Today’s theme for world childless week is hurtful comments. Oh my goodness, if I was being paid for all these I have received over the years, I would be a very rich woman! It’s funny how many people – often who have never experienced what others experience – feel qualified to make comments, to give suggestions, or to say things which are simply empty platitudes. Of course, as my struggle is singleness and not wanting to be a lone parent, many of these comments are mixed with that challenge and not about fertility issues.
The message I grew up with, not necessarily from family, but wider society, and I think the church was that there was a ‘man for me’ somewhere, and I would ‘find’ him. As I watched more and more friends get married, and start families, the pain started. Simply to begin with, of course, I was still young, there was indeed ‘still time’ as many people pointed out to me, regularly. To begin with, it was more of a ‘I can’t wait till this happens to me’ than the stabbing pain I get today.
I was a sick children’s nurse predominantly nursing children with cancer in my early 20’s, and I was told by other nurses often that ‘I couldn’t understand pain until I had my own children’., like I was some kind of unfeeling robot, and parents had the monopoly on pain. Actually, I can remember a large number of parents who didn’t feel anything, who showed that they had no care for their children or who in fact had intentionally hurt their children, yes, sometimes actually causing their death. Yet I was incapable of feeling pain.
Even today when I hear the words, ‘as a mother / father / parent…..’ as a precursor to feeling some kind of pain or wanting to see a more just world or the environment cared for, it makes me rage inside. Again, it’s claiming a monopoly on feelings and taking the moral high ground. If people KNEW how often I had wept body shaking sobs over situations children find themselves in, both here and overseas, they may realise that there is no monopoly on feeling pain and righteous anger at injustice for children.
In my late 20’s I used to spend the majority of my days with a good friend whose baby was my Godson. As I worked with children, many people (all married with children) told me I shouldn’t do this, as I needed to ‘rest’ on those days. I always wanted to say – but what do YOU do on your days off? Do you ignore your children, would you be telling me to ignore my children on my days off if I had any? I think not…..the thought that I couldn’t choose what I wanted to do on my days off was so frustrating, and actually belittled what I felt was an important role and one which deserved to be given time.
We would often end up in different coffee shops around Kent where we were, and I would often be cuddling my Godson. I lost count of the amount of comments I would receive,
you’re a natural
you’ll make an amazing mother
just wait, you will be next
Though how people could say that without even knowing my life situation, was something I wondered regularly!
Each one of these comments, at the time, raised my expectations and hopes. Although at the time they were not so painful as I was younger, they just deepened my longings, looking back on them, they are painful memories. What gave people the right to give hope that would prove to become so painful?
I was also told by someone close to me that my, ‘biological clock was ticking,’ as if I wasn’t aware of that! Yes, that may be true, but I WAS SINGLE! I am not sure what more you would expect me to do about this (these were the days before internet dating, which has its own issues anyway, not quite the ‘fix-it-all’ that people not doing it seem to think it is!!) having made a decision I did not want to parent alone.
At the age of 43 I was also told, ‘you’re 43? There is plenty of time for everything yet.’ I am now only 4 months from my 45th birthday, not many people are able to conceive, let alone easily carry a pregnancy at this stage in life, certainly not without risk. Yes, this person was married, with grown children and whilst I recognise that is not a recipe for a perfect life and there are challenges along the way, her statement simply is not true. It has been a regular thing that people have told me – there is time.
And now, we have faced Covid-19. During this time someone has actually told me that they are jealous of me and my life. Jealous. Married, with 2 children which has brought a lot of challenges I know, but I also know much joy. I have had to go into lockdown and the subsequent difficulties in a housing estate which has regularly carried the voices of children, playing on their bikes, kicking a ball, splashing in a paddling pool. Oh yes, I have heard the tantrums and the tears too, but somehow, that noise still also hurts as I am not able to go to take that child in my arms and help them through the frustration or pain they are having. This is often a hard reality, especially in the summer, but this year, with children not at school, it hurt so much more.
I know I have been able to do some amazing things in my life, but none of these things happened because I didn’t have children. With the right partner, all I have done can be achieved as a family too.
Ironically, I did those things, with a heaviness in my heart that it was all alone. I have always worked with and for children, they have a deeply precious place in my heart, and the chance to have spent such quality time with children of my own over this time would have been amazing – yes – totally complete with challenges and difficulties too – but what a privilege that would have been.
Instead, alone I have got through this time with no human touch whatsoever, and for a highly tactile person, yes, that hurts, this time has also included the death of my father, and with no partner or children, I had to get through the grief with no human touch.
So please, especially if this story – and the story of so many other women like me, and who are CNBC for so many reasons – is one that you can’t identify with, please be cautious with your advice and your platitudes. It might make you feel better to have offered some ‘sound advice’ but it rarely sits so well with us.
Ruth Radley