Kirsten Tompkins
Do I want my childlessness to define me?
It’s a question I’m returning to more often now that I’m speaking more openly about childlessness and the impact it’s had on my life.
We are the sum of our experiences, and my pregnancy losses and childlessness have undoubtedly shaped me. But acceptance, for me, has meant choosing what to carry forward. It has meant using my experience to raise awareness and support others – but also building a life filled with all the richness and meaning I missed out on when getting and staying pregnant dominated my life.
So, whilst this list of ten ways childlessness shaped me reflects the difficult times and feelings that formed me, it also reflects how my life has grown beyond them — a life I now love.
1. The legacy of a lost decade
Between 32 and 42 my life had one primary focus: trying to get and stay pregnant. Those years were swallowed by medical appointments, treatments, operations, and the relentless hope/fear cycle that takes over everything. Physically and mentally, I was a wreck. Trauma, hormones, multiple surgeries, and a mono-focus on pregnancy took their toll. My relationships suffered, and some friendships never recovered.
I have nothing tangible to show for those years – and I won’t get them back. I grieve for them. But I’ve learned that the only way through is onwards, and to enjoy every moment now at 50ish… going on 30. ‘Growing up’ is overrated.
2. Impact of career delay
What often goes unspoken is how much infertility, pregnancy loss and childless grief affect a career. I put mine on hold because this struggle didn’t just take over my life – it was my life. The appointments, the uncertainty, the emotional load meant that I didn’t even want to think about promotion, let alone applying for new roles.
I totally appreciate the impact that motherhood can have on a career – but pregnancy loss and IVF had a significant impact on mine. I may never catch up, but I have taken a great deal from these experiences that I hope make me a better person in and out of work.
3. Battling anxiety
When we stopped ‘trying’ I faced a whole new problem – waves of anxiety and PTSD from emergency surgeries and years of loss. The anxiety was crippling: catastrophising, anticipating disaster, bracing for the next blow – because why should the bad things stop happening now?
It took time for me to understand what was happening. I still have periods of anxiety. I still have flashbacks when I pass the Women’s Hospital. I recognise the triggers now and try to work through them, although ultrasound pictures still floor me and even the smell of the gel is triggering.
4. Grieving a life lost
There is a kind of grief that isn’t talked about enough: the loss of a future self, the loss of a life imagined, the loss of a longed-for identity. Whilst you’re trying to conceive, there is so much going on. It’s a time of action. What happens when that stops and you realise you have no idea who you are now?
Going through this has changed me profoundly. I understand disenfranchised grief — the kind society rarely recognises. I feel I have a much better understanding of how many people walk around carrying silent pain. Society often treats empathy as something earned through parenthood– how often do we hear: ‘as a mother, father, parent’ – but the childless have their own special kind.
5. Rethinking my legacy
Childlessness forced me to rethink my ideas of legacy. I couldn’t create the biological kind, but I could create the kind that builds contribution, connection and impact in my communities. I found new ways to show up in the world: becoming a park trustee, helping save and run a local cricket club, being more present for family.
When people talk about legacy, they often limit this to children and grandchildren. Being childless forced me to ask deeper questions – but I’m grateful for it. Taking on roles across my community and family aren’t consolation prizes. They are meaningful, joyful, and a big part of who I am – and they have been a big part of my journey to building a new, richer life.
6. Creating a purpose
Finding purpose around pregnancy loss and childlessness is linked to this idea of legacy. Writing and speaking about childlessness and pregnancy loss on LinkedIn and at work felt terrifying at first – but breaking the profound silence around these topics is so important. Our lives aren’t neatly compartmentalised. I contended with all of this whilst working – as others still are. It’s important to me that I help build understanding and policies to make things better for those still going through this.
Selfishly, talking has also given me so much back. From a better understanding of my own feelings to a sense of belonging in a whole new community. I lost relationships at the start of this journey, but I am making them now. I am so grateful for this.
7. Building confidence
Finding my voice has been one of the unexpected gifts of this journey. I’ve had to speak up for myself, put myself forward when I’d rather hide, and face some horrible moments. I’ve cried at work – including on group calls with strangers. This is something that would once have mortified me. But as Dr Seuss wisely said: those that mind don’t matter and those that matter don’t mind.
One of my other favourite quotes is from Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms: “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” This whole experience broke me to my core, but I am rebuilding myself stronger bit by bit.
8. Finding identity
I felt lost for a long time with my sense of self and identity up in the air. I don’t know who I would have been as a mother – but I know who I want to be now. I want an identity that is not defined by the absence of something, but by the life I’ve built, the relationships I nurture, my contribution to society, and the courage it took to get me here.
This is an ongoing process. Who I want to be now might be very different to who I want to be in five years’ time! I love that my identity can still evolve in ways I don’t even realise yet.
9. Protecting my sanity
Acceptance only goes so far. I’m in a good place, but I still don’t want to hear endless chat about birth stories or schools. This isn’t anti-parent. I don’t mind some kid chat because that’s reasonable in context. But I have no tolerance for anyone who keeps going with those kid stories when you’ve hinted – HARD – that you’ve had a tough time in that department.
A business idea: T-shirts for childless and childfree people that say:
No, I don’t have kids, but please ask me about: sport, true crime, food and holidays(insert your own options here!)
10. Building community
I look around my parent friends and so many have community through their children – through birth classes, nursery, school gates etc. It’s hard when you don’t have that social connection - and harder still when conversations that others find normal are triggering.
Finding new community has been a huge part of building my new identity. One of the many great things about our workplace Childless and Childfree group is the space it creates for ‘safe’ and genuinely interesting conversations. I saw an Instagram post recently where a group of women asked what a woman in her 30s could possibly be doing without children. The answer, of course, is a million things — or nothing at all.
And that’s the point.
There’s no script for a childless life, and that’s scary, but it can also be really exciting when you’re ready.
