Anonymous

“You do not understand how it is like to have children”

Ouch. That hurts.  A lot.

C and I have been knowing each other for fifteen years. I considered her of my best - if not the best – friend. A few months earlier I had invited her, kids, and partner to stay for a couple of weeks at our place by the sea. I knew she was feeling overwhelmed and wanted to help. Last year I spent hours over the phone with her to persuade to not have an affair that could destroy her family. I would have also liked to spend more in person time together.

But after months she still had not finalised her travel plans. Out of the blue she said that she wanted to visit other two friends as well during this trip, and asked me if by chance I was changing my holiday plans. Then she mentioned costly flight prices. Eventually while exchanges messages these words came out – for the second time in a few months. Earlier this year I flew to visit her, and while challenging her on her still lingering desire to have a fling, I was told in person that one of her colleagues did not think that childless people understand what it is like to have children.

That time I replied that even though I could perhaps not understand some of the visceral feelings of having children, I had a wealth of  other perspectives and experiences: an educated, intelligent, kind, and empathic person; a daughter; a sister; a wife; an auntie of beloved nephews with whom I spent as much time as I can; a friend of parents with small kids; an educator; a woman who was taught by my her own mother how to care for children; a childless woman not by choice. I decided to shrug off her comment, that it was not what she really thought but just what she heard saying. I was wrong.

This time round it felt like our friendship has been abruptly severed. I challenged her statement, told her that her words hurt, but she insisted. After some messages I wished her a good summer. No apologies from her, no messages since. I offered an olive branch by sending her birthday wishes recently, she thanked me but nothing else, no mention to our argument.

Can a long-standing friendship be over, just like this?

C and I met many years ago while both doing a PhD in another country from our own. After completing her doctorate C went back to her home country, had two children with the guy she has been with since teenagerhood, easily found the permanent job she wanted, with the help of her mother bought a house, and settled down.

I kept living a nomadic life – one of the many side effects of having had a violent father – while sacrificing a lot to build my career and searching for a stable post that could give me financial independence. C and I kept in touch, sometimes more than others.

In my late thirties I finally found a permanent post, thought it was far from being my dream job. While living in the same country where I did my PhD I met a man I felt I could trust, and for the first time in my life thought about having kids. Around the same time my sister tried to have children naturally, did not succeed, and after having tried various rounds of IVF she ended up going for the adoption route, which in my home country takes year, enormous bureaucratic loops, and lots of money. Because of the IVF she also had significant health issues, including an early menopause and cancer - all risks she had not been informed about beforehand.

My partner and I tried to conceive naturally, but it did not work. C had even suggested me things I could try, but nope. After various fertility tests I decided to honestly consider all my options and what I was truly willing or not willing to do to have a child. I spent days thoroughly researching, collected evidence, sat with it, confronted my feelings, my values, and what was truly important for me. It was very hard, but necessary. During the two years that followed I have been grieving, but was able to let go of the deepest pain. Having children for my partner was not essential, and I realised that underneath the societal pressure I was growing increasingly aware of many other ways in which I could nurture and mother beyond physical motherhood. Testimonies from wonderful childless not by choice community, my readings and reflections, conversations with dear ones, the Covid-19 pandemic and more – all this truly helped me to slowly but steadily gain a new mindset on life.

Fast forward ten years, C is in her mid-forties, I will be fifty in September.

I found a better job, moved back to a place I liked more than the previous one, am learning to invest a lot more on my mental and physical wellbeing, and to live in the present moment. Last year my husband almost died, had emergency life-saving open heart surgery. I took months off work to care for him; this was one more chance to see the bigger picture and put things into perspective. Every choice comes with consequences: I accept mine and am trying to make the most of my time on Earth, to enjoy life, be with my loved ones, do meaningful and nourishing things.

A few weeks ago, while still grieving for the end of this friendship, I met a wonderful, older, wise woman who introduce me to a new network of potential friends. It happened by chance but perhaps it was no coincidence. I felt accepted, seen, held. I felt so grateful, and moved.

It will be my big birthday soon. I have prepared a lovely party and a terrific bucket list for my fiftieth year. To paraphrase the brilliant words of childless author Elizabeth Gilbert, if C does not want my magic I am okay with that. Life goes on, and many more wonders await.

Photo by Thomas Lipke on Unsplash