be able to bear a child. I don’t relate to women who are so vehemently opposed to having children for a moral or social or lifestyle reason. I see only in shades of gray and nuance, and I don’t find these conversations happening or these communities existing. Ambivalence is frowned upon: how could I just “not know”? How could I simultaneously be ok with either path and still grieve the one not taken?

As I look ahead to the beautiful blank canvas that is the second half of my life, the overriding question I find is “what do I do with it?” At an age where so many of my peers are finding meaning and purpose through raising children and building families, where do I channel my life energy to find that meaning and purpose? Instead of my energy having to focus on the herculean task of keeping tiny humans alive and helping them thrive, I have an endless possibility of choices of where to direct that.

While that sounds like an absolutely beautiful existence, it’s also a bit overwhelming. Without the societally sanctioned life path ahead of me, I get to create my own.

And I’m at a moment in my life where that is a complete blank slate, which is heightened by the fact of being single as well: when I’m comfortable partnered in a relationship where we can plan our child-free life of adventure together, it seems less acute. There, I’m not afraid of the sentence of life alone, void of a family unit.

The thing that keeps me awake at night is not so much these next 10, 20 years. It’s what life looks like when I’m 80 years old and I don’t have a family unit around. My sister is also child-free, so I am acutely aware that our family lineage dies with us. Once our parents are gone, it’s the two of us left (compound this with recent heartbreak and the thought of this is enough to instantly choke me up). Of course, that’s not a reason to bring a child into this world, and even if you have children, there’s no guarantee they are going to be around for you in your last years. But I think many people without children will occasionally have that intrusive 2am “you are going to die alone” thought.

I remind myself I don’t need to have it all figured out right now. My personality type has always craved certainty: a life planned out ahead of me, knowing what is to come (which we all know is impossible, regardless of how carefully you try to craft it). I have zero idea what my life is going to look like in 30+ years and no amount of worry right now can change that.

But what I can do right now is start building the life that I want: the life filled with meaning, purpose, and close intimate connections. A familial unit is one way to do that, but it’s by no means the only way. Sure, it’s the standard one that society gives us, but that doesn’t mean we have to take it.

And it’s with this lens that I hope those of us walking the life without children can unite regardless of our reasons behind not having children or how we feel about it. There are very real challenges that will face us as we age, and our creative energy and life forces need to unite to create solutions, unique living communities, and non-traditional familial units. It scares me, but excites me. Hopefully many others of you out there - whether child-free or childless - will invest time and energy into building it with me.

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