Katy Seppi

Stories, we all have stories. Nature does not tell stories, we do. We find ourselves in them, make ourselves in them, choose ourselves in them. If we are the stories we tell ourselves, we had better choose them well. — James Orbinski

My childless story isn’t a tidy one with a clear beginning, middle, and end. It’s ever-changing, filled with revisions. There are facts and timelines that never change: I went through three years of infertility, a chapter that ended with a hysterectomy; uterine polyps, fibroids, endometriosis, and endometriomas proved to be insurmountable barriers to my dream of motherhood; those three years, plus the two that followed were some of the most difficult of my life, enshrouded in grief. These parts of my story will always remain unchanged.

Now, seven years later, my story has unfolded in unexpected ways. I’ve changed so much during that time, that it’s shifted not only how I view my current life, but how I interpret my past experiences and perspectives too.

I’ve realized that the unchangeable, objective facts are just a small part of my story. When crafting my life’s narrative, I decide which details to emphasize or omit, and the meaning I ascribe to my experiences. It hasn’t been an easy process. I’ve had to sit with a lot of difficult emotions, challenge long-held beliefs, let go of expectations, and make room for new possibilities. Giving myself permission to re-write my story from a new perspective has been transformative and empowering.

I’d like to share some examples of stories I was telling myself and how I’ve revised them. I hope they encourage you to reflect on the stories you tell about yourself and consider if they’re in need of an update too.

The old story: My body is broken and failed to give me the thing I wanted most. It’s caused me so much grief and pain, I wish I could disconnect from it.

The revised story: Because I have a chronic illness, my body has to work extra hard to keep me going. It deserves my love and compassion. I can support it by listening to its cues and giving it what it needs. My body has limitations, but it also allows me to experience so many things that bring me joy, like: going on adventures, being in nature, feeling hugs and cuddles from loved ones, listening to music, and eating delicious food.

The old story: I’ll never experience the levels of happiness and joy I would have felt as a mom.

The revised story: While there are experiences that are unique to parenthood, parents don’t have a monopoly on joy and happiness. There are endless ways to bring joy and happiness into my life and not having kids opens up time and energy to pursue them. My life without kids isn’t better or worse, just different.

The old story: This grief is all-encompassing and it’s always going to feel this heavy.

The revised story: Grief isn’t an enemy, but a companion, a friend. When it first visited me, it demanded all of my attention. Over time, I started to recognize and understand it better. I learned that my grief was a reflection of my loss. It needed to be felt, seen, and validated. My grief was all-encompassing for a while, but shifted over time, I think in large part because I spent so much time tending to it. When I first noticed it lifting, it felt unnerving. A lighter heart and moments of joy felt like a betrayal to everything I’d lost. But time and tending have made my grief lighter and I don’t feel it often. When I do, it doesn’t hit as hard or stay as long as it used to. I’ve grown comfortable with my relationship to grief. I know it will be a lifelong companion and I’m okay with that. I’ll keep the door open for the next visit, knowing I’ll be okay and that the heaviness is there for a reason and it won’t last forever.

The old story: I’ll always feel like something’s missing.

The revised story: Letting go of my dream of motherhood was one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through. But, unexpectedly, letting go of that dream opened up room for new possibilities. Over time, I’ve filled that space with other things that bring me joy, love, and fulfillment. While I’ll always wonder about the life I might have had, I’ve created a current life that a baby would no longer fit into. And I’m at peace with that.

I’m not a fan of toxic positivity or mindset shifts that ask you to bypass your grief. The revisions to the stories I tell myself have happened over the past seven years as a result of a lot of deep work. So believe me when I say that I know that simply saying something doesn’t make it so.

I also know that many of us are carrying beliefs and stories about our childlessness that aren’t ours. We’ve internalized messages from friends, family members, and society that aren’t serving us. I think it’s worth examining the stories you tell, where they came from, and if you still believe them to be true.

“If we are the stories we tell ourselves, we had better choose them well.”

I hope you feel empowered to let go of the stories others have given you and to be mindful of which stories you choose to tell yourself. While there are facts inherent to your story that are unchangeable, there is always room for revisions, a narrative shift, or a reframe. Your story, like mine, is not written. I hope you find it unfolding in beautiful and unexpected ways.

The Childless Collective (formerly Gateway Women’s online community)

The cozy and connecting gathering place for childless women and nonbinary people. Join our private, online community for access to: virtual events; themed discussion forums; trigger day support chats for challenging holidays; and local, in-person meetups (where available). We know how complex it can be to navigate a life without kids – but you don’t have to go it alone. We’re here to support you as you explore both the challenges and benefits of a life without kids.