I’d like to share with you my story of (not) being a mother. It feels vulnerable and I ask myself: why? It’s one of the very intimate aspects of human life, one of longing, love and surrender, and often out of our control. In our society this theme is for women also tied up with a sense of value and belonging. It can become a “touchy” subject with several sub-themes being shunned. So here I am, wanting to share to brake the taboo; one woman’s experience, perhaps a mirror to that of others.
It has been a long and winding journey. From falling pregnant too young, lost and unsupported to follow it through, to consciously communicating with the soul of a child in me and letting it go, to saying yes to the miracle in my womb and then him choosing to leave. I found that these “unfulfilled” pregnancies were not something I could easily talk about. Regardless of choosing to let the babies grow in me or not, I felt a touch of the miraculous when they arrived and devastation when they were gone. The “mother” in me mourned an empty belly, my body confused with hormones running high. There followed the days of despair, grief, emptiness, all shrouded in shame.
The heaviest burden was the secrecy surrounding it all and a feeling of “badness” for ending up there in the first place and making a “selfish” choice. I also felt the Christian shadow hanging over me and its indignation with the idea that a woman should make a choice regarding her own body.
These were initiatory experiences that I could never acknowledge. The physical pain of induced or natural miscarriage was comparable to the pain of child birth, yet there was nothing to testify passing through that passage.
It took time for me to make peace with myself and life again, aided by prayer, burial and conversations with the souls of my unborn children.
It was a great gift to later meet my three children in a family constellation. Through their representatives, I could look into their eyes, speak unspoken feelings and hold them to my heart. My love flowed, I felt forgiven and the inner conflict dissolved.
After these events the longing to bear a child intensified for me. All my relationship choices in my late twenties/early thirties were governed by it. Then, for no apparent reason, it spontaneously changed.
I begun to feel the presence of “Divine Mother” with me, especially when I worked intimately with people. Her love would pour forth, touching my heart along the way, leaving behind a great sense of fulfillment.
My creativity opened up like never before, flowing untrammeled, filling me with joy and inspiration. I was birthing projects every month supported by the rhythm of my menstrual cycle. I realized how much of my attention was needed by the young part of me and I committed to her. An increased sense of confidence and capacity followed. The “mother” in me was expressing herself abundantly and felt welcomed, sometimes gentle and holding, at other times a fierce, protective tigress.
As for actual children in my life, I love being an adopted “auntie” to them or their teacher and supporter. I am able to give them a very special, fresh attention that I know I wouldn’t be able to sustain if they were my own children, in the midst of daily tensions between my needs and theirs. I feel naturally drawn to spend more time with young people in my professional life.
I delight at my availability to the little one in me and in my adult clients. We are all in need of healthy mothering!
In relationship with other women, sometimes I’ve noticed a divide between those who have and haven’t had children. There can be envy on either side or simply a vast difference in lifestyles that gets in the way of connection. It needs to be acknowledged. I have been lucky to have a close friend who includes me in her family life and who also at times has been very honest about her jealousy of the privileges of my independence. I in turn admit to her my longing for family when it arises, when I witness her mothering. That way we see ourselves in each other. We laugh at how our lives seem quite the opposite at times, knowing that they represent embodiments of different possibilities. There is an understanding between us that there is a devoted mother in me and a free spirit in her and they both get their time.
At the time of writing this article I haven’t yet gone through the menopause (now I’ve had). I know that there is a degree of unknown until that door is biologically closed. I expect there is more grief to be met and I feel it well up without warning on some days.
This is not something to be “reasoned away” or to simply feel “fine about”. It’s a mystery and a part of my human experience.
When I find myself wondering about being childless in my old age, I keep returning to trust in Life and to knowing that my love will flower, however I choose to direct it.
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