Sarah
I’ve worked so hard on myself – to build the life I have now.
After a relationship that took me too long to leave, I finally found the strength to walk away.
A huge reason I stayed so long was hope – hope that we would have, or at least try to have, children. I was led to believe it was possible.
Then came the realisation that I will never have children of my own – first through that relationship, and later, due to medical reasons.
I’ve had counselling. I’ve sought support. I’ve found a sense of control in speaking about my situation.
But still – the weight, the nagging, the void – it is always there.
No matter how much I have progressed- in the back of mind, it waits to find a way out. A way in. For me to let my guard down on the bad days. To overwhelm me with what it represents.
What does the feeling- the weight, the nagging, really mean and represent….?
It’s the awkward pause when someone asks, “Do you have children?” And I still don’t know how to answer.
It’s knowing I’ll never hear the word “Mum” in my home.
It’s never having sleepless nights from crying babies or school anxieties… never witnessing first steps, first words, first days at school… never receiving a finger-painted card or going to a parents' evening. No detentions, exam nerves, proms, graduations, school holidays.
It’s never experiencing age milestones.
It’s never sitting up worrying because they’re out too late… never watching them fall in love… never being at their weddings.
It’s being unfairly judged – stereotyped as someone who chose a career over a family. When that’s so, so far from the truth.
It’s the guilt – the guilt of not giving grandchildren to my parents. And the fear of hurting my ex’s children (who I’m so lucky to remain close to) when I talk about being childless not by choice.
And- as I get older- the impact evolves… it is realising I will never get to be called Nan as well… which is a recent new one to deal with…
It’s knowing that many people who aren’t CNBC may never fully understand what it’s like to grieve for a hope that never came to be. For children imagined with every part of your being.
And it’s the tears that come as I write this.
I remember standing in a field in my 30s, walking my German Shepherd, Rafa. (I have Rocky now who I am thankful for every day😊).
Listening to music, desperate to be a mum.
Then the song “A Thousand Years” came on. The lyric played, “I have loved you for a thousand years…”
I heard it that day, and many times since.
That lyric was and became more to me.
Because that feeling – the weight, the yearning – is also the love I carry for the children I’ll never meet.
They’ve lived in my heart. They had names. Personalities. I imagined them on bikes with three wheels around my garden. They brought me joy.
And to them, in my heart I know, I have loved them for a thousand years.
And I always will.
