If things were different.

I’m on a quest to understand how my life experiences so far and my childless grief interplay with each other. Having immersed myself into the childless community now for sometime, I feel a deeper need to know both for myself and to hopefully, with recording my observations, assist others in navigating a childless life.  Talking with other men who like me have difficulty finding both the vocabulary and ways to express what its like to be childless sees me being more analytical of how I’m feeling at different points in time. Today is one of those points in time.  As I type this I hear the low drone of historic military aircraft returning from a fly by of one of the many marches being held in Australia today.

It's ANZAC Day here, the time of year  where we commemorate the fallen and give thanks to those who have served in our armed forces.  It has its origins in WWI when the ANZAC’s, Australian New Zealand Army Corp, were landed on the Gallipoli peninsula on the 25th April 1915 to a fierce resistance from the Ottoman Army seeing the loss of 8709 Australians and 2721 New Zealanders.  The nation stops for the day, there are dawn services at all memorials around the country and marches where all the old diggers get to ride in vintage military vehicles to the cheers of the crowd and for some this is  the highlight of their year.

I like to share the photograph of my maternal grandad, George Deaker, as well as his place of rest via my social media on this day.  Sadly, I never knew him, he was killed in the last months of WWII in Italy, I still feel a sense of loss that I never got to sit with him and be captivated with his stories of serving in so many countries. I often wonder what type of man he was and would have been if things were different.  I’m sure that cheeky nature I have has come from him and mixed with a london accent I’m sure he would have had that London rough around the edges charm.  I often think if things had been different what influence would he have had over me. 

That curiosity doesn’t end with Grandad George. In fact when I analyse my extended family dynamics, which I often do as it's part of my personality type, apparently I have a deep need to understand how things interconnect, there's that curiosity again! I realise I have missed out in a big way.

I only knew one of my grandparents, my mum's mum Gladys and I only knew her for a very short time, I was 9 when she passed away, she was 56 a year younger than I am now! I can still remember the day, we had a school outing to Chelmsford to watch ‘Joseph and his Technicolour Dream Coat’ and as I got home that evening mum told me the news, of course I had no concept of what that meant at the time. 

My sister and I often reminisce about nan getting her purse always bulging with coppers and dealing us out a small handful so we could buy sweets. I do remember her brother George Chapman, although my great uncle we all knew him as uncle George.  I remember sitting up till late one night talking about race car drivers with him, these times were rare for he had his own issues to deal with, we can say now it was PTSD from WWII. He was a medic and we have his diary which shows him moving around Europe after the war to what we assume would have been the concentration camps, we believe the atrocities he would have seen led him to develop that PTSD. He was a very loyal Arsenal fan and I remember he had a huge pile of programs in his bedroom, I was way too young to go with him.  Sadly, his affliction would see him often disappear for days on end and so he wasn’t very present in my life. If things were different,  I wonder what influence he would have had on me, would I have been a die hard Arsenal fan as well?

My dads parents were hardly ever talked about, I can remember seeing nanny Scotland as we called her, twice, her husband had died a couple of years before I was born. When dad did talk about his parents, it was never in a good light, there were never happy memories shared to keep their memories alive and it would seem there was very little enthusiasm from nanny Scotland to be present in our lives as well.

There were very few memories of my parents having friends come around, we didn’t have dinner parties, there was never a best friend that would take me under his or her wing.

In fact there was never anyone for me to idolise in that innocent way that kids do.

As my parents now come to the closing of their lives and we reflect on this through the eyes of now mature adults we can see that dad was hardly present due to working hard and his own lack of parental role models manifested as a type of selfishness and mum it would seem was depressed for a lot of hers and although she was an attentive mum, there was a distinct lack of enthusiasm to encourage us on to bigger and better things.

As I continue my quest  to understand my grief, I believe this all has relevance for me.  I have missed out on a vast amount of love and support that most would receive from the various relationships in their lives and I’ve missed out on nearly every opportunity to model myself on someone I admired, war has obviously played a big part in this.

Now it has become obvious that I wanted to have all those relationships I missed out on.  I wanted to be there for our children when they needed help or advice.  I dearly wanted to be that grandad that mesmerised his grandchildren with his tales.  I’ve watched my mum copy the behaviour of her mum and pull out her purse to give the kids a little something, although now its notes and not coppers.  And if things were different I too wanted to open my wallet and share what I have with our grandchildren.  I wanted to make sure that my behaviour left such an impression on their lives that through them, our memories would be kept alive for a couple of generations at least.

And so this is why ANZAC Day hits me so hard, it is another experience of disenfranchised grief reminding me of all the things I will never be as I reflect how a war 80 yrs ago has influenced my life.

But there is a bright side emerging from this all, for a lot of my life I have felt lost, directionless questioning everything I would do or think of doing, never knowing if it was the right thing to do.  I believe this is a result of the lack of influence I’ve had in my foundation years by others. 

What I can now also see is that I was a blank canvas unblemished by others attitudes and beliefs.  Yes there was some trial and error in my younger years as I navigated and developed. Credit needs to be given to my wife Vickie for being the rudder, gently steering me to who I am today as we come close to four decades together.  And as sad as all this appears and as much as I would have loved things to be different, I am in a weird way grateful for that blank canvas, as my mum would say, ‘You turned out alright didn’t you!’.

A badge of honour

I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of the childless and childfree conundrum of late and in my opinion what I’ve discovered is very worrying. Firstly let’s get out of the way this clarifying statement;

Whilst I recognise that it is an individuals right to determine their own identity, there is in my opinion a greater good here that some people are missing.

I believe that being childless and childfree whilst being too very valid terms are also very different.  I really love the description my dear friend Sarah Roberts of The Empty Cradle uses  “Being Childless and Childfree are two very different ways of existing in our world”. The childfree have exercised their right to choose a life without children, where as the childless had the choice taken away from them, setting them on a grief journey that for some will be lifelong.  Yes, there are many similarities on how both these lives are perceived and judged by the wider community but at the end of the day they are a product of two very different situations.

So, what is worrying me when it seems so clear these are two different ways of being?

Bear with me, I’ll get to the answer eventually, but it’s important that we get some context out there first.  Having now immersed myself for close to eight years in the childless community, I think I can say with some validity that one of the biggest issues is the childless want to be understood, not put into the too hard a basket and marginalised which is often the case.

For this to happen, we the childless need to craft our own identity, but sadly we have left it up to the wider community to do this.  How often are we met with pity, the assumption being our life must be so sad because you haven’t achieved the status of being a parent and the inference being your value is less. Or the assumption you never wanted children when you dearly did. Throw into the mix, the crazy cat women, the witch, questions on your sexuality and for those single men being a ‘threat’ to children it is really high time we took control of this.

There are a number of barriers that get in the way of us crafting this identity.  We are a fractured community, we have learnt that the safest place to be is isolated from those around us as they don’t, can’t or don’t want to understand us.  We then lose the skill and/or confidence to develop community and friendships for fear of being hurt yet again.  Vickie, my wife, desperately wants to meet more of our community, she has some wonderful big ideas, but fear holds her back and I know she is not the only one.

On the positive side, there are more and more from our community now speaking out, leading by example and through this giving courage to those up-and-coming leaders in our world.  There are many in our community who are working to ensure that those childless that come behind us will not have to wander through the wilderness like our generation had to. This, is beautiful a thing.  We now have Steph Phillips founder of World Childless Week and Katy Seppi founder of Chasing Creation and her Childless Collective Summit holding global events to bring meaning and understanding of our community. These, in turn help us all solidify our own personal narrative. The number of courageous childless authors has exploded giving a very personal account of what it means to be us. So, I think it will be safe to say our community is evolving and what I’m hearing more and more lately is how can we bring all those leaders from around the world together, to share ideas so we are not continually reinventing the wheel, workplace inclusion being a good example.

And here comes the BUT.

What I’m also seeing from some in our community is the changing from Childless to Childfree with statements like ‘living a childfree life’. To my way of thinking the inference here is that Childless and Childfree are on the same scale with less at one end and free at the other, where the inferred free status is the goal.  I find this very concerning, to me it is another way the childless are being marginalised.  Let’s put this into a scenario, a childless person who is trying hard to manage their grief of loss, finds inspiration in a childless leader, they are buoyed by their confidence and their acceptance of being childless, it gives them hope that in time things will improve.  Then one day the source of inspiration decides they are now living a childfree life vs a childless life. The childless life has again been marginalised and I would go as far to say those who are vulnerable have been set up to fail by the inference that you can’t always be childless.

Why do some try to run away from being childless?

In the context of being childless there is a belief out there that if you get to a point in your life where you don’t want children anymore you have a ‘childfree’ way of thinking.  Vickie and I are in our mid-fifties and we still mourn the loss of not having children, we have a pretty high level of grief management and have accepted this life.  Would we want children now? Hell no, we don’t have the resilience we did as younger people, our infertility journey has left mental scars of anxiety and depression.  We’d also be very irresponsible to bring a child into our life now, we’d both be 70 and the child or children would still be in their teens. There is the potential that one or both of us won’t be on Earth this long and so what sort of life would our children have?  So, does this make us ‘childfree’ because we don’t want children at this stage in our lives? I would find it very disrespectful if someone was to tell me that.  

There are some that find unease in the ‘less’, to those I’d like to say rather than concentrate on the last 4 letters, take hold of the whole word and put meaning behind that, own it and make it yours by taking control of the narrative.

For me, I wear my childlessness as a badge of honour.

I live with ghosts, their names are Michael and Emma and I honour them with my childlessness.

I honour the hard-fought life that Vickie and I have with my childlessness.

I honour our podcast audience that listen to us with my childless status

I honour the members of the Clan of Brothers who like me wanted life to be different, by being a childless man.

I believe we should stop running away from and embrace our word ‘childless’.  We need to take ownership and craft that narrative behind what it means to be childless.  We make it clear and not muddy the waters by sending mixed messages of childless vs childfree. It is only then we will find that identity we need to be understood.  

I’d like to say to those that lead in our community be it 1 person or 1000 people, it is incumbent on us all to ensure we send the right message to our community, by being clear, courageous and showing that a childless life is not a second-rate life.

Again, I do accept that it is an individual’s right to determine their own identity, I’d like to leave you with this quote to ponder on.

“In Iroquois society, leaders are encouraged to remember seven generations in the past and consider seven generations in the future when making decisions that affect the people.

Wilma Pearl Mankiller - Cherokee Leader

(18 Nov 1945 - 6 Apr 2010)

I don’t know what I’d do without you

We are 100+ days into a COVID lock down here in NSW Australia, it has taken its toll on everyone in different ways.  Our state government has leaned heavily on technology to help with the management of contact tracing and in turn our mobile phones have become an even more vital part of modern-day life as we check in and out of places we visit.  But, tomorrow we will see our first major lifting of restrictions and the one most wanted by my mum, she’ll be able to go and see dad in his care home.  All she’ll have to do is show her proof she has been double vaxed, wear a mask and she’s in.  For us that keep ourselves up to date with the newest technology that would be easy, but not for my mum, she is of the old school, never saw the importance of having a mobile phone dispite having a number of hand me downs from us kids, or understanding how to use a computer.  Now approaching her 80th year, with a diminishing mental capacity and unwillingness to learn a new skill the technological age is way beyond her reach.  So, there will be no showing her double vaxed status on her mobile phone screen to get access to see dad.

 All is not lost, of course mum is not the only one in this position and it took a simple phone call to a special number found on the Australian Government website for the Australian Immunisation Register and the helpful staff on the other end are sending out a certificate showing mums immunisation history.  So, as I got off the phone and explained to mum that the letter would be here in about 10 days she said;

 “I don’t know what I would do without you”

 Of course, I didn’t show it, but that familiar stab of sadness hit me again.  I was sad because that formidable woman who was once my mum is no longer there.  I knew that if one of us wasn’t there to do this for her, she would have just resigned herself to the fact that she’d not be able to see dad again, working herself up into a panic, because she couldn’t work out for herself how to navigate the systems needed or even where to start.

 I’m sad because she has no friends that could have assisted here. Even pre-covid there would be no one that would pop around for a cuppa, apart from children who live close by.  How does someone getting to their twilight years with no friends, no additional support network that would be an additional layer of social interaction. Of course, I know the answer to this, Mum and Dad were so busy with us and establishing themselves here in Australia, they forgot to enjoy it along the way.

 When he retired, we’d say “Why don’t you take mum out for a drive and have coffee somewhere nice” he’d always return with “Why, we can have tea and coffee here together”

 Ironically, another reason for this is my dad was never a social person, he was happy just coming home to Mum after work, sit in his favourite chair and watch TV or read a book.  There were never friends popping over, no gregarious dinners or parties in the back garden.  There were never any holidays taken with other people, I remember tagging along on holidays with my mum’s sister and her family, but never did mum and dad have a getaway with friends. My mum would have enjoyed times like these, she is a social person, but that ship has sailed.  The irony comes as my dad is now living in a care home making friends and entertaining the staff, whilst mum sits alone at home, defiant she will never be ‘put away in a home’.  As her children manage her, manage covid, manage lockdowns and manage their own lives in these complex times.

 I feel sad because as I sit opposite her, I think this could be both Vickie and I, sitting there with no idea the world around us has change dramatically due to how quickly technology advances.  Like a rabbit in the headlights, stunned and not sure where to turn.

 I feel sad because we won’t have someone like me, to look after us when we get to the stage in life my parents are and it scares us both. It’s a tough time mentally right now as we both try to navigate our best way through this, we are lucky we have each other, we both know intimately what each is going through.  We think about those who are single and childless, dealing with ageing parents, with no significant other to lean on, or those childless couples with one of them needing care and having no children to fall back on, it must be so so tough.

 We as a community really need to start talking about this, we need to recognise that robust friendships will be a way to help manage these situations.  We need to step out of the shadow, gather our tribe and create those networks that can assist us as we age.

 As I chat with mum, it becomes evident she regrets not having friends, she regrets not having a friend pop around for a cuppa, or being asked around for dinner, or asked out on a day trip with ‘the girls’.

 So, to finish, I want to ask you a question, when you are in your twilight years, will you be sitting on your lounge alone, full of regret and no support network around you?

 If you, like us, want to build up that friendship network, please reach out and lets build a more positive supportive future.

Bittersweet

As I settle into the role I have had now for about two years and find my place within our team, I have become a source of support for one of my colleagues, a young women who impresses me greatly.  When I was her age, I had no idea of where life was taking me, I just went with the flow taking advantage of opportunities that drifted by.  Whereas this young women has a clear plan of where she wants to be and how she is going to get there, her drive, motivation and foresight are impressive, she is wise beyond her years and does it all with humility and care.

It’s been a while since we have seen each other and today we had the chance to catch up, whilst purchasing some equipment together.  Over breakfast we delved into what had been happening since we had seen each other last, I was particularly interested in the progress of her Phd. I was asked about how I deal with conflict with other colleagues as she was having issues with one.  We discussed our MBTI characteristics and how they can be misinterpreted.  We talked about a health ailment I’m managing at the moment and my imposter syndrome.  Then we talked about what was deeply concerning her and it was complex and yes it was to do with love.

Having had an emotional melt down or two in my time, I’ve learnt that this is when you listen.  My role was not to fix, it was to understand and if I’m able to, give some advice when its asked for.  Of course I’m not going into the details of our discussion and break the trust that was given to me, but let’s just say that when it comes to love, things are never simple.

One of the losses that a large section of the childless community mourn is not being able to correct the wrongs of their own upbringing with their own children.  My parents did the best they could to bring up their children and we haven’t turned out too bad. I didn’t want to be the ‘blocker’ that my dad was, his logic would always find the reasons why not to do something, rather than see things as a chance to grow.  I vowed that this blocking behaviour would end with me, my sister has done the same with her children as she also experienced the blocking.  I’ve realised that one of the skills to do this well is to have a good balance between when to use logic and when to turn it off as things get emotive. In my opinion when things get emotive the best course of action is to listen and try to understand.  Sadly, I thought I’d have to come to terms with the fact that all this self appointed wisdom I’ve acquired would go to waste.

Back at the breakfast table, as our discussion deepened, this young woman checked in to say “ I’m sorry for dumping this all on you, but your one of the main people that I look too for support”.  “No, no, no, I feel so honoured that you share these intimate details of your life with me, I’m honoured that you trust me with this, I’m honoured that you seek my counsel” I reply.  I could feel the emotion welling up with what I wanted to say next “I may tear up with what I’m about to say,  please don’t worry” I say as my voice gets a higher pitch, I pause to settle myself, “This makes me feel like the father I wanted to be” I manage to get out before my voice cracks.

Here we paused, not an awkward silence it was a recognition that no words where needed we knew a beautiful moment had just occurred, special for each of us in our own way.

As I was not close to home, when we said our goodbyes I couldn’t wait to share this with Vickie and yes it was with a cracking voice.  Her thoughts echoed mine, “Ahhh… that’s beautiful” she tells me and when she said her goodbyes, I hear the crack in her voice.

YOu Just never know when.

Its Thursday 17th of September as well as  World Childless Week 2020 and just happens to be Men Matter Too Day.  I’m driving into town to get a haircut, which is nicely timed as I’ll be joining all the World Childless Week Champions early Sunday morning for a webinar and I need all the help I can get to look decent.

I’m listening to David Tennant’s podcast and he is chatting with Cush Jumbo, I’ve just turned off Five Island Road onto Spring Hill Road and they are discussing Shakespeare.

As if like magic I’m transported back a quite a few years, I’m sitting on a chair, on stage at what was once called Theatre South.

Different motivators have made me dip my toes into the water of many things over my 50 odd years. The Theatre South acting classes episode was me trying to overcome the intense shyness  I’d felt all the way into my 30’s. Nothing brings you out of your shell more than mimicking the movements of a woman you have just met with your noses touching.

Or pretending you are a tree, in front of 12 others whom you have never met. As nerve racking as it was, I enjoyed this part of my life, it was fun, exciting and enriching. 

Although I had played Bottom in Midsummer Night’s Dream, it wasn’t Bill’s work that had me sitting on the chair.  It was Christmas, we were performing A Christmas Carol and I was playing Bob Cratchit, sitting there at the table with my pretend family and sitting on my knee was Tiny Tim.

Acting gigs are a strange surreal experience, you know it’s not real, but you force yourself to make it real, it’s what performers do.

As I straighten the car after the tight corner that is this intersection, my breath is taken away even though the experience was so many years ago it was visceral.  For a fleeting moment I felt like a father and it hurt.

We talk in the CNBC community of triggers and how they can come at the most unexpected times. I believe it’s important to acknowledge them, process them and talk about them, something we guys aren’t that good at.   As I reflect on this experience along with today being Men Matter Too Day, I’m sharing this with you.  I’m sharing to show you that there will always be triggers, I want to show that, yes, we guys get effected too, but I also want to show that they get easier to manage overtime.

We are Warriors

When Jody Day founder of Gateway Women asked me to contribute to Gateway Women’s Fathers Day campaign, I said Yes very quickly.  I admire Jody for what she does, who she is and what she achieves, she has been an inspiration to me and many others around the world.  In the clear light of day, I thought to myself “What the hell am I going to talk about, the audience will be most likely, a vast majority of women”.  Talking on behalf of women is not my forte.

 So, I decided that as Fathers Day is a time of reflection for the CNBC community, I’d try to convey my thoughts of why we men behave in the way that we do through the lens of being childless.  A statement that Vickie said to me some time ago always comes to mind when I reflect on our differences. 

 “When we were going through IVF and it failed, when I was at my lowest, I never saw you grieve.  It made be think you didn’t care”.

 I know Vickie is not alone here, as I immerse myself deeper into our community, I hear versions of this story regularly.

 Apologies to our LGBTQ+ family, this is going to be a piece that will be bias towards female and male couples.  I’d feel like a fraud if I was to try and speak about the challenges and issues faced by a part of our community, I have not been exposed too. But through the podcast Sarah Lawrence (After The Storm), Berenice Smith (Walk In Our Shoes) and I share, we are planning to change that, but I digress.

 Before I delve into the reasons why, a little context is necessary.  Its actually a bit confusing for males of my generation right now, societies expectation of what a male is, is not really conducive to how the majority of us were socialised.  There is an expectation now that the traditional masculine traits of stoicism, competitiveness, dominance and aggression are harmful. Of course taken out of context and used in the wrong way they are of course, but they are traits intrinsic to us.

I remember as a 7 yr. old, one particular boy used to bully me, I suspect because he had older brothers that would bully him.  I was a little taller than most in my year and I wasn’t a reactor, I was pretty laid back.  But one day, I’d had enough and popped him one in the chops.  Immediately the dynamic changed, long story short, he stopped bullying me and wanted to be my friend.  The lesson here was of course survival of the strongest, but it also changed the way others saw me, almost like a celebrity, I was the boy that ‘stood up to the bully’. Reinforcing that idea of strength is good.

 I was never home, always out with my mates getting up to some innocent mischief.  Growing up in the Essex countryside was great, with a bonus being so many trees to climb.  I fell out of many, but I would never cry, never wanting to see my friends see me as weak, after all ‘big boys don’t cry’ I was always told.

 A sporting outlet also defines us, I played rugby, it’s a tough game, you get knocked down, you get hurt, but you get up and carry on.  The aggression is the tool to do this, you harness it, focus it on doing better, doing more.  Vickie only ever watched a couple of games, all she could see was the potential for me to get hurt, she didn’t like this.  She did understand that when you cross the sideline onto the pitch, its like setting foot into the gladiator’s arena.  But she couldn’t grasp the concept that when you step back across the line you shook hands with your opponent and showed friendship, Vickie on the other hand would be holding a life long grudge for anyone that would have hurt me.  If we won, we’d be victorious, if we lost, we were dealt a lesson in humility, which is a great life skill to have, I see lacking these days.

 Also, what must not be overlooked is the fact that for a very very short period of time, when comparing the evolution of humans, our current lifestyles are so different to how we evolved. 

 When we were hunters, that Stoicism allowed us to focus on the prey, chase the prey even if we were injured.  The competiveness and aggression would make us strive for better, be the faster hunter, be the better shot, it allowed us to combat threats.  Weakness meant you didn’t survive.

 We are wired to be warriors.

 So why didn’t I show emotion, its quite simple really, I was being the warrior.  I was reaching down enduring the hardship and pain to keep our lives moving on. I had to focus that stoicism, aggression to be the rock that I thought I needed to be.

 Is this a good or a bad thing, to be honest I’m still unsure with hindsight I can see that Vickie felt isolated in our marriage, she felt alone even though she was in a couple.  She felt let down, she felt I didn’t care.  Whereas in my mind I was keeping it together, drawing on all my warrior traits to be strong, to get us through this trial.

 As I’ve aged and I guess my testosterone levels are not as high as they were 20yrs ago, I feel now that the aggression has waned.  I can see I’ve changed from the gung-ho warrior to that wise old man sitting calmly around the fire. I feel the emotions rise in me now, it is something I’m not used too as most of my life I’ve kept them deep down low.

 We are not wired to sit around and chat about our feelings that the fairer sex finds so easy to do.  We are beings of action, we bond from activities, be that saving the village from attack or defeating our rival rugby team.

 But what we do need is a place to belong, a place where we are understood and feel safe.  I know Jody will have a big smile right now, she encouraged me last year to create this space for men, I was very apprehensive about this as I wasn’t sure it would work.  But I took the plunge after talking with some other ‘brothers’ as I like to call them we together created;

 The Clan of Brothers - https://www.facebook.com/groups/2484973765084925/

 This can be found on FB; it is a closed group so only members can see what is posted.  We have had an online meet up, where we discussed our hobbies, our younger years and I hijacked the rest with a geography lesson on how big Australia is. (insert a laugh here).

 But there are some interesting discussing that have come up via posts in the group and they have been met with compassion and understanding only men in our position can give.

 So, if you know of someone that needs this space, please direct them to us.

 Thank Jody for this opportunity

 And as we say at the end of each podcast episode and this is especially for my CNBC brothers …… You are not alone.

Our Gracious Stateswoman

Jody Day’s “Living the Life Unexpected” Blog Tour.

We remember it clearly, it was fertility fest 2018, it was the Wednesday for CNBC community, it was the end of the formal part of the day and we were in the foyer establishing the beautiful friendships we now have. Berenice says something like ‘OMG, there is Jody Day’, to which both Vickie and I were oblivious too as we had only just starting immersing ourselves into the CNBC world from our small home in Australia.

We have since met on a number of occasions via Zoom and I’m sure our next in the flesh meeting will be a monumental one.

What we now know is that Jody’s work has been vital to our community and we both know many woman who have attributed Jodys work to their ability to find light in their life. It takes a strong woman to do what she has done, giving you a warts and all account of her own personal struggles and she does it with such grace. We could think of no better woman than Jody to be the figure head of our community and ‘Living the Life Unexpected’ is the the proof of this.

In her gently persuasive way Jody will take your hand and guide you through your grief, helping you make sense of what is going on around you and within you. Allowing you to shed the guilt and shame that comes with that grief.

The updated edition has a large amount of resources for us all and we mean all, regardless of gender, identity, culture, ethnicity, just have a look at his list.

• Other Women’s Stories, 

• On the Single & Childless Experience

• On Midlife & Elderhood as a Childless Woman

• On Understanding and Supporting Your Grief

• On Learning How to Be Kinder to Yourself

• On Forgiving Your Body

• On Meaning, Purpose, Happiness & Choices

• On Creativity (and Dealing With Your Resistance to It)

• On (Re)connecting to Source and Self Care

• On Thinking About Changing Your Work or Career

• For Heterosexual Couples

• LGBTQIA+ Resources

• For Women of Colour

• For Women of Faith

• For Childless Men

• On Academic and Cultural Aspects of Childlessness

Jody’s work will give you the foundation skills to set you on the right path by giving you ‘HOPE’. That hope will come in many different, forms, hope that you will not be alone, hope that you will manage your grief and hope that you will live a fulfilling life, then the rest is up too you with all the skills Jody has given you…..So…..

Jump over to the link below for a sample of the introduction and first chapter;

https://www.dropbox.com/s/asysh9tfp92pvxg/LTLU%202020%20Free%20Sample%20-%20Covers%2C%20Intro%2C%20Ch1.pdf?dl=0

Then jump over to the link below to pre-order your very own copy;

https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/jody-day/living-the-life-unexpected/9781529036138

Or we’d encourage you to pop over to Jody’s blog (see below) and you might be able to win a signed copy.

https://gateway-women.com/living-the-life-unexpected-2nd-edition-world-blogtour-1-19th-march-2020/

Vickie and I also have a free signed copy of ‘Living the life unexpected’ to give away, if you sign up to our website you’ll go into the draw that we’ll conduct 22nd of March.

In closing, both Vickie and I are honoured to know Jody, her grace and wisdom leaves us both in awe of the hope that she instills in our community.

And like us, I’m sure your going to love her and her work.

Warm bits by Vickie, Cheeky bits my me :)

I Hate Christmas

I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time and for a long time I’ve never wanted to write this. It’s late November, I’m sitting in Launceston Airport on the island of Tasmania, what some could consider the ends of the earth, the next stop south from here is Antarctica this creates within me a sense of isolation. It’s the end of a work trip and as I sit here typing, there is a group of people sitting on the table in front of me the majority being I believe in their 20’s with the exception of who I assume is a mother of one. I can only imagine they are off on a group adventure and I must admit I feel some jealousy, they are oblivious to the trials of life and can innocently experience things for the first time.  As their flight is called mother hugs her boy tightly and as much as she wants to send him off with a smile the fragility is obvious to us worn and weathered souls, as she says, “I’ll see you after Christmas”.

 O Fuck! Christmas already, fuck I hate Christmas.

 I have a little laugh to myself at the irony, I once played Bob Cratchit in an amateur production of ‘A Christmas Carol’ and here I am in real life Scrooge. I too am haunted by my very own ghost that seems to appear at this time of year.

 I come from a long line of Michaels who I’ve tranced back to the Tyrone region of Northern Ireland.  Recently, Vickie and I had the chance to go to Ireland and thanks to my cousins Kate, Helena and Colm I was able to visit the grave of the first Michael and as macabre as this might sound, I loved it.  Some people refrain from naming their off spring after themselves, I was not one of those.  As far back as I can remember my dad instilled in me the heritage of my name and my dream was to have my own little Michael to continue the line.  Vickie and I would joke, saying our children would be ‘little dumplings’, as we have always struggled with our weight.  Girls names we could never agree on, but it went without saying what name our boy would have.  Many years ago, a friend once told me that he’d never name his son after him as he wanted his boy to have his own identity and although it didn’t deflect me, it did give me food for thought. It wasn’t identity that I would be giving our son, my personality is nothing like my dad’s, I would be giving him heritage, something to belong to.

 We just like the rest of the childless community grieve for the loss of not having their children, these children live in their dreams and they will never leave us. This Christmas and every Christmas I sense the ghost of our son Michael. And every year I wish I could tell him this.

My dearest Michael

 Every Christmas morning as we gather together as a family and I see the excitement on your cousins faces, I imagine yours as you unwrap your microscope or your chemistry set.  Your mum would spoil you, she got nothing for Christmas as a child and through you she’d try to put things right.  But don’t worry I’d make sure you got all the good boy’s toys and I looked forward to lots of hours on the floor with the Lego.

Your early years, I imagine would have been just a haze of poo, vomit, nappy’s and sleeplessness, mind you, if you had the majority of my genes, you would have been as good as gold as your grandmother always said that about me.

 Your mum and I would have had quite a few arguments about you when you were young, as we both had very different early years.  I’d be wanting you to get outside and explore your world as soon as you could, just like I did. Where as your mum would want you close because you would have been the most precious thing she had and she’d want to keep you close just like her mother did to her, I was prepared to take second place for you my boy.  To your mothers horror, I’d encourage you to climb a tree, walk through muddy water or dig a hole.  I’d get you a bicycle as soon as you could stay up right, because I know this simple machine would allow you to expand your horizons and have more richer adventures with your friends.

 I’d have taken you camping, just you and I, I’d show you how to light a fire, how to respect your world and introduce you to sleeping under the stars. I’d share with you the story of how I introduced your mum to this, by taking her camping purposely not bringing a tent.  I’d show you how to cook on that fire and as we sat around like all those centuries before us did, we’d share stories, we would bond, and I’d hope you feel proud to be the next Michael.

 I wanted you to be proud of me.

 As you aged, I wanted to teach you that sensitivity would not make you a lesser man but make you a better one.  I wanted to watch you experience the results of your decisions, knowing that if you make a wrong one, I’d support you as you figured out the remedy.

 I wanted to help you become a better man that I, I wanted to show you the strength in being able to talk.  I always see this as you coming over in the evening after work and we sit in the garden with a drink as you ask for my guidance and me trying my hardest not to tell you what to do.  You mum would always be peeking through the window at us, obviously wanting to know what was being said, but beaming with pride and love to see you and I like this.

 Michael, your ghost is never far away from me and at Christmas you are especially close, and you know what, as my mind makes senses of what I’m writing, I don’t feel so bad now being Scrooge because my hatred of Christmas comes from how much I miss you.

Forever your Dad.

This Was Not How It Was Meant To Be

As my wife gave into the drugs and quickly fell asleep, like drawing a sword he drew the biggest needle you have ever seen.  Bloody hell, that wasn’t explained to us, you can’t help but feel so helpless as the one you love is violated with such a cruel instrument.  Your intellect knows it’s got to be done, but your emotions run high, you are built to protect, but here you sit watching helpless. It gets worse with every moan she lets out as he puts that needle in deeper searching for those elusive follicles.  All you can do is hold her hand and not cringe as her grip tightens to something you have never felt before.

For most people what we are experiencing should be performed behind the closed door of a bedroom. I should be hearing the soft moans of pleasure; instead all I can hear is the Dr and technician exchanging test tubes.  I should be looking into the eye of my loved one instead I’m looking at a wall, trying not to look at anyone.  We should be alone behind that bedroom door, but we are not.  I should hear the seductive rhythm of her breath; all I can here is the beeping of the heart monitor.

Then it is over, I can’t remember how many eggs were harvested; I think I have a kind of PTSD.

Then the nurse in her Irish accent says “Its your turn”. I can remember the fear, it was real, I could feel it like a lead overcoat. “Go up to the next level look for the Andrology dept. and tell them your name.”  I had visions of a large reception area, with a waiting room and ‘the rooms’ would be hidden away deep in the department. What I found was far from that.  I followed the signs to the narrowest corridor I have ever experienced, walking up to a hole in the wall in the corridor I found the ‘Andrology’ dept, it is not meant to be like this.

I was given a sample jar and a key; the technician then tells me that I’m in the room behind me. “There is only one key so you can feel secure that once locked no-one else will enter”, she said. “There is scotch in the cupboard and magazines in the draw, wash your hands before you start and do not get any other liquid in the sample jar”.  In a daze I turned, opened the door and stepped inside, then the reality of my situation dawned on me. Lock the door, lock the door, I thought.

I looked around the room; it was only around 2.3m square with a hospital flick tap sink, a recliner and a small cupboard.  The floor coving went 6 inches up the wall, making me think they could hose it out like some seedy nightclub.  I open the cupboard, that held what someone thought would be the best tools to ‘assist’. We were driving home after this, so scotch was out of the question and besides, I still couldn’t face it after my bucks night all those years ago.

It was then I heard voices, coming from outside in the corridor, for fuck sake, how the hell am I supposed to do this with people only a few feet away.  I reached for the recliner, as it moved it squeaked, could it get any worse.

The gravity of my situation was not lost on me, the pressure had been building for weeks, hormonal drug stimulation, the egg harvest I had witnessed, all came to this point right here.

Instead of an exciting experience in the back of the car in a secluded spot over looking the ocean or an afternoon quickie on the kitchen table, I was here; it was not meant to be like this.

I washed my hands

There were obviously many other rooms, as another conversation just like mine was being had only feet away.  “I’m not sitting in the squeaky chair, I’ll have to stand,” I said to myself, all I could think of was, it was not meant to be like this.

It got worse, the pressure and anxiety took its toll, what is so easy in the comfort of your own home, takes on a whole new perspective, I felt like I was a failure, but I couldn’t let my girl down all our dreams relied on me and this moment.  After what seemed like hours, a few tears, rest breaks and cramp, I completed my task. I tried my best to compose myself as I would have to go back down to the ward and sit with my girl, I failed in this too.

As I walked up to the bed my wife was chatting with our nurse, they both look up and begin to laugh, it was not meant to be like this.

Surviving Christmas

I must warn you, if you are thinking you’re going to learn a subtle way of surviving being childless, this is not for you.  This will be almost like a frontal attack, something that Napoleon would have been proud of.

 As with most families there are complexities that the pressure of Christmas seems to always bring to the fore.  Ours is no different and last year was a great example, I’d lost my job earlier in the month we were both smashed by a bout of Glandular fever, we were not in a good place.  My parents had decided to make the effort to travel to the UK to have a Christmas with my sister, as they are both over 70 and with varying health issues, it wasn’t an easy time for all.

 My wife and I are seen as the ones who can successfully cater for many in our family, so for years we would slave away for the day creating a memorable Christmas lunch, only to fall in a heap at the end of it, with me trying to come to terms with how tired I was for just one day and my wife excited that we had pulled off yet another fabulous Christmas feast, she usually loves Christmas.

Last year was different

As a present to ourselves we decided that this Christmas it was going to be different for us, taking advantage of mum and dad being overseas, we decided that we’d close the plantation shutters, turn on the air conditioning (we are in Australia) and sit around in pyjamas all day, eating whatever we could get out of the fridge or Freezer, no special meals, no roasting, no vegetables, but Ice Cream was on top of the list.

 It didn’t go down well, at the least some scratched their head, others got very upset.

 This is because no one was listening, but not by any action of ours.  We live a very overt life, many years of dealing with various issues on the psychologist’s couch has taught us the strength in being open.  But sadly, no matter how many times you tell some people, ‘Christmas is tough, for us because it reminds us of what we won’t have’ or ‘sorry we can’t come to your child’s birthday party because they are just too upsetting’, they will never hear the message you are trying to send.  You may get an answer, as we did something like “Why don’t you like us, you never come our daughter’s parties” or a real humdinger “why are you always forcing down our throats, that you can’t because you don’t have kids”.

 We have shed many a tear, when at a low ebb almost convinced how nasty and selfish we must be.  It is an easy trap to full into, conditioned by those around you to live ‘their’ life and not your own. It takes guts and a thick skin to weather this storm, but we stayed true to ‘OUR’ needs and believed we couldn’t have done more to educate those around us of our situation and so we still shut those shutters.

Why did I share this with you?

We realised that survival starts with us, no matter how we looked at it, we are different and that’s an important factor we needed to recognise and internalise. Once we had this squared away, we needed to get the message out to all those near and dear to us.  I know this is easier said than done, but we knew we had to rise above that self-imposed stigma, that is being childless can create and let those near and dear know, exactly how we felt and why. 

 “Let them know you are different, let them know you will not see the world in the way they do and let them know all the milestones of their lives that all revolve around children, will have the opposite effect on you.”

 I bet there are some of you cringing right now, thinking how uncomfortable it would be to do that, undermining yourself by saying you won’t have the strength perhaps.

 Something that I have come to cherish is a lesson taught to me by some acting classes I took many years ago.  Standing on the stage can be such a terrifying ordeal, you are exposed and vulnerable, until you realise that you are the one with the power, you are the one in control.

Everyone in the audience is in awe of you up on the stage, because they believe it is something they could not do.  Your skill as an actor delivering the lines have the ability to control their emotions, living that overt life is not too far removed from this situation.

 Having the courage to speak up and not hide will leave those around you in awe of your strength, granted they may not vocalise that, it might make them feel awkward.  And yes, there will always be those that will not listen and just not want to understand your behaviour because it is not what THEY want from you.

Betrayal and Truth

Our experience’s so far have taught us the value and strength that comes from truth.  As much as its hard at times and uncomfortable for others, truth for us means facing up to the realities of our life.  It is devastating when those that you believe to be your support, use your truths against you.

It was the mid 90’s, my wife’s sister was getting married, Vickie had arranged for my mum to make the wedding dress as she was a dressmaker before my arrival.  Vickie was excited that she was part of her sister’s wedding, family dysfunction had not always worked in the favour of the relationship between the two sisters, but Vickie was hoping this would bring them closer together, because at that time her belief was ‘family is family regardless’.  What her sister chose not to mention was that her father was also going to be part of the wedding.  I can hear you all from here, saying ‘So!’, well let me elaborate.

As we might have mentioned in the past, Vickie was born when her mother was just 17 and due to circumstances at the time, Vickie’s dad wasn’t around.  When her mother was about 20 she married a man who would inflict unspeakable sexual cruelties on both Vickie and her mother.  Her mother had two children by the time Vickie was able to speak up to her about what was happening, she was 5.  To her mother’s credit, this motivated her to involve the authorities and this man was put away.  Mother and the three kids then lived an itinerant life, in fear that this man once out from prison would find them.

When the news broke about ‘the father’ being involved in the wedding it was heartbreaking for my wife, she confronted her sister who said something like ‘No, no I want you at my wedding, you’re my sister’.  Vickie made it quite clear, ‘if he goes I cannot and you know why, so the choice is yours’.  This was her truth.

To cut a very long story short, the sister chose the father.

My vocabulary fails me right now with how devastating this was for the beautiful soul that is my wife. Not only did ‘she’ choose the man that abused her sister over her, but as you can imagine the rejection of the horrific experiences endured by both Vickie and her mother, by her choice, was unforgivable.  As the build up to the wedding grew, questions began to be asked as to why her sister was not participating in the wedding.  To our horror, it became apparent the story being told was, Vickie being jealous of her sister because she had a child, didn’t want to be part of the wedding.

Vickie was broken, I was extremely angry.

I stormed around to their home with Vickie, I’m not sure what I was expecting to achieve, I was livid, what she had done was unforgiveable, even evil in my book.  The future husband was left to deal with us as ‘she’ ran off to the bedroom.  Nothing was achieved, our pleas for her to face up to the truth of the pain she has caused, went unheard.

The lessons of truth from this experience have guided us ever since, we chose to live overtly about our infertility, so that it could not be misunderstood.  Vickie to her credit decided that her experiences as a child needed to be expressed as she was the victim and should never be made to feel inferior for it.

The most hard hitting lesson of truth, was that her sister didn’t care for her or what she had been through.

So, why have we chosen to share this with you?

Post the inaugural World Childless Week 2017, we had been exposed to many stories of couples who keep their truth hidden.  Who navigate life, hiding the truth for their own individual fears of being exposed that they are infertile.

We want to tell you that the truth will set you free, tell it, don’t let it be misunderstood.

We hope that you will never be put into a situation like Vickie where it will be used against you, so get on the offensive and let it free.

I will tell you it won’t be easy, it will take time for there is nothing more frightening then facing up to your own fear.

But trust us when we say – Set your Truth Free

Blinded

We have always lived an overt life; we know the process of learning to live with our issues is via being able to talk about them openly.

Having grown up beside my wife, I know first hand the lasting effects that childhood sexual abuse can have on a person and left unchecked it can be devastating.

You know that person who always seems to end up with stray dogs, well that’s my Vickie, but she collects people that seem to have lost their way. Which in itself is not a bad attribute to have in these days of everyone yarning for those past days of community. Sadly, the other edge of this sword is the vulnerability it can create.

This is the foundation of why we let Amber into our lives.

It went something like this, a young girl has started at my wife’s place of employment, and its obvious she is troubled. Like the Winnie the Poo character, Eeyore, she had that black cloud followed her around. Vickie recognised her moody, reclusiveness and aggression with her co-workers as signs of a person crying out for help.  As Vickie took Amber under her wing, the support she needed spilled over into evening texting and the pouring out of her experiences. We believed she was a scared girl just out of her teens with experiences that no one deserves to endure. She needed protection.

Amber could never actually speak of her experiences, they were always written in a note. I mean how could you face someone and tell them the most shocking of abuse that you have endured, writing it was so much easier, especially when according to her, it was her father who put her through these horrific experiences.

A few nights a week on our couch, told us that she was deeply affected, we could hear her whimpering like an injured puppy in her sleep.

After seeking advice from our psychologist and debating between ourselves the pros and cons, we decided that it was our duty to take this frightened and abused girl into our home and protect her whilst we helped her get justice and support.  We knew it would be a long road, but we figured what’s a couple of years in the great scheme of things and how could we live with ourselves if the death threats she endured via texts came to fruition.  We finally got to decorate that room and fill it with a bed, cupboards and shelves to create a safe space for her to retreat too.

Vickie was on a mission, taking her to her Dr to get checked out, dragging her to the rape clinic to get support, forcing her to confront what we thought were her fears and walk into the Police station to report the abuse.

She must have been so deeply trauma because no matter how much support we gave her it didn’t seem to lift her mood; this poor girl must be suffering so so horrendously.  But we kept up the pace and as time went on, she told us “you are both the parents I wish I had”.  We thought our roles were to give Amber a ‘normal’ life; to experience what life could be like. We introduced her to our family and friends as a way of creating that normality.

As I have mentioned in the past, we spent 10yrs on the psychologist couch, you can’t be there for that long and not discover things about yourself. What I discovered was I had a kinda ‘White Knight Syndrome’, which I recognise now is more about being a fixer, there is a problem I can work it out. Our life journey so far has taught me that as a male, I don’t always have to fix those things that Vickie is going through, just being there as a support and listening to her was enough, because at the end of the day, she knew what the solution was, she just needed to know she wasn’t alone.

So, with Amber I decided that this is how I would be the support, being there when Vickie needed me. It was also clear to me that this mission of Vickie’s was more than just getting justice for Amber, it was also her vicariously righting the wrongs of what Vickie had endured with her step father.

And if we are honest with ourselves, it was like us finally being a parent, but instead of taking her to a sporting competition, it was the rape clinic for her or a birthday party was replaced with detective interviews, there was not visits to friends that was seeing our psychologist who never charged because she too felt the need to support Amber.  It was difficult getting Amber to her appointments, but we understood why, its hard having to relive these episodes over and over again. We knew, this is how it works, desensitising you and allowing your brain to make sense of what is happening and learning to live with the experiences rather than bottle them up to fester.

But we were all wrong.

What we didn’t see, was how Amber gathered information about Vickie from her co-workers, creating a story that would hit home to Vickie in the most powerful of ways, using the story as the talisman to hypnotise her.

When the Dr would discretely say, “Vickie how do you know this girl is telling the truth”, she would just brush it off as the Dr just being cautious. What she didn’t know was the Dr could see the online medical records and of her personality disorder, but of course couldn’t divulge this to her.

The rape clinic representative did divulge once everything had come to a head that Amber did not behave in the way of a person who had been abused.

But the straw that broke the camels back, so to speak were the Police.  At their last interview, the two female detectives played bad cop, bad cop. Vickie was mortified that they would treat this abused girl in such a way, she still can’t believe that she screamed at the police to ‘stop’.  Even after the police investigated and told Vickie of how Amber would go back home and visit her parents, using her dads phone to text herself abusive messages. Or how the exact same scenario had been played out with another childless couple in her last place of employment, nearly break apart the marriage, she chose to believe Amber.

As she drove her home, Vickie still reassured Amber that things would be OK.  But once on her own as she came to pick me up from work, the light switched on and everything started to make sense. So much so that once I was with her, she arranged a meeting with the detectives to allow me to hear the results of the investigation first hand.

I was livid, that someone had taken us for a ride, I was livid that Amber had made Vickie relive her own experiences through this whole episode. I was angry with myself for being duped in this way.

Needless we went straight home as instructed by the Police and kicked her out; at no time did I have doubt, as the behaviour she showed was not one of someone being thrown to the wolves. She was angry, damn angry and I now know this was her narcissistic behaviour shining through. Not all her belongings fitted in her vehicle, so I decided that we would deliver them at a later date.  That later date was an eye opener, as I stacked the items neatly next to the house, Vickie handed all the letters of those horrible made up experiences to her mother and asked, “did you know where she was?” “O, yes” was her reply, “so why didn’t you warn us” Vickie asked, “I needed the rest” she said.

Stupid, angry, disappointed, betrayed, gullible are just some of the words that come to mind as we sit here and write this. How she was able to drag us to a place that we thought we had finally climbed out of, told us that she had put us in jeopardy too.  We recognise that our childless situation made us a target, as we finally thought we would be that parent we so longed to be, albeit only if it were for a few years.

As we debrief even now, we get angry that someone could be so thoughtless to use our vulnerability for their own selfish reasons.

A positive realisation is that we good people, we did this because we have heart and wanted to make a difference in someone’s life.

But, together we survived yet again, we owe this to our ability to communicate about the ‘right stuff’, checking in with each other and truly knowing that we have each other’s back.

A Line In The Sand

I must confess, I’ve had writers block, I think it stems from the stress of being jobless at the moment.  So, as a lot of you will know, I asked my social media friends to suggest a subject. The overwhelming response was, ‘When do you know it’s time to give up?’.

Like most families, we have our issues and ours is most likely no stranger to some, making a decision and committing to something.  For example, a few years ago, my sister, my wife and I took my mother to Italy to visit her Dads grave to which she had never been.  It was a warm evening as we strolled around the narrow streets of old Ravenna, looking for somewhere to eat.  The girls studied every menu as we pasted and every time I would ask, ‘do you want to eat here?’ the reply would be either ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t care’.

Now I’m not naïve, I realise unlike men who will battle for control, woman will be thinking of everyone, making sure everyone’s needs are covered and no one is offended.  At the rate we were going, I’m sure they were taking into consideration the whole of Northern Italy and I was scared that I would not be eating for the next decade. And even though my gorgeous wife doesn’t share the same genes, somehow that behaviour has rubbed off on her. (said with my cheekiest of grins)

Having said this, when we were on our IVF journey, it was like I was married to a different woman.  The best metaphor I can give you is a Regimental Sergeant Major with an OCD.

The initial time the procedure was performed it was a bit clumsy from our perspective and quite comical, when I get braver I may share this with you.  But, my wife learnt from this, every other time was flawlessly planned, annual leave would be planned around administration of the hormones to stimulate, ultra sounds to track the growth of follicles, the trigger injections to get those follicles ready and the egg harvest (not my terminology by the way).  She would remember exact dates and times for all the appointments, the exact dose of drugs we would administer at home, the exact date of the blood test to determine if the procedure worked and the exact date of when the six weeks safe period would be over.  I was married to a woman possessed with the need to become a mother, to feel normal, to be a woman.

But it didn’t end here.

To give herself the best chance possible, she would take off from work the next 2 weeks, taking it easy hoping those eggs stuck to where they needed to be, of course there was no resting of the mind.  Of course the obvious is, each round was unsuccessful, every time the coordinating nurse would call with the sad news, there would be tears, there would be wails of ‘Why me, I’m a good person’ and I would be afraid to come home to face the devastation.

There were times when Vickie would protect me from the bad news, whilst I was at work, but I could always tell the result as I drove up to the drive way and our curtains would be close at 3.30pm.

Once the purge had ran its appropriate course, socks were pulled up, big girl pants were put on and I would hear ‘Right, when can we do it again?’.

Of course I would not argue, I wanted to be a dad, I thought I’d be a really good father.

This merry go round, became our new normal.

What we didn’t realise was our new normal looked like this;

• A decade of annual leave spent on IVF procedures

• A decade of regular devastation

• A decade of medical fee’s

• A decade of no light let into our life

• A decade of psychology fee’s

• A decade of watching other families grow

As I write this and discuss with Vickie our content, she tells me,

“At the time, I would have just kept going, for me there was always hope that the next time would work.  I was so focused on getting that child, I was blind to everything going on around me. The only reason I stopped was the Dr told me I had too.”

I remember that time well, at her consultation Vickie had asked the question;

“It’s not going to work for me, is it?”

As he tapped Vickie’s feet, as was his habit, he shook his head, even he couldn’t say the word, no.  Later he said, “You don’t give up do you, but it’s time to stop”

This may seem callous, but this news was a relief for me, it gave me the chance to say what I had been wanting to say for some time.  As I sat on the couch, holding Vickie’s hand, through the tears I said  “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t deal with this emotional rollercoaster and the devastation at the end”.  We were 40, one of the reasons the Dr had said no, was due to the high risk of us having a child with a disability, as well as a risk of death from over simulation. I tried to bring a little logic to the discussion, if we kept going, the potential is we would be 60 and still have a child in their teens and if this child had a disability that would not fare on that child or us, who would be there to love and care for them, when we were no longer here.

There, we drew our line in the sand.

Just The Two Of Us

Our usual Sunday morning custom starts with reaching over to the bedside cabinet for our iPads.  A few wines and a late night with friends the night before meant I was slowly becoming conscious, as my wife caught up on what was happening in the virtual world.

Then I hear, “Lets have a facebook free day today”

This statement was like a shot of adrenalin sending me into a panic, ‘WHAT NO FACEBOOK’. But then reason won out, we had a big day at the community farm planned and then a meet up with my parents, so it didn’t seem too painful, no need to reach for the Valium.

Although the idea didn’t last long, as my wife fixed breakfast I sparked up my laptop.  The penny dropped, I had forgotten it was fathers day! My girl had my back!

On our way to the farm, via the local hardware/garden store, we checked in with each other. My wife confesses to telling me that she was “sad and sorry”, as is my normal behaviour I asked “why?”. Yes, this may seem like a stupid question, please bare with me.

” Because, I was never able to make you a father”

This is where my vocabulary fails me, I can not put into words the emotion I felt at this exact time, but I was able to say this;

“You know, I’ve never looked at our situation in that way, EVER.  To me it’s always just been we, us, the two of us.  WE didn’t have children, it didn’t work for US and as I have discussed earlier, this journey is extremely isolating, so to me ‘it’s just the two of us’.

“I hope I have never made you feel that way” I said, but in my mind I was in a panic, “Fuck, have I made this beautiful human being feel blame…. fuck, fuck, fuck”

The significance of this moment can never be under estimated, we have been together since we met at 16, that is close to 34 yrs.  We have together sat on the psychologist couch for 10 yrs learning how to live with the legacy of childhood sexual abuse as well as our infertility, successfully I like to think.  But, it took ‘a father’s day as we approach those 34yrs for my wife to confess what she has been carrying for years.

As I write this and read it to my wife for approval, the tears flow from us both.  “The words were just too hard to say and now I’ve said it, I do feel like a weight has lifted from me”

This is another lesson I give to you, your greatest strength is within the two of you.

As Bill Withers sang;

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us
Just the two of us
Building castles in the sky
Just the two of us
You and I

I believe the sun is shining through for us now.

Now where is that Prosecco and authentic French Brie!

World Childless Week

Underlying the chaos of life there is a strategic plan to be followed that borders on a compulsion, strangely if we saw our loved one’s behaving this way, we’d have them whipped off to therapy. We are structured souls at heart, as much as we would hate to admit it.  An old university lecture comes to mind right now, do we have free will or is our behaviour already mapped out in our genes and chemical makeup, that’s for another time.

But, what happens when the wider world plan is not yours, when you are the tiny minority that just won’t fit, not from that rebellious anti-establishment radical perspective but from circumstance.  What happens when you so want to be just that normal person, just like everyone else around you, but you can’t. I can imagine that everyone one of you reading this will know of a person that has made a quick exit from a group discussion when everyone begins to talk about their children or that friend who just spontaneously cries, but will never tell you why.

World Childless Week’s aim is to help bring some light and understanding to the world about those who are childless.  Being childless is very much like the debate around understanding mental health, if your ill or have a physical disability it is easy to garner sympathy from those around you, but when there this nothing physically to see, to evoke that sympathy, confusion and doubt reign.  One behaviour that the vast majority of childless couple’s experience is isolation, many stories are shared of how friends and family begin to back away, especially when their own family starts to grow.  Sadly, one of the most common coping mechanism that childless couples will use, is exactly the same, they will stop going to kid’s birthday parties, baby showers and the like, because it just too painful to be reminded of what they will never have.  I understand that those with, back off because they may not know what to do and those without need to survive, neither is wrong or right, but what is lacking is the understanding between the two.

I am supporting World Childless Week because my wife and I are one of this minority, we have travelled the infertility journey and know firsthand the isolation that it brings, just like our blog, WCW is trying to help break down barriers to understanding the behaviour of the childless and to show those that are struggling that you are not alone and there is a community here that understands you and can support you.

I’ve just come back from a funeral where we said goodbye to a mate’s father, like all funerals this was a time of reflection, within the eulogy something rang deep for me and I imagine for other people like my wife and I.  It went something like this “A few days ago, Dad and I were sitting out the back in the sun and he said to me, I can die happy, you and your sister are set up, you have both given me wonderful grandchildren, you are all good people, I’ve lived a full life, my work here is done.”  The church was packed, a wonderful testament to a person’s life, but the most important people sat down the front, his wife, children and grandchildren.  I looked at them as the eulogy was being read and in my mind’s eye I could imagine the content smile on my mate’s dad as he reflected over his life, full of these happy memories and love from his extended family.

This is the essence of that strategic plan, we come into this world with many expectations thrown on us, with each one reliant on the other.  As a child we learn to socialise, preparing us for when it time to make our partnership with a loved one.  There is of course the expectation that more children will be created by this partnership, with our childhood experiences used as the catalyst for our parenting style. Those children will then produce your grandchildren, you can see your legacy being left in all of them.  For the most part, this also becomes an ever-increasing support network as you age.  Those being the ones you ring when your computer won’t work the way you want it too, or your new phone totally bewilders you.

Our life will not be like that.

You may have made the mistake of saying to a childless person once, like has been said to me many times, “you are so luck you didn’t have child, they are hard work and give you nothing but grief”, thinking of course that you were showing sympathy, but what you got in return was the opposite reaction you expected. That family circle of support and comfort that exists and continues to grow tells us otherwise.  It reinforces to us that at the end of our days we will be lonely.

There will be no children sitting down the front of the church, our grandchild will not be reading passages out of the bible, our son in law will not be reading the eulogy.

You may be thinking how unfair is it of me to pull on your heart strings in this way. My intention however, is to really drive home that difference and how understanding is the key to helping and supporting a loved one who is childless.  Our life is different and so it would be unfair to be measured by the norm, we all need to listen to understand, not listen to reply.

This week, when you encounter that loved one that is childless, ask them to help you understand, hold their hand so they don’t feel alone and listen.

Coping

“Expending conscious effort to solve personal and interpersonal problems, and seeking to master, minimise or tolerate stress or conflict.”

We are in a good place, I do believe that our coping mechanisms were effective, but casualties occurred.

We have received many children’s birthday party invitations over the years and I think I can safely say we only attended a few in the early days.  Watching mothers fuss and gossip about the children, as they happily play pass the parcel is hard.  Standing around as the fathers discuss life with kids, watching the excitement on their faces as they tell of the latest development is not easy or comfortable.  Some did know of our situation, others didn’t and it was only a matter of time before someone asked the question, ‘How many kids do you have’.

You could almost hear those that knew gasp as they waited to see how the question was handled.  There was always a pause as my conflicted mind would decide whether to answer truthfully and make the situation awkward or divert the conversation. In the end I would always give the truthful answer and in hindsight I think I did that on purpose, thinking in my own twisted way that I was getting some morbid satisfaction.

What these experiences did enforce, was we were different and by the behaviour of our friends and our own we perpetuated that difference.

It wasn’t long before the detachment we experienced became physical, we didn’t belong here, we were different and we began to graciously decline offers.

We also tried visiting our closest friends in hospital after the birth of their children, it was awkward. As my wife will tell you the most heart breaking thing for her is watching the new-born baby, rest in the arms of the mother. That innocent, beautiful new human being only knowing the touch and scent of their mother and as she looks down at what she has created, it hurt to know you would never experience that bond.  There also came the time when the father would thrust this delicate package into my arms and I thought ‘I know you are proud and I am happy for you, but please please don’t do this for me’. But, I smiled and made all the appropriate sounds and of course we stopped attending hospitals.

It is now a source of comedy in our marriage, my wife reminds me of how scared I looked at that moment when that delicate package was thrust into my arms.

The casualties in this were two-fold, us and those that cared for us.  We both recognise that we missed out on being included in the lives of our friends and their new families.  We also recognise that we lost friends who didn’t quite understand our situation and saw our behaviour as ignorant or rude.

But we coped and I like to think we survived.

“Seek to understand and not to judge”

Isolation and the Curtains

It was around the year 2000, we had ventured into the world of home ownership and a mortgage.  The neighbourhood we moved into had a mix of established families and new families, just like us.

We became quite a tight bunch with parties, BBQs and weekend drinks on various driveways or swimming pools. Many a headache was shared by all.  It was only a matter of time before us young one’s would start to grow our families.  Some might say there was something in the water, within the space of a year, every young family had their first child, except us.

The atmosphere changed as these young mothers and fathers came to grips with their new roles.  Mothers finding comfort in each other as they muddled through caring for their first born.  Fathers contemplating with each other the change to their lives and wives, over a beer on the drive way, except us.

Our time was spent on the IVF treatment roller coaster, buoyed by the Dr’s ‘You have an 80%’ chance, of success at your current age’.

Little did we know of the toll it would demand, financially, emotionally and of our time.  But enthused by our 80% chance, we structured our holiday time around the treatment. Simulating drugs administered at a specific time, to grow those valuable eggs.  Regular ultra sounds to track the growth of the follicles in which those egg resided, waiting for the magic measurement to be achieved so the trigger shot can be administered.  Regular blood tests checking hormone levels to ensure over stimulation has not occurred.  All this time believing we had that 80% chance.

Meanwhile, the babies have grown, the mothers are bonding whilst pushing prams around the park.

Its trigger day, the follicles are mature, it’s time to harvest, so I administer the last injection. From those multitude of follicles we end up with 2 viable eggs.

I can remember coming home after the implantation, feeling numb, I should have been on top of the world, we were going to be one of the 80%.  We hunkered down, battened the hatches and closed the curtains to protect and ensure we didn’t take risks.   From our protective bunker, we watched the world go by, we watched the mothers strolling with their prams, we watched the fathers struggling to fit the baby capsule in the car.

It was no secret what we were doing, we live an overt type of life.  Our neighbours waves developed an apprehensive shudder, almost like they knew we were on tender hooks.

It didn’t work, our neighbours waves became even more hesitant, eye contact began to wane and we kept the curtains closed as we dealt with our pain.

As more failed attempts occurred the divide between us and the neighbourhood widen, through the gap in the curtains we watched parents begin trying to control their children as they chased them around the street.

It is obvious now that as our despair became deeper and deeper, it had an effect on our thinking.  Through that hazed filter, that we didn’t realise was there, we can’t help but think why are we being treated differently, we are still the same people, what have we done?

Obviously we have done nothing but highlighted to our neighbours how lucky they were, through our despair.  I like to think the poor souls didn’t know how to behave and so retreated to a comfortable place as they themselves dealt with how to navigate their lives around us as we kept the curtains closed.

It is true, this journey is a lonely one, but it’s important to remember that there is good in most people and how you perceive their behaviour is not necessarily what they are thinking.

We constantly had to remind ourselves of this as we waded through our despair and it is one of the lessons I give to you.

We no longer keep the curtains closed.

Holiday, Mothers Day and Bianca Dye

It was Sunday 8th of May 2016, we are a few days into a 40 day road trip of the southern USA with friends. We had dropped them with family in northern Florida and we are taking the opportunity to dash down to Key West.

As we woke in our motel on the side of the i10, we adhered to our ritual, having a little time checking out whats been going on in our social media worlds, we accept the fact that social media is a big part of life these days, we embrace rather than ignore it.

The night before, I had read an article by Bianca Dye, an Australian Radio personality, who is going through the IVF process and she summed up perfectly the pain that Mothers Day brings to those like us. (Follow the link below)

When Mother’s Day cracks your heart open in pain.

Ordinarily I read interesting articles to my wife as we lay perusing the virtual world.  But not this day, this day is different.

Bianca’s article touched me, in a strange way, it wasn’t that I didn’t know everything she wrote.  Everything she had shared I had either experienced or witnessed, but it gave me a sense of not being alone.  It showed me that the  gift of sharing could be a salve for others wounds and this was the genesis for my blog.

We are 14 hours behind home and our feeds are filled with all the love of Mothers day. I knew what was going to happen, I could time it, sense it.  I know it’s a cliché, but with the years we have been together, you can almost sense what the other is thinking.

I knew the pain my wife would feel, I knew the tears would roll, I knew she would grieve, again.  Knowing all this, as the grieving began, all I could say was “Whats up?”.

Yes girls, you may view this as a stupid statement of a man who is oblivious to his wives feelings, but let me expand on this.

As far back as I can remember, I was always fending for myself, my formative years were spent in a small English village and the countryside was my playground, be it roaming the fields in summer, building tree houses or cycling for miles.  But through it all ,I along with my friends, were the masters of our own domains.  We would solve problems, like how to build a platform in a tree, or how to stop the sand falling in on us whilst excavating our underground bunker.  Still amazes me that we are all still alive, luck played a huge part I’m sure.

My dad was a shift worker and my mum never drove, so transport was up to me, if I needed to get somewhere I would ride or walk.

Skip forward a few years, we have emigrated to Australia, I have found a group of friends that loved to camp up in the mountains behind the city.  We were 16, with no adult supervision, we walked for miles camping over multiple nights.  Cooking our own food, making our own bedding, constructing our own shelters, it was all up to us.

If you had an issue with someone it was usually dealt with in a boyish fashion, one of us the victor and the other having a lesson in how to deal with defeat.

Girls, are you getting the picture, we are doers, we grow to be  fixers, we see a problem we need to sort it out.  We develop a plan, we see the goal and we work towards it.

Back to Mothers day, I have no plan, I feel useless because I know what is coming and I can’t do anything about it.  With all the skills I’ve amassed in my 49 yrs on this earth, I can not fix this.  And so awkward makes you do stupid things, like say “What’s Up”.

And so I walk over to her, kiss her on the forehead, to let her know she is not alone.