Yvonne John
World Childless Week Ambassador
Still Standing and Reclaiming Summer on Your Own Terms
School’s out and the world shifts gears from parents nagging their kids to knuckle down and study for dreaded exams (yes, the times those of us without children can ignore), to family holidays, packed cars, ice cream smiles, playground laughter echoing throughout the day (the times we cannot ignore).
Summer, for many, is a vibrant festival of togetherness. For those of us living without children, the season carries a different rhythm. A quieter melody. An ache throbbing deep in our hearts, while the world hums a tune we don’t quite belong to.
The Season of ‘Everyone Else’
Summer can feel like a spotlight on absence. Social media blooms with beaches, theme parks, and family barbecues. Friends’ stories overflow with kids’ giggles and sun-kissed memories, while you sit somewhere between the pages of a novel and the cool shade of your porch, watching a world that seems just out of reach.
Mainstream summer narratives are rarely written with us in mind. We are the unacknowledged, the unseen. Marketing campaigns, TV ads, even office chatter orbit around family fun. We become ghosts in the background of a society that equates summer joy with parental joy.
And yet, summer doesn’t have to be a season of loneliness or longing. It can be a canvas, wide and bright, where new stories unfold.
Reclaiming Summer: The Art of Self-Love and Adventure
If summer is a celebration of life’s abundance, then childlessness can be a radical invitation to create your own festival without the schedules dictated by school breaks and little ones’ whims. This summer, what if you rewrote the script?
Imagine waking up to mornings that stretch like lazy smiles, the possibility of day trips chosen on a whim, afternoons filled not with shuttle runs but with hidden trails, art galleries, or the perfect café where the tea or cake tastes like a promise or what’s to come.
There’s poetry in the solo retreat, the friend getaway, the quiet moment by the sea with nothing but your thoughts and a good book. It’s a chance to lean into the stillness, to nurture yourself with a tenderness often reserved for others. And for once, not feel guilty about it.
The Myth of Selfishness
We’re often painted as selfish for reclaiming our lives, for choosing joy over justification. But what’s selfish about healing? About choosing presence? About refusing to be defined by the absence of children? Your joy does not require explanation.
Finding ‘Family’ in Chosen Company
Summer doesn’t have to be defined by biology or tradition. Many of us create our own chosen families; soul-sisters, honorary aunties, wise elders, and joy-filled friendships . In the emotional ups and downs of summer, these relationships can be the anchor, the lifeline, the joy.
Volunteering can be a beautiful way to engage with the season. Whether it’s tending a community garden, helping at local arts festivals, or supporting causes close to your heart, it’s a chance to connect with others, share your time and energy, and feel part of something meaningful. Adult-only retreats, women’s circles, or creative workshops can also offer space for restoration and joy - just be mindful that even in child-free spaces, conversations can sometimes orbit around parenting. Trust your intuition about what environments nourish you most.
The Invisible Work of Navigating Summer
There’s emotional labour here too: the careful navigation of conversations, the polite deflections when asked about plans or family, the quiet unravelling when the days grow long and the nights even longer. It’s okay to acknowledge the complex feelings summer stirs.
Grief and joy are not opposites; they can dance together like sunlight through leaves. Allow yourself the grace to feel whatever surfaces, without judgment. Sometimes the best self-love is simply permission to rest, to grieve, to dream anew.
Workplace Realities: Whose Time Matters?
In the workplace, summer can expose a quiet inequality. Colleagues with children are often granted flexibility, leaving early for childcare, taking time off during school holidays, while those without children are expected to pick up the slack or delay our breaks. Our time is assumed to be more available, less important. But burnout doesn’t discriminate. All of us need rest. What would it mean if rest and restoration were seen as human rights, not parental privileges?
Writing Your Own Summer Story
Summer is yours to own, not to endure. The world might trumpet family holidays as the hallmark of the season, but your story is just as valid and just as rich. Maybe it’s a summer of creativity; painting, writing, dancing like no one’s watching. Maybe it’s discovering new friendships or revisiting old ones. Maybe it’s traveling somewhere unexpected or simply sitting in a park watching the world unfold. There is power in carving out space for your joy, in celebrating the life you live whether or not it fits the mould of society’s summer postcard.
A Gentle Rebellion
So, as school lets out and the world bursts into full colour, let this be your gentle rebellion. Your summer doesn’t have to be defined by absence. It can be shaped by bold presence. Rewritten in your handwriting. Lived at your pace. You are not an afterthought in summer’s story you are the author of your own.
