Kass Thomas
I step back from the window
having joined the group of strangers
in sticking up post-it notes,
each one containing a word
expressing what it is like to be
childless
not by choice.
There is a long silence as we stand around the window
reading our own words, for the first time shared.
Sad – Sad – Sad - Very Sad - Grieving - In Pain
There is something in the repetition of these words
that starts to strip me of the protective layers I have learned to wear.
Layers that have allowed me to provide
the expected coos and congratulatory smiles
for pregnancies and baby showers and mother’s days
and all the firsts, and all the lasts
not just now but again when their children will have children.
Left out – Outsider – Outsider – Excluded – Odd One Out – Odd One Out – Other
Layers that have protected against the exclusion
of day-to-day chats about weekend football,
consolations over nights of poor sleep,
sharing happy family snaps in digital groups that were once about us,
and are now about their children.
Misunderstood – Misunderstood – Different – Invisible – Invisible – Overlooked –Forgotten - Other
Layers that have protected against the assumptions I have heard loved ones make when
trying to make sense of my situation.
“I never understood why she left S, he would have made such a great dad.”
“She chose her career over having a family.”
“If she really wanted kids, she could have just done it alone.”
Inferior –2nd class citizen – Inadequate –No longer counts – Nothing
Layers that have protected against the subtle downgrading
of being placed on a couch in the holiday house, while all the families have a room.
Or hearing a mother frame her response to a child’s suffering with
“as a Mother, I feel…”
inferring us non-mothers are incapable
of relating to a child with equal quality or depth.
Without purpose - Not met perceived purpose – Role-less – Lost
Layers that have protected against the questioning that comes upon hearing proclamations
that hold motherhood up as the ultimate human experience.
“There is no greater love than the love of your kids”
“Being a mother is the most challenging, the most important, the most rewarding job a woman can do.”
“Children are unmatched joy.”
“When you have a baby, you become more than just a woman, you become a mother.”
Worried about what the future looks like
Layers that have protected against watching my beloved Nana take her last breath
surrounded by her four daughters who diligently visited her nursing home daily
as the dementia slowly claimed her life,
knowing there will be no children to care for me,
that I will need to plan.
Failure
Layers that have protected against the pervasive familial and societal narratives
of what it looks like to be a successful and valuable woman,
and the pitiful alternative:
the crazy cat lady, the old maid, the hag, the spinster.
Lonely – Lonely – Lonely - Lonely – Lonely - Alone – Alone
I am stripped back now, totally exposed in my new nakedness.
As I re-read the words almost mockingly held in their fluorescent boxes,
I can feel myself absorbing the enormity of our collective despair.
Oh yes, there is the physical yearning to place my baby’s cheek to mine.
But in seeing my words, next to other women’s words
I realise the loneliness is more about not being witnessed,
not being seen,
by anyone.
Just as the vulnerability become too overwhelming and the instinct to run arises,
there is a gentle but firm hand placed on my back.
I feel in that hand the tenderness and strength of another woman
telling me for the first time
“I know. I see you.
I understand you.
I can bear your grief because it too, is mine.
I am here with you.
You are ok.”
