Sandra McNicol
World Childless Week People’s Champion 2024/25
Finding Connection With Children and Being CNBC
When we become permanently childless not by choice, one of our losses is that we lose the physical contact with “our child”—the tender moments with the beautiful child that we imagined in such vivid detail. That loss is profound, heartbreaking, and irreplaceable. Take all the time you need to grieve the heaviness of that loss.
And in time, we may find ourselves facing a deeply personal question: Do we want to welcome a connection with other children into our lives? And if so, on what terms, in what way, and when feels right for us? There is no right or wrong answer. Please avoid comparison and listen only to your heart.
This can be a difficult and deeply triggering thing to even consider. In my case, I had a clear desire during my search for motherhood to have my child—the unique experience I imagined having as a mother. It may sound strange, but that helped me avoid comparison and feel less emotionally triggered by “other people’s children”—their experiences were theirs, and mine would have been unique! Mmm, well, that, and the fact that a global pandemic kept me isolated from many of life’s usual interactions might have also given me an emotional cushion during the first two years of early grief.
What I want to say is: trust your own heart with this. There is no obligation to have contact with children, and if you do, go at your pace. Some will never want that connection, others will find it too painful, and that’s okay. Some will long for it but need time before they can embrace it. And others, like me, will experiment with different ways to find meaningful interactions that feel right. Wherever you are in this, please be kind to your heart.
Exploring Different Paths
Note: My definition of being permanently childless not by choice, means you have also considered adoption or fostering and, for whatever reason, that’s not (or no longer) an option for you, as this has been covered in other articles I’m not going to go into details in this one.
About a year after I learned I would never be a mother, I felt a growing urge to have an impact on children’s lives.
Perhaps with the "Mother Teresa" lense which Jody Day speaks about, my first idea was to sponsor a child’s education. I carefully researched charities to ensure my donation would directly support a child. I chose a lovely little girl in Uganda, in part because I had always dreamed of visiting Uganda (I was already imagining how special it could be to meet her), so I was excited when I received my first letter from her. I shared bits of my life and my heart with her, hoping for a connection. But over time, the letters felt transactional—more of an obligation on her side than a heartfelt bond. While I was happy to continue to contribute to her education, I felt disappointed. I imagined a closer relationship, and it didn’t fulfill the deeper need I had for a meaningful relationship.
I also considered hosting a child from another country for a school term or year, giving them an opportunity to study here. But my husband wasn’t comfortable with the idea, and ultimately, we decided it wasn’t the right path for us. I know others who have done this and loved it, but it wasn’t the right fit for our family.
For those with nieces and nephews, that can be an obvious choice. It’s key that the relationship with siblings is strong and healthy (I hear a lot of heartbreak in client sessions around unfulfilled expectations and sibling rivalry limiting the options; only you know your personal situation and if this is an option for you). For me, living in Spain while my family is in Scotland made that logistically difficult, add in that I have two brothers, 5 "niblings" who have 5 different mothers, negotiations to see them were hard at times. When I could see them I would try to make it extra special and do something fun, but as they moved into adolescence and adulthood, this has become more challenging to coordinate (adolescent rejection feels real for us too). I would also get frustrated when I would pick out lovely gifts for them, not expect anything in return, except a thank you and often not even get that.
Sometimes, at certain points in our journeys, it feels like connection with children is impossible—and perhaps we need that time to help us heal and feel less vulnerable.
The Unexpected Gift of Godmotherhood
But sometimes, when we least expect it, these connections come to us in ways we never imagined.
So when a local friend asked me to become her daughter’s godmother, I was surprised. First of all, her daughter was already six years old, adding to my shock. When my friend explained that she wanted to find the “right” moment for me and my CNBC grief, it melted my heart. Hold onto friends like this tightly; they are one in a million.
Before I said yes, we had an open conversation about expectations. What did she envision my role as a godmother to be? And just as importantly, I shared what I was able and not able to do. Understanding expectations and setting boundaries was a key part of this. For example, I wasn’t sure I’d feel comfortable attending a child’s birthday party surrounded by other children (and perhaps even more daunting—their parents). It felt like too much. Instead, we agreed that I could celebrate in my own way, perhaps by visiting a few days before the big day and still being part of the occasion.
These conversations made me feel seen and respected, allowing me to step into the role in a way that felt authentic and manageable.
Navigating Triggers Along the Way
This journey hasn’t been without its challenges.
Interestingly, it wasn’t spending time with my goddaughter that caused the most pangs of grief—it was the little, unexpected things. Seeing fun family photographs in their home would remind me of the memories I would never have with my child. In those moments, I learned to be gentle with myself. To make space for my sadness, remind myself what I would share with clients—this is a living loss, and it’s normal that we feel grief throughout our lives. Having a wide circle of online childless friends helps too; it gave me safe spaces where my sadness could be held. I found that not resisting the sadness meant it passed quicker too, and over time, I found myself becoming more resilient. I’ve learned what I can handle and what I can’t. I’ve gradually built (and continue to build) a beautiful relationship with my goddaughter.
She calls me her fairy godmother, and every time she says it, it makes me smile. Over the past three years, I’ve come to genuinely enjoy the fun of having a child in my life. This past summer was a highlight—we spent time at water parks and theme parks, creating lovely memories. It allowed my inner child to come out to play too, and one of the best bits? When I was exhausted, I dropped her home and had the luxury of rest. (This phrase may sit strangely with you, and you may not want the luxury of rest, and that’s okay—perimenopause has given me a new perspective and is helping me appreciate that more.)
Creating New Traditions
One of the unexpected joys I’ve discovered in this role is the opportunity to create new traditions.
In Catalonia Spain, it’s traditional for a godparent to buy a special Easter egg (A Mona) for their godchild. This tradition doesn’t exist in the UK, and it’s something uniquely tied to the godparent-godchild relationship—not for parents, aunts, or anyone else. I love embracing this tradition each year—carefully choosing an egg I think she will love, seeing her beautiful face light up when she receives it, and sharing that moment (and of course the chocolate) together.
It has made me reflect on how, even in loss, we can create new traditions. New ways of being in relationship with children. They may not look like what we once imagined, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be meaningful.
Honoring Your Own Path
Through this experience, I’ve learned that it’s possible to create meaningful connections with children in our lives, often in ways we don’t expect. But I also know that this is not the right path for everyone.
It’s okay if the answers change. It’s okay if you’re not ready, if you never want that, or if you do but need to go slowly. It took six years before I was asked to be a godmother, and even then, I hesitated. Go at your pace. Listen to your own heart. There is no right or wrong way to navigate this.
So I invite you, wherever you are in your journey, to take some time to reflect:
Do you want children in your life in some capacity?
If so, what kind of connection would feel right for you?
Are you ready for this now, or does your heart still need time?
For those who have already found meaningful relationships with children, I’d love to hear about how you’ve created them—and perhaps the special traditions you’ve built along the way.
Some of us have tried some things and are hurting re this topic, and I want to hold space for that too.
I just want to remind you: wherever you are, you are not alone in this, and trust whatever choices you make are right for you.
