Cristina Archetti
World Childless Week Ambassador
I had imagined that reaching 50 years of age would be a “turning point.” I was not sure, though, what it would mean—and where I would “turn” to? Would life seem shorter? Would I suddenly feel old? Would I rather realize how much perspective I had matured in the half century I had been alive for? Six months after having reached that milestone, I can share some reflections, particularly revolving around a curious encounter and a thought experiment that deeply affected my perspective on life.
Turning 50, I found, has been a process. I have been preparing for it for a long time, working on myself, coming to terms with and appreciating the reality of my life as it turned out to be. I did not wake up in the morning of my birthday feeling different: I have been becoming a different person for a while. This has been facilitated by many experiences, like engaging with the CNBC (childless not by choice) community over many years now, training as a psychotherapist, researching as part of my academic job the silence around involuntary childlessness and the trauma of infertility.
I have been trying to be lighter and to play more, too. Wanting to try new things (writing this blog post and not talking about research is one of them!), late last year I attended a cacao ceremony in Oslo, Norway, where I live. During this ceremony, inspired by a South American indigenous ritual that involves consuming a cocoa drink, participants were guided, through meditation, shamanic journeying and dancing, to connect with themselves and their ancestors. A participant, a medium called Siv (who gave me permission to tell the story), to thank the organizer of the event, offered the opportunity to all other people who were present to have a session with her. I was immediately intrigued. I am a scientist, however I am also extremely curious about other approaches to reality and belief systems. So I got in touch with her.
At the session, Siv explained that she could connect with the spirits of those who have passed. Yet, she was more interested in providing information that could support the journey of one’s soul. She felt that that was precisely what was needed for me at that point. It is important for me at this stage to stress that whether I believe what I am going to tell next is really not important. I realize that some of you might also be provoked by the idea of meeting a medium. But bear with me: take the story of this encounter and the questions it raised as a thought experiment—it might be interesting.
Siv brought me into contact with whom I was in a previous life, centuries ago. The idea here, as she explained, is that our soul is on a journey across multiple lives. Before beginning every new life, the soul chooses one’s parents, life experiences, including challenges that are going to help it grow and ascend to a better version of itself. One of my versions from a previous life, it turns out, was a male hunter who lived in the tundra, in close contact with nature and was very respected by his tribe. I was guided, in the session, to establish contact with him.
Not only, through this experience, did I inexplicably feel like I had come home. What profoundly touched me was also that he wanted to introduce me to his children—my children from a previous life. After the session, I was left with this thought circling, as if in a loop, in my mind: “So, perhaps in a previous life, maybe in multiple lives, I had children.” What I starting wondering was: What if I really chose not to have children in this life? What if I even chose to go through the grief of not being able to conceive? What if not having children is an opportunity, something I might not have got in another life, that I could be more fully embracing now? The idea of not having just one life, rather existing in a longer time horizon also somehow felt relieving: I could afford to play and take it easy; there was no destination I had to achieve, and certainly not immediately: in eternity there is no rush. There was also no way I could “mess up” (how many times did I think I had taken the wrong decisions in life?) because I could try again. I even started thinking that there was no need to feel like I was “missing out” for not having children because I had already had that experience at some other time.
I realize that these thoughts might be offensive if you are in the midst of grief. They would have been for me, too. “If it was as easy as having some new thoughts to make the pain stop, I would have already done that,” you might be thinking. I know because I have been there, and I am sorry for bringing this up. I nonetheless wanted to share these reflections to show that life, perhaps in the not too distant future, might become very different from what it is for you now. It can and it will change.
For those who might feel a spark of curiosity reading my story, you do not need to believe in reincarnation. Just considering these questions, though, could lead to some unexpected discovery: What could be the implications of living as if we had chosen to be childless? How would we behave, think, talk, dream if our life extended beyond the Earthly lifespan? I have found that these questions, in addition to the work I have done on myself over the years, have further affected my perspective on life and how I am going to approach my future. They help me be more present to all that is in my life rather than what is absent.
Of course I confront the reality of not having children, and its consequences, every day. But it does not hurt me anymore, it is not a weight. It is part of the furniture, so to speak: there, but not really attracting my attention; important, yet still part of the repertoire of things, memories, experiences I have collected through the years. This, I now know, is what acceptance looks and feels like.
A clock at Oslo airport’s station, as I returned from a journey to France in occasion of my 50 th birthday. It represented for me the timelessness of living in the present moment.
