Stephanie Joy Phillips

World Childless Week Founder

I know we’ve all encountered comments that can sting a little, hurt a lot or just make us internally roll our eyes until they feel they could burst and visually show the ignoramus opposite us that their words are not helpful, supportive or acceptable. However, even as this point of gooey-messy bloody eyes I still have an awkward inkling they’d probably throw in the fact (just to reassure us [as if we could have forgotten]) that “as a mum”, they can fix our eyes. 

Perhaps an overly critical assumption, but sadly it does (without the blood gushing gooey-eyes) feel like a scenario many of us have faced. Seeing someone perhaps trying to emphasise but instead twisting the conversation to focus on their experience or understanding and away from what we are sharing. Diminishing and sometimes dismissing our emotions and reality.

In my previous blogs on comparing childlessness with cancer I’ve shared how people can be more aware and sensitive when cancer is mentioned (Hair Loss and Childlessness), but it’s not always the case.

I’ve been told “Once you get cancer it never goes away”. Wow that hurt, that scared, and that imprinted in my thoughts. This was her interpretation of a recent experience in her life and regardless of if she believed it to be true, she really didn’t need to say it to me. It feels like a comparison for the classic “you’ll never know true love until you have a child”. Both said with the implication of a life-long curse.   

Another person said “Whilst I’ve not had cancer I have had a cancer scare so have an idea of what you must be feeling”. No, hell no, you have no idea what I am feeling. A scare is exactly that, but knowing you have a tumour, an alien thing, growing in your body that has the potential to kill you in years, months or even weeks is NOT THE SAME. I’ve had two cancer “scares” in my life so I understand the emotions from every angle and, I’m going to say this again, NOT THE SAME.

Fearing an outcome is not the same as living it. I almost feel that I have to try and compound my grief from “I am childless” to “I am childless FOR LIFE” (see My Childless Identity Feels Under Threat) so that parents don’t see it as a part time situation. Perhaps they had a glimpse of understanding because they didn’t meet their partner until later in life or it took them a few months or even years to conceive. I am not denying the pain that existed in their own heart or the stress and worry they experienced considering they may not become a parent. However, knowing you are childless FOR LIFE is an entirely new step up.

An incident that occurred recently really reinforced how little my personal childless space in the world is perceived. I’d gone for an eye health check because of visual side effects with the chemotherapy I’m presently undergoing. All went well, and happily all I needed were some eye drops, but a final conversation with the receptionist who had been really kind and considerate to that point, left me in awe.

She mentioned her friend (a mother) who was also going through chemotherapy and how hard it was on her. However, she then switched the entire conversation to herself. As a mother, she was concerned about if she may get cancer in the future. She expressed that she didn’t know how she would cope financially or look after them being a single parent. All valid concerns, however, she wasn’t ill and didn’t have cancer, unlike her friend or me, the customer standing right in front of her.

She was in full swing expressing her fears, but I managed to butt into her spiel and say I had no children. I intended to say more but she didn’t give me chance and continued to share her own concerns without pause or hesitation. It was as if I’d not said a word, or perhaps the truth is by saying I was childless she saw it as validation; her concerns, as a mother, were more worthy of airing.

She wasn’t ill, yet her unfounded fears, as a (healthy) mother, outweighed my present scenario as a childless woman with cancer. Dumbfounded I walked away with her best wishes, which now felt empty of sincerity.

I don’t wish cancer on anyone, and certainly don’t want a child to suffer because a parent is ill. It is an awful disease, and watching from within I can see how transitioning from diagnosis through to remission or death, is a totally different journey depending on if you are a parent or childless. Neither is easy.  

It often starts with parents declaring “I’m fighting this for my kids” and can end with mourners saying “at least they didn’t have children”. The message is clear that children give you a reason to live and children are the reason your death has impact.

Pronatalism may deem me unworthy of empathy and recognition, but the truth is:

• I am childless and my life has meaning; even if others can’t see it.

• I have cancer and I am worthy of treatment; just for being me.

• I am a childless woman who is here to kick ass!

Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash