Tag Archives: child-free

When Cheesecake Is More Than Cheesecake

15 Monday May 2017

Posted by in Church Life, Holidays, Life, Pop, Single in the Sanctuary

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cheesecake picToday, Mother’s Day 2017, I went to lunch with some people from church.  I was the only non-mom female adult in the group.

It was wonderful catching up and spending time with this group of people.  When the end of the meal came, the other women at the table received a free piece of cheesecake.

I did not.

Now, I was planning on spending my dessert calories elsewhere in the day (as I had a free coupon for a sundae that I was looking forward to).  While the cheesecake looked delicious, I wasn’t as disappointed that I wasn’t eating cheesecake as much as what that cheesecake represented.

That dessert represented the haves and the have nots when it comes to family structures.

I continue to claim the status of somewhere between childhood and childfree.  Most days, I am content with not having children, I suppose.  While 360 days of the year I’m fine (or have, at least, convinced myself I am fine) not having children, certain holidays roll around each year, reminding me of what I don’t have.

For instance, there’s Christmas morning in which I don’t have children waking me up, excited about getting presents.  Then there’s Easter Day, when families all sit together with children beaming from the Easter Bunny excitement.

And it feels like a knife cuts into my soul.

I was already having a rough day due to what Mother’s Day means to me: a day representing dreams that didn’t happen.  Each year, I never expect it to impact me as it does until the day rolls around and I’m dealing with aches in my heart every time I see photos of friends with their children, knowing that isn’t the same path my life took.

There’s the primary source of sadness and grief: not having children.  But when a piece of cake comes out for all of the other women at your table, you realize that your path is so very different from the path of your sisters, and grieve a secondary loss of being looked over by society.

And that’s why I encourage churches to take an inclusive approach to this holiday by praying for all women on Mother’s Day – the ones with children and the ones who face childlessness.  We pray for the ones beaming with joy and the ones who would rather not come to church on this Sunday.

Many women refused to go to churches on Mother’s Day because of the glorification mothers receive.  At the church I serve, we recognize that Mother’s Day is about being a mother and being part of the process of mothering.  All women (and all people) fit into the latter category as it really does take a village to raise children.

I’m pleased to be one of many pastors who is bringing a new inclusive way of recognizing Mother’s Day to churches.

I just wish restaurants would catch up…

Single in the Sanctuary: To the Table of Moms

17 Friday Jun 2016

Posted by in Life, Pop, Single in the Sanctuary

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Dear table of moms at my favorite coffee house,

It was a lovely day. I needed to complete some work and I chose to sit outside. But after a very short while, I had to move inside.

You see, your conversation was breaking my heart.

I’m a childless women. It wasn’t something I necessarily chose for myself. Due to life’s timing and reproductive health issues, having children doesn’t seem like the best option for me.

But you didn’t take into consideration when your conversation was loud enough to hear on the patio.

You first complain about the childless women who make judgments on parenting. I’ll give you that one. We don’t have the right to be a Monday morning quarterback when it comes to your children, especially since we don’t know what challenges your children may have.

But then you started talking about the women who look at their pets like children among some other snide comments. While I’m not one, I know women who do consider their pets like children. There are a number of reasons women don’t have children- out of choice or out of circumstance. But just like you don’t want us to make fun of your parenting styles, we don’t want you to make fun of the way we live our lives. We don’t know what you go through; you don’t know what we go through either.

The condescending tone was too much for me. I haven’t quite transcended the way life has happened for me and attained peace with it.

And that’s when I moved inside.

I thought about chatting with you about your derogatory tone. Maybe I would start a conversation about how difficult it is to be unmarried without children or married with children or married without children and with two dogs.

But sometimes we don’t have the energy to educate you through our pain. So I moved inside on this beautiful day. It was my choice, but it was the healthiest choice for me.

So, if any of you happen to read this, just be sensitive to the women surrounding you. There may still be a piece of us who are envious of your life, of your privilege to connect with mommy groups, of being able to attain the family structure you dreamed of when you were a child. You don’t know what the roads we’ve been on and the dreams dropped along the way. You may not have a cycle or biology that has reminded you on a monthly basis that bearing children would be an uphill battle.

Women of family structure privilege: complain about us or make fun of us if you must make yourselves feel better this way, but just do so in private spaces. Know that there are people surrounding you that are trying to heal and your voice is reopening wounds.

 

Single in the Sanctuary: To My Never-Existed 18-Year-Old

28 Thursday Apr 2016

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merrygoround2When I was young, I thought I was going to have children.  I thought I was going to have my first child at 25 after getting married at 22.  I was so sure that this was the way that my life was going to turn out.

For years I wanted to have children.  And then something changed.  Maybe it was turning 40 before meeting an appropriate significant other.  Maybe it was enjoying my child-free life the way it was.  Maybe it was meeting someone who I could see spending time with as a couple… not a family.

As I see my friends’ children growing more and more as each year passes, I think to myself “there is no way that I could be a mom of a child of this age.”

And then it hit me: if I would have had my child when I planned on having one, I would have an 18-year-old now as I am now 43.

I would see her or him graduating high school and making decisions on where they would go for college.  I would see them getting ready for their senior prom.  I may be facing the beginning of empty-nest syndrome.  I’d be warning him or her about the dangers of drinking too much, setting your drink down at a bar or party, making sure to call when they got to where they were going and reminding them to be safe when it came to sex and driving.

I would think about how quickly those childhood years went and hoped it would have gone more slowly.  And a small part of me would be relieved that they were finally an adult and I could begin the next chapter of my life.

Instead, I don’t have any of this.  Do I wish I would have had these experiences?  Maybe?  Probably?  Do I feel sad that it never happened?  Not too often at all.

Will I regret the way my life turned out?  Probably not regarding children.  Occasionally, twinges of wonder rattle my soul.  And occasionally the musing that I may have missed something sacred.  But I’ve found mothering moments.  I’ve given birth to dreams.

And I look forward to watching my dreams grow from their infantile stage into mature realities.

 

The Plans We Make

10 Sunday May 2015

Posted by in Current Events, Holidays, Life, Pop

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By Kim Navarre from Brooklyn, NY (Aleks’ beautiful corsage Uploaded by France3470) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Last night I saw a gaggle of teens dressed in formal wear walking to and from the restaurant.

It was prom.

Thinking about it, I realized that I attended my first and second proms 25 and 24 years ago, respectively.  Styles have changed notably.  I’m pretty sure hair is not quite as big but heels on shoes are higher.

Twenty-five years ago… TWENTY-FIVE years…

Then, a little math goes on in my head.  If I had a child when I had first planned, I would have been 25 years ago.  Seventeen years have passed since I was 25, which would make my fictitious child old enough to attend her or his junior prom this year.

There is no way I’m old enough to have a child who would be attending prom…

But life never worked out the way I had originally planned.  I made lots of plans over the years, and one-by-one, so many have fallen through.  Some I stopped wishing for years ago.  Others, I still have pangs of sadness because they never materialized.

So on this Mother’s Day, I think about the 17 year old I could have had – and maybe a 14 year old too.  I think about formal dress shopping that won’t happen, the first days of kindergarten into which I’ll never walk my child and the pre-birth quickening I will never feel.

Three hundred and sixty days of the year, I never think about these things.  I’m fine with the life I have and appreciate my present circumstances.  But today I set aside time to grieve a bit for the plans that never happened, mostly because that a little piece of who I hoped to be vaporized into the past.  Some dreams of yesterday just won’t happen.

And that makes me just a little sad.

I will wrestle with God.  We’re not cool this day, God.  At least not in this moment.  But we will be fine.  We’ll be fine tomorrow when this day reminding me of unanswered prayers and silent homes and empty wombs and plans that have been buried is over.

And I’ll go back to the blissful life that plans B, C and D have afforded me.

 

 

Between Child-Free and Childless at Christmas

30 Tuesday Dec 2014

Posted by in Current Events, Holidays, Life, Pop, Pop Culture, Religion

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By Michelle Tribe from Ottawa, Canada [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

On Christmas Eve, I stood before the congregation and read the narrative of Mary visiting Elizabeth.  As I read aloud from the pulpit, my heart ached a bit when coming across these words:

“When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy.” – Luke 1:41-44

At 41 years old, I’m pretty sure that I’m beyond having children, at least an infant.  (I have wondered if I’m called to be a mom to an older child someday in the future.)  With some of my health concerns, including my endometriosis, I have higher risk pregnancies, chances of infertility and miscarriage.  On top of all of this, I find myself exhausted so much quicker, and only sleeping two or three hours would disturb my health even greater.

I also enjoy my life the way it is.  I absolutely love being a full-time pastor.  I enjoy spending time with friends as well as my niece and nephew.  I love working with the children at church.  But I know that my call is greater to be a full-time working woman rather than one that devotes part of her life to children.  Being a mother is a blessing and a call; likewise, devoting one’s life to a vocation is a call as well.

A few months ago, I wrote about my gray-spaced life as a woman existing between childless and child-free.  Even for those of us who lean towards not having children, the thought of never experiencing a life thriving within us brings a tinge of sadness.  In fact, I think that’s the toughest part for me.

I will never feel the stirring of a child.  I will never see anything besides an empty uterus on the ultrasound.  I will never see my belly blissfully full from a growing baby, and I will never watch it moves as she moves within me.  Even if I love my life child-free, the ions of childlessness still create a sadness.

So reading the previously noted portion of Luke 2 made my heart hurt just a little on Christmas Eve.  I can’t be sure if I was the only one or if there were many others sitting in our pews crying inside because of infertility, miscarriage or the way life has just worked out.

And just maybe a small part of me felt left out of the pregnant ladies club… the one in which the Elizabeths and Marys get together to watch their growing bellies and converse in joy about the movement of the child in their wombs….

My soul still magnifies the Lord for all the wonderful pieces of my life.  The “Mighty One has done great things for me,” and Her name is still holy.

But just for a moment, I embrace the sadness lingering inside of my empty womb.

Between Childless and Child-free

10 Saturday May 2014

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IMG_3660In the past number of years I have felt a range of feelings one may feel being childless on Mother’s Day.  Granted, I am truly grateful for my own mom, my grandmas and those who have been mom-like to me.  I cheer with those who have chosen to be moms and have enjoyed holding your babies as they have seen their first few months.

And I’ve faced the childlessness that I never expected to experience.  I have moved from a place of sadness that comes with childlessness to a new type of limbo – – navigating the place of being childless and child-free.

Now that I’ve crossed the threshold into my forties, I realize how giving birth to a child and caring for an infant would impact my life.  Because of my own body changes, I don’t know if I could conceive, if I could carry a child to term, if I could live with one to two hours of sleep per night.

Many of of my friends’ experiences have opened my eyes.  Twenty years ago, I would not have seen miscarriage after miscarriage.  Years of grief post-stillborn.  Weeks in the hospital or in bed hoping to carry the baby to term.  One to two hours of sleep per night.  Health changes post-baby.

Before the age of 40, I never had the right significant other with whom to raise a child.  I never had enough income to live semi-comfortably raising a baby on my own.

I still do not.

I never thought I would be here: in a limbo state of childless/child-free post 40.  I remember freaking out in my twenties when thinking I would never have children.  If my 20 year old self could see myself today, she would be devastated.

And yet, at post-40, I’m not.

There’s a part of me that’s happily content in this childless/child-free limbo.  I sleep and eat as I want.  I follow my calling by God to mother to a congregation.  I experience the small moments in life without the distraction of others to take care of.

But I’m still just a little sad and not able to 100% embrace a permanent child-free state.

I’m sad I will never baptize my baby or feel the kicks inside of my womb.  I’m sad that I will never attend a parent-teacher conference or place a dollar under the pillow when my child’s tooth falls out or see the faces of my children on Christmas morning.  I’m sad that I am not part of the “mommies club” and that I sit on the outskirts of what is acceptable in our society.

I live in the childless/child-free limbo.  I can not see myself having a child at this point but there’s still a part of me that mourns never having a child.  I do not have the money or energy or stamina to pursue birthing a child or having an infant at this point.  With this post I publicly embrace that I live between two points: the childless woman who once wanted a child and a woman who is content with being child-free.  And I know that others still live in this rarely talked about limbo.  We are both blessed and grieved to this place where life has brought us.  We are still articulating where we are, and we don’t want others to name this place for us.

Please do not call me heartless because I may not want to have a child.  Please do not tell me that I may change my mind.  Please do not tell me that I do not know true love because I do not have a child.  Please do not tell me that there are plenty of ways to still become a mother.  Please do not assume I do not love children just because I have none, or that I don’t understand children.  Please do not think I sit and cry all of the time because life turned out a bit differently than expected.

And please do not tell me how I should feel on Mother’s Day.

Unfortunately, Mother’s Day is always on a Sunday.  Some pastors understand that Mother’s Day is sensitive to some women – they know that women experiencing a number of experiences related to motherhood need to be remembered in prayer.  And then there are other church leaders who think that those of us who still hold sadness in our unique reproductive losses should get over it.  Find a new way to celebrate.  Suppress our feelings for this one service just to go home to cry uncontrollably.

They don’t get it.  They don’t understand that Mother’s Day is not happy for everyone, and they expect us to feel a certain way.  It takes unchecked privilege to make such a bold statement – a privilege which excludes many of my childless friends… and even those of us who are working through our childless/child-free limbo.

I am trying to find a new way to celebrate.  But I’m not there yet.  Do not force me to be happy for someone else because the twenty-something piece of my soul still grieves.  But do not think that I live in a constant state of  grief either because I have a wonderful life with wonderful loved ones and friends.

So on Mother’s Day, even though I’m content with my life, I still have twinges of mourning.  And in those twinges, I sit in solidarity as I remember my friends who are painfully childless because of infertility.  I sit in solidarity with those who have lost children and experienced miscarriages.  And I ask that my other clergy friends remember those hurting on Mother’s Day as well.

Being a woman is more than a mother.  It’s being the person God calls us to be bringing love into the world.  I have moments of mothering, and I thank Mother God that I can fill that space from time to time.

May those of us in childless/child-free limbo, those of us who are mothers and those of us who cry because we aren’t find a way to validate each other.  Amen.