Danielle

How are you feeling today?

Today I feel pretty good, but if you ask me tomorrow my answer may be different. I used to think of my childless grief in terms of a ladder where I complete each stage, gradually working my way up toward the final rung of acceptance. To me, it has actually felt more like being on a boat out at sea. There are stretches when the water is calm and I can see my destination glittering in the distance. Then there are other times when the waves overtake me and l fear getting swallowed whole by the sorrow. My hope is that with time the waves will become less intense.

What are you most proud of?

I am most proud of my willingness to be vulnerable and my ability to sit with discomfort. I believe there is beauty in showing up authentically, not pretending I am doing okay when I’m not. Over the years I have become increasingly comfortable with sharing the messy parts of my life along with the prettier ones. My family teases that I have a tendency to delve headfirst into heavy conversations, but I am learning to see that as a strength. I am proud of the fact that I don’t shy away from discussing hard things and that I am able to hold space for others’ pain, in addition to my own.

What is your biggest learning in life so far?

Not only does one door open where another closes, but oftentimes I find I am happy that I took that other door. During my junior year of college, I had my heart set on an assistant position with a favorite professor, but I quickly learned that I received too much financial aid to qualify. The professor knew I was disappointed and put in a recommendation for me to work as a tutor with the college instead, but after my interview with the tutoring center, I was told they had decided to go with a different student. Had those two doors not shut, I wouldn’t have been available when I was approached a week later about an opportunity to spend the semester abroad, an experience that turned out to be nothing short of amazing. I am hopeful that one day I will look back at my childlessness as a closed door that has led to something just as remarkable.

What are your hopes for the future?

I hope that my health will improve enough that I can work, drive, and travel without as much difficulty. I became disabled 10 years ago, and each year since I have seen small improvements in my symptoms – the first two years I couldn’t stand upright for more that five minutes at a time, but now most days I am okay standing and walking for 15 minutes. It’s felt achingly slow getting to this point, but it’s still a win.

What would you tell your younger self?

I would remind my younger self that I am worthy of love, just as I am. I spent so much of my life believing that I had to earn the love and affection of others.

When or where are you happiest?

I am happy when I am spending time with family and friends laughing, sharing good food, and exploring new places, but in recent years I have also come to appreciate time to myself. Late at night I love to go sit near my fireplace with a cup of tea in hand, the television tuned to a show I enjoy, and my cat Tiger contentedly purring on my lap. There is something really calming about this ritual and on my hardest days I am reminded that, at least in these moments, I am okay.

What would you like to say to wider society?

The grief of being childless not by choice is a lifelong grief. I believe there is a misconception that what we experience is simply a brief pang when someone announces a birth or a momentary sadness when seeing photos of our friends’ families. It’s not just the loss of one big dream, it’s the loss of a million little ones spread out over a lifetime. Because we live in a society in which motherhood and womanhood are so closely intertwined, many of us experience a loss of identity and purpose. We have to fight like hell to figure out who we are and what we want to do with our lives now that our hope of motherhood is gone.