WE ARE CHILDFREE

Growing up and into my twenties, I was never especially attracted by the idea of having children.

It wasn’t that I thought I couldn’t adjust my life to having them, or that I’d be particularly bad at being a mother, or that I didn’t like children, they just didn’t appear in the narrative I had of what I wanted my life to be or become.

I heard many times, ‘You’d be great at it!’, and I’d tell my friends: well, if I meet someone who desperately wants children, then I’ll think about it. Aside from dangerously close dalliances with maybe-boyfriends becoming maybe-fathers, life went on without ever truly facing the question of whether I’d met someone who desperately wanted a child; other issues were cited as the reasons for breaking up that had undertones of our diverging views on adding children to our coupledom.

In my work, which included traveling to all sorts of places around the world, I always got the question of whether I was married or had children; at that time, I’d say ‘not yet’ because everyone felt less awkward.

In my thirties, my eldest sister was trying to conceive via IVF, with multiple, heart-wrenching attempts and failures. She asked if I’d donate my eggs, which I was thrilled to offer: I wasn’t using them and she had a desire for motherhood that burned to her core.

Screening included answering awkward questions, like what we would do if we were all walking down the street and someone mistook the baby for my child. We determined that my status would be ‘Special Aunty’, and egg harvesting proceeded. We tried twice, unsuccessfully. It shook us all, for differing reasons: this was the end of the line for my sister, and it prompted me to face the choices I had made that if a childfree life was really right for me.

My unsuccessful donations didn’t rule out my becoming a biological mother necessarily, but gave some clear indications of the possibility of falling pregnant myself. This reckoning took some time, and I’m glad I had to do it. Work at this time still involved a lot of far-flung travel, and I’d grown in confidence to say to curious colleagues that having children wasn’t for me, but tell me about yours.

In my forties, after years of gynaecological problems and a multitude of treatments across various countries, it became clear I had adenomyosis, a lesser known cousin of
endometriosis. After exhausting the options, I was able to access a total hysterectomy.

This was an easier decision to make, on two fronts: firstly, I’d done the thinking already on if I wanted biological children and had reached a comfortable ‘No’, and secondly, my partner had been a strong CF-by-choice advocate since we’d met. Indeed, the question of a childfree life together had been an early conversation between us, and he was fully supportive of whatever I chose to do regarding my health and the operation.

I was very fortunate to have the hysterectomy in Norway, where expertise and good care is readily available. It has made a phenomenal change to my life: I had assumed that obscenely heavy and lifestyle-altering periods were the norm for much of my early adult life.

I think about having had a hysterectomy now and am grateful the decision was much easier, having already decided that a CF life was absolutely my path.

Work now still includes travel to remote and interesting places, but te questions about children have changed: now I say I can’t, but I’m OK with it, and look for other ways to find a connection.

There are rare moments when I have pondered ‘what if?’, but it is both fleeting and reassuring, because I enjoy the choices I’ve made and reflect on the opportunities that I’ve been afforded and taken up because I am CF. I’m sure children would bring different kinds of joy, but I am in with both feet on the joys I have and create in the life I have now.

It also brings me great joy that younger people now are talking more openly about the choice to become a parent or not, and are continuing to challenge the idea that one must be a parent to be a complete, valuable member of society.

Ultimately, we all have to own our own decisions and contribute something to our communities, so being able to have open conversations about parenthood, or not, helps us all to understand each other’s perspectives. ‘It takes a village’ isn’t only about supporting children, it’s about all of us.