Steph Penny

You’re so lucky you don’t have kids!

She threw the remark in my face like a dirty dishcloth before dashing out of the room. I laughed as a reflex, like a boxer dodging a blow.

Did she really just say that?

Doesn’t she know I’m childless?

Did she just call me LUCKY?

She had spent the last half an hour complaining about her children. Sure, parents need to vent. It’s human nature to rant about our problems. But she had just ranted to me knowing full well I was childless, and then exited with a finishing blow about how lucky I was.

I laughed to mask the urge to cry.

Childlessness has been painful for me. It has filled my life with grief. It stings when I recall what might have been—the children I might have had. It will never completely go away, and though it has lessened with time, it still has the capacity to knock me out. The grief of broken dreams will always haunt me.

Not exactly the picture of ‘lucky’.

My friend above was having a legitimately tough time. In her mind, I was lucky to not have the child-related problems she was having. And sure, I can see that from her perspective. It’s always great to not have that kind of stress, and it’s tempting to think that perhaps the grass is greener in someone else’s backyard.

At the same time, childlessness ain’t exactly a walk in the park. It comes with its own problems: grief, second-guessing oneself, fear of missing out, avoidance of child-heavy reminders, feeling isolated from those with children, grief, anxiety about growing old alone, guilt, self-loathing, exclusion, intrusive questions from others, discrimination in the workplace, and did I mention grief?

We need words other than lucky, as it does not resonate with everyone. An alternative for me is ‘grateful’. No, I’m not grateful to be childless. I’m not grateful at the prospect of living with lifelong grief. But I am grateful for what is currently in my life: loved ones, furbabies, a meaningful job, personal faith, hobbies to pursue, connections with my tribe, and writing as a means of telling my story and reaching out to others.

With such gratitude, I am able to spar with the daily challenges of being childless in a pronatal society. And I can successfully defend myself against the inner turmoil of growing older without children, without the future I envisioned for myself.

My life is brimming with blessings.

In that, I am lucky indeed.