A paradox of the childless woman

A champagne bottle being opened

I am pleased to share the first contribution to the (In)visible Childlessness Gallery. I am very thankful for the patience of the contributor as I have struggled to find time to post this very real and honestly written post. It is a privilege to have her writing here. She wishes to remain anonymous, though you can read more of her writing at Awesome IVF.

I’m fine, I really am. I’m more than fine, I’m very fucking fantastic. I’m overtaking BMWs on the motorway, having two-hour naps in the afternoon, flirting with much younger men, laughing a brand-new laugh, taking up space and drinking cocktails. I am having the time of my life. I feel sexy, funny, confident.

But sometimes I feel an overwhelming need to cry; like today, as I was studiously selecting an expensive bottle of champagne in Sainsbury’s, it hit me like someone had thrown a leaden cloak over me and run away with my insides. I had to hurry out with a packet of wine gums.

I’ve never been so tired, my muscles ache and my limbs are heavy. I feel exhausted.

I’ve grown to love being a childfree woman; I stoke the fabulously spontaneous and extravagant parts of me. I relish new opportunities to jump at. I feel uneasy about looking at my grief because it has been my decision to stop trying. Besides, I think I have already done a lot of grieving throughout the fertility process and I want to move on. But I have grief nonetheless and it has a habit of creeping up on me when I’m not expecting it.

And so what to do with that pain? What do we humans do with it? Have another cocktail, write it out, shout at queue jumpers, go back to bed, take someone to bed, eat a packet of wine gums?

Bio: A single, queer woman comes to a sudden stop on her lengthy quest to get pregnant. Initially blogging her IVF attempts as a place to keep friends updated, it’s become her main outlet in processing her feelings and craft her writing. Read more at Awesome IVF.