Hi. I'm Lana Walker. I’d always wanted to be a mum. I just assumed it would happen, because it’s so natural and part of life. I come from a family of 4 children, with aunts, uncles and cousins. I was going to have 2 children, and I could tell you their names, describe their personalities, and see my genes in their faces. This never happened.
During my 20s, I worked in television production for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. It was a fantastic job, and I loved every minute of it. During my late 20s I travelled to the UK, Europe and the USA for a 2-month holiday, and realised that I wanted to spend time living overseas and have an adventure. I moved to London, initially just for 2 years for some more fun and travel. I was single, child-free (yes, I really did just say that), and having a ball. Then I moved to the Lake District, Cumbria to see a bit more of the UK.
Blind date. Gott married. Settled down. Studied for a university degree. My 30s were spent TTC (trying to conceive). Years and years of period after period after period, then Clomid, then scans and investigations, blood tests - while friends and family all easily had their babies. “Unexplained infertility” was what the medical experts said after years of not falling pregnant. But I’d had a teenage pregnancy and termination, so I knew I could fall pregnant and wasn’t infertile. Was I?
With all that ‘trying’ and not falling pregnant, I felt as though I had no future, just an empty, bleak, lonely existence ahead. There were (and still are) so many messages in the media that “being a mum is the best job in the world”, or “I’ve found fulfilment now that I’m a mother” which instantly made me feel less worthy than them. On a bad day/week/month I would feel worthless. That black hole of emptiness seemed (at that time) as though it could never change or get better. I felt that all my best times were over. How could I possibly find anything to be happy about if I didn’t have the children I’d wanted, and the motherhood that was my destiny?
My (now-ex) husband & I spent thousands of pounds that private IVF costs in the UK, while we were waiting on the NHS (National Health Service) for 2 rounds of treatment. 5 IVF cycles, 2 miscarriages, 1 big prescription for anti-depressants, and 1 divorce and re-marriage later, I’m really, really happy with my life, and never thought I could say that without being a mother and having children. I could not imagine back then that it was possible.
It took many years to ‘accept’ (and I really didn't like that word) that I wasn’t going to have children after all, even though I met my soulmate and remarried very quickly. I thought I was going to be one of those stories, you know – with-the-wrong-partner, meets-the-new/right-partner, falls-pregnant-straight-away. But that still didn’t happen. While I felt so incredibly lucky to have met my soulmate, I still had a baby-shaped hole in my heart that his love and support couldn’t fill.
My 40s, then, were spent grieving for the loss of the children I never had, and the loss of motherhood that I would never experience. My 9 lovely nieces and nephews are in Australia, and as I’ve been living in the UK since 1996, I don’t see them very often and haven't been a big part of their daily/regular life. And, as is often the way with friends who have children, it’s easy to lose touch and feel excluded from their way of life (school-friend coffees, children’s parties, weekend sport dates, etc).
I couldn't feel anything but grief for this loss – I didn't have any reference points or alternative ways of feeling. The thought of “I don’t have children/I’m not a mum” was very much part of my identity during my 40s. That sadness was a huge part of my daily life, both consciously and sub-consciously. I didn’t know how to feel anything differently to that. And even though the media images of motherhood and babies and happy families didn’t hurt as much as they did in my 30s, they still had a significant impact. It made me feel less worthy. There was still loss and unfulfillment.
In 2018, I turned 50. During that year I felt that I was somehow ready to start a new chapter for my 50s but couldn’t see what it was. I wanted to have more energy, feel more passionate about life, but the sadness of not having children was such a large and permanent presence. Even if I looked happy on the outside, I didn’t know how to shake the sadness off, or even if that was possible. Years of office baby news and Facebook photos had enabled me to perfect a fake smile when inside my heart was breaking and I’d have to walk away or leave the room – you know what it’s like.
While on holiday in Italy, I visited a local massage therapist (I’d always loved massage and complementary therapies, and had tried lots of different modalities both before, during and after my infertility/fertility journey). I was expecting a lovely treatment, yet the massage he gave me was life-changing. Afterwards, I felt empty, but not in a barren way - in a cleansed, ready-for-something-new, way. I couldn’t get my head around how I felt so different in such a short space of time. He explained that he worked with the body's energy, and could tell that I wanted something different for my life.
This intrigued me, and I enthusiastically researched energy therapy on my return from holiday. I was working in a busy/stressful/no-longer-fulfilling job, and was made redundant. Best thing that could have happened, as I now had the motivation to retrain as an EFT practitioner and holistic massage therapist.
To cut a long story short, I feel so happy now. I feel worthy and content with my life every day. I don’t have children. That doesn’t make me feel sad to type that. It’s just a fact. I’m worthy. I am worthy. I’m a woman. I just don’t happen to have children. To be able to separate those two sentences is so powerful and empowering. Never thought it was possible.
So, if you’re struggling with the idea that you can’t be happy without children, please know that change is possible, and those depths of despair don’t need to be a permanent state for you. You can find happiness. There is a way.
Much hugs and love xo.
Lana Walker