At 53, in 2017, I thought I’d “come to terms” with my childlessness (despite assuming, since I was a little child myself, that I would become a mother.)
I was already very proud of the little local business I’d set up running choirs and singing groups and I got a huge amount of pleasure from that.
I was really contented that having been basically single all my life (apart from a few shorter relationships none of which were even slightly close to being suitable to bring children into) I had randomly met and eventually married a wonderful man.
I was enjoying some of the upsides of being a step-grandparent to 4.
I loved the town I live in which happens to be at the edge of the Lake District, one of the most beautiful areas of the UK, and I was embedded very strongly in the community there through my singing work.
I was enjoying some of the upsides of being an auntie to 15 kids.
I had lovely old and new friends and sometimes enjoyed time with their kids.
What more could a 53 year old want from life?
So why the hell did I still have debilitating episodes of anxiety and depression and live with a constant black cloud of childless sadness? Why the hell was my inner chatter such torment? What was it that made me so “ungrateful”, so “unable to see how lucky I was”, so “weak”? Why couldn’t I really “come to terms” with my childlessness as “everyone else did”? What the hell “was wrong with me”?
After a hugely triggering Christmas (that others in my family will remember as “a wonderful Christmas”) during which I cried a lot, privately hidden away in my campervan outside the house full of cheer and games and all ages of nieces and nephews and pregnancy news again! . . . . . . I searched for help online.
I found this woman Jody Day who presented herself with a big smile and who had written a book with an unlikely-sounding subtitle offering “a meaningful and fulfilling future WITHOUT CHILDREN”. I thought: “Well I have a perfectly good life already but still I’m sad to my core, still I know I will have to live with this black cloud of sadness forever, over everything I do – what the hell can change that? What the hell could she mean by “meaningful” when I know having children would have been instantly meaningful but nothing else comes close?”
Moving forwards for me was:
spending what felt like a huge amount booking onto a weekend course run by Gateway Women later that year
in the meantime reading that book that I had suspicions would be yet another self help book I’d read far too many of already, but I found was a treasure trove of calm humanity and empathy and others' childless stories
attending that Reignite weekend and immediately wanting more
spending an even larger amount to invest in the Online Bee 12 month course and ending up . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . well, there’s no “ending up” is there? That’s death, and I’ve got other things to do first I hope (something I couldn’t have said a few years ago when death didn’t sound that bad in comparison to facing overwhelming sadness).
But for now, I’ve ended up beginning a transformation. I’ve ended up with a close and wonderful bunch of other childless women I rely on for support and love and encouragement to move further forwards. I’ve ended up being part of a wider community of childless women who openly empathise with each other’s expressed griefs and openly celebrate each other’s many achievements (even the tiniest ones).
If I’d known what I now know about the transformation in me that is taking place then I’d have paid twice as much for both the Reignite and the Online Bee. And doing all the gentle work suggested by “Living The Life Unexpected” (Jody Day’s book) is a life’s work, just part of my life’s work – my meaningful and fulfilling future life’s work – without children of my own.
Another small part of my life’s work and my own “moving forwards” is a new adventure running a singing experiment (completely free to participants) from next week until early December 2020. I would like to find out whether gathering a group of childless women to sing online via Zoom with me can help others like me to renew or find a new confidence in using our voices – in the widest sense, not just our singing voices. If you find yourself curious please do feel free to look at Growing Singing
Love to you wherever you are on this enormously hard journey.
You are not alone.
Clare Elleray Mee