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I’d love to hear more from people who are facing the possibility that they may never become a mother, and are quite upset about it. My sister recently said to me that she didn’t have much sympathy for me because if I truly wanted to become a mother, I could become one, either through adoption or artificial insemination. She said if I truly wanted to become a mom, I’d find a way. I found this statement a little callous. While I’m happy for single women who are brave enough to do either one of these things, it just doesn’t feel right to me. I can’t imagine being inseminated with a stranger’s sperm and raising a child that is half his, and not know who he is. For me, it feels scary and unnatural.
I’m also not keen on adoption. I’ve known families who adopted children and had a lot of behavioral issues with the kids. I know the age of the child at the time of adoption factors into this. Maybe it’s because my mother is a therapist who counsels children — the majority were adopted have dealt with a lot of issues. Like I said, adoption works out well for a lot of people, and I’m happy for them. But for me, it just doesn’t feel right.
I’ve definitely been one of those women who imagined getting pregnant and becoming a mom from the time I was a small child. I played with dolls, played house, even remember putting a pillow under my shirt to pretend I was pregnant when I was playing as a child. I picked out imaginary names from my kids. Even as an adult I felt what I could only describe an as instinctive, biological craving to have a child. Like my body and my heart and just everything about me was built to do this.
Acceptance. Acceptance. Acceptance. I know no other way.
Oh boy, can I relate to everything written here. I particularly relate to the women who complain about their husbands and children. They can complain all they want, but I don’t think in a million years they would want to trade places with me. If they ever lost their husband and children, or never got to have them at all, they would be devastated.
I know I recommended Melanie Notkin’s book before, but she writes about the concept of disenfranchised grief. It truly is a grieving process for many women to come to the realization that the husband and child they dreamed of are just not going to happen. Society does not acknowledge this in same way it does infertility or other struggles. Besides, with infertility, in most cases, at least you have a partner who is dealing with the infertility with you.
I think the worst part of all of this, at least for me, is no one truly understands. My parents are supportive, but they don’t get it because they’ve never been through it. My siblings don’t get it and don’t care, quite frankly. I have some great friends but they’re all of the mindset, “Oh, it’ll happen eventually.” I just want to scream — “This is a big f**king deal, not being able to have a husband or a family!”
Having the love and support of an intimate partner is an entirely different experience than any other relationship and cannot be replaced with friendship. I think as hard as I try I always feel lonely without it.
I wholeheartedly recommend Melanie Notkin’s book “Otherhood.” It’s a terrifically well written book about single women who would like to be married and have children but haven’t met the right person. I would like to be a mother, but being inseminated by a sperm donor does not feel right to me. I would like to know who the father of my child is, and I would not want to raise a baby alone. The book is about Notkin’s experience with this, and stories of other single women and the different paths their lives have taken.
Although I’m younger than you, I can definitely relate to your feelings. I went through a period where I felt like I had to “work” to find a relationship. I did online dating and I kept a full social calendar and read self-help books and signed up for coaching programs, and although I met some nice people along the way, it never produced a relationship. It has been very difficult to come to terms with the fact that it may never happen. What I’ve always wanted more than anything is to become a wife and mother. In a culture that teaches us we can achieve our dreams if we just work hard enough, love, in my opinion, does not fall under that category.
So how to restore optimism? I think there’s a freedom that comes with knowing deep in your bones that you can have a great life even if he doesn’t arrive. When I say “he” I mean that big love, that lifelong love. What would a great life look like without him? Maybe sit with a journal for a while and write about what that life would look like. I think the biggest factor for restoring optimism is acceptance. It’s more than okay to want love, but at the same you can pursue a life that feels good alone, too.
The longer I’ve been single, the more new people I meet, and the more I am convinced that are so many smart, kind, caring, sensitive people in the world. Those people exist. So for that reason I have faith in love and faith in people, because I’ve seen evidence of it my life, and if it exists, I know it means it’s possible for me.
I am a single woman without children, pets, or family members needing my caretaking. As a result, aside from when I am working, I can spend all of my time exactly the way I want to. Most of my time when I am not working is spent relaxing, having fun, pursuing my interests, and meeting new people. Aside from time spent at home cooking, reading, and watching tv – I am out enjoying myself. I go to the beach. I go the gym. I go to beer festivals. I go to concerts. I go to pub trivia. I volunteer. I try new restaurants. I go to museums. It seems like every week I am trying new things.
When I was partnered, I was far less interested in other people. When I was with my ex-fiance, I was in a little bubble, and my world revolved around him. Now, when I meet people, I feel like I am more open and truly attentive to who they are. I am more likely to try new things and to reach out to others. I also know my losses, grief, difficulties, loneliness, and self-reliance have added richness and depth to my life. These are things women who got married in their 20’s, wrapped up with a red little bow, can’t possibly know. Of course, I don’t know their struggles, either.
I have been through a lot in my life, mostly left to deal with it on my own. As a result, I know I can get through anything.
