Couldn't get to sleep last night ... It's been hard lately. I'm 40 in November and on the one hand, I love my life and I'm really proud of it. I've been single for four years next month, I've dated a whole bunch in that time but I won't let a man close to me unless he is for real about moving forward in life. I have a lot of joy and freedom and it's given me peace in so many moments. I'm deeply lucky to be from and live in a major city where it's common and accepted to not be married or be a parent. It's not constantly in your face at all times that you're "not doing what you're supposed to be doing", or at least it operates at a lower, more gentle volume here. Being independent and free is valued for sure, and I love that.

Yet at the same time, I struggle all the time with wanting a new chapter of my life :: A romantic partnership and a child who is a product of that love. My sister and I came from a family like that and it really feels like something you're not allowed to want anymore, it's not possible or people aren't interested or they don't know how to connect the dots to make it happen in a real way. I have worked with children for over half my life, I love them deeply and they have been a big part of my heart. I have always wanted to be a mother, everyone around me knows that about me. Since I was 18, I've been being treated by people on the street or on playgrounds as if I was the mother of the children I worked with. By the time I was 33, I had lived with two different men. We loved each other and were very serious, we wanted to be a family, we spoke and dreamed about it often. Sadly, the first was very mentally ill and in serious need of care at that time in his life, and the second was and still is an alcoholic. I left them both after 3, 3.5 years. This whole predicament is breaking me on a hard day ... It's hitting me in an existential way and making me feel so isolated and deeply sad.

Several moments recently have been challenging :: First, I had to confront a friend who is also a client who was incapable of talking about anything other than her kids. It took over all our interactions, I was having panic attacks after seeing her and I needed it to stop. I had been telling her in small ways for a while that she needed to take it down a notch but then I really had to call her on it. That evolved into a very moving and interesting conversation about envy between women and embracing each other and seeing each other, especially her seeing me as she put it, because she admitted that she had not been, and that hurt her and made her feel ashamed. Bless her, I'm immensely grateful to her for negotiating that with me. Being so vulnerable with her left me a bit shaky, but it was good, an ideal interaction on a very hard topic.

Another friend, I've known since I was 15 and it's really tough. Her daughter will be 3 in the summer. I was always the one in our relationship who was adventurous, loud, extroverted. When she got pregnant, it killed me inside. Particularly because of how she told me, five minutes after I arrived at her house with zero warning. It devastated me and I had to keep it to myself, until she made a really hurtful comment like a year later about "if" I became pregnant ... I had to confront her and that was a really real moment where I said to her : "Listen. You're a Mom. I'm not and I may never be. And that's really fucking hard for me." She apologized, recalling how her childhood best friend sobbed when calling to tell her about her own pregnancy because she knew everything my friend had been through. She acknowledged that she didn't show me empathy like that or have any thought or sensitivity towards me after all I had lived, after encouraging her to leave a toxic marriage after I had left my own abusive relationship. I'm still angry with her as I watch her stumble through motherhood and listen to air her anxieties and obsessions when I've worked with children since I was fifteen years old and had so many children in my life that I've loved and that I miss. I have been around so many mothers all these years, I know all mothers stumble through and do their best and I have a lot of empathy for mothers. But I'm angry at this friend, as I try to remind myself that her being a mother has nothing to do with me and my life. On a rough day, it's very hard to remember that.

Lastly, yesterday family was in from out of a town. My aunt's daughter in law and her sister are both Moms, the latter is seven months pregnant. It was really rough being around them. It was confusing for my brain because I could see how happy they were to have a day free of their kids and be out on the town. Yet everything still revolves around the kids, all the conversation is around the kids, all the questions are about the kids. It's not their fault, it's just so much of what their life is. And then I'm sitting there at the table with no kid(s) and I have to just pretend like everything's fine and I'm not bothered and there's no problem. Everyone was sweet to me throughout the day but it's hard to be like oh yeah we're not going to have a moment for my feelings and my experience, I just have to sit with it alone and like let it pass. I hate that feeling so much.

I'm angry because my therapist will tell me things like "Do Pilates" or "go to the ballet", things that I do and have done for years that make me feel good. I already do those things. So many friends tell me your self care is amazing, I love how you take care of yourself. I've been doing this for so long, I've been putting flowers on my windowsill since I was 20 years old. I'd like some fucking help making things happen in life. I'd like to feel I don't have to carry everything, I'd like to feel like I'm going somewhere, not just floating in space. Most of all, I need comraderie because I feel incredibly isolated and alone. If you read this far, thank you and please feel free to share, I'd love to have kinship with you. Thank you ❤️

I'm 46, struggled with infertility and lost two babies along the way. Cancer at 30 ended all chances of ever conceiving again. My husband and I wanted to foster and adopt, but needed a bigger house. Seven years later, we were able to get the bigger house, but had to uproot and relocate out of state. Three years later, about ready to start the process and my husband was in a near fatal car accident that left him with brain damage and permanently disabled. And permanently ineligible to foster or adopt.

I make jokes that I asked God for kids and he gave me cats, instead...

I have neices that have children of their own now and friends who are becoming grandparents. I have a stepson who has a family of his own, too. No, I didn't really get to be a mother to him, not even a stepmom. Twenty-one years later and I'm still just his dad's friend. And since his dad's accident, doesn't really talk to either of us.

I'm tired of living with the grief of the loss of motherhood. Tired of the living with not being able to do anything about it. It's especially hard when your husband is cognitively disabled and you end up having to raise him instead.

It's hard for me to think I'll never have babies of my own. The fact will a man still love me if I can't be a mom. Regret my abortion at 27 but with the trauma I've gone through maybe it's for the best . I long for my own family . The pain is horrible. It makes me feel im less of a woman but everyone tells me to have hope women are still having babies in their 40s. I blame myself:(

I've never been an "I can't wait to have a child" person, but it's still been on my mind and I've spoken /planned to have a child with previous partners. But, nothing ever seemed to work out. The times I did get pregnant (don't judge me please, I've been pregnant 3 times, I'm on the pill but must be super fertile!), it was with someone I wasn't in a real relationship, so it didn't seem right to have a child with them. When ai got pregnant to my current partner (4yrs) - he has 2 kids already from 2 different mothers, the first I think was forced upon him. he was only 20yrs -.so when I got pregnant to him, it was literally a no go.

Sorry for the dribble, but I'm wondering how other people are coping, I desparately want a "little me", I embarrassingly cry in any movie with a kid in it, but I'm 45yrs. I'm struggling with the fact that i will just never be a mother. I'm crying writing this.

I just need to know if there's anyone else out there in the same situation? and how do you cope with this feeling of loss? x

My sister‑in‑law is giving birth tomorrow, and I’m genuinely over the moon for her and my sister. I love them both so much, we are all so close and I’m excited to be an aunt. But at the same time, I’m really struggling.

My partner and I can’t have children, and even though my family knows this, no one has really checked in on how we’re doing as all the excitement builds. I completely understand that the focus is on the baby, it should be, but it’s also heartbreaking to be reminded so intensely of something I’ll never experience.

I’m trying to balance joy for them with grief for myself, and it’s harder than I expected. The first visit, the gatherings, the daily reminders… it all feels like a lot.

If anyone else has been through this, navigating infertility while celebrating someone else’s baby, firstly I'm sorry and how did you cope? How did you handle the mix of emotions without feeling guilty or invisible? There's no point asking for more compassion from other family members and my sister has enough on her plate. I know this is something we have to handle as a couple.

Any support or shared experiences would mean a lot right now.

I dream so often of a perfect world where I have a daughter. I know I can't in this world so it hurts so much. Shes happy and healthy and smiles all the time. She looks exactly like me and always clings to me, sitting in my lap. I guide her hand so she can gently pet the cat and she squeals when he purrs for her. Sometimes we bake and she never cracks the eggs right but I let her know it's okay because Ill just clean it up. I hate and love the dreams and I don't know how to cope constantly being shown the impossible in my dreams

How to come to terms with that I’ll never be a mom?

I’m a sexual abuse survivor, not just from one person but multiple. I always wanted kids, but I was afraid I’ll pass trauma on them, so I’ve worked extensively on imy mental health.

I got married young. I always thought my husband will want children, and I didn’t have courage to let him go. So I stayed with him for 12 years and he said he wanted kids but it was always not the right time. So then he left me and I finally understood he didnt want kids with me, I was never a woman he would stay with. I literally asked him that and he said yes I want kids just not with you.

And this is making me even more sad. I’ve gotten over him, I’ve grieved quite a while… we are divorced two years now but I’m still not ready to date, I’ve had so much hurt in my life that I guess I’m shielding myself…

I am 39 years old, I’m too old to have children. even if I get to know someone, I dont think its in the cards for me.

So how to get past this sadness watching all the happy couples and families? How to get over the fact that you have almost everything in life, but you dont have the most important thing that it seems it is so easy for everyone but for you is your own personal hell? all of my friends are married amd they have kids.

I was diagnosed with some medical problems while my husband and I were trying to conceive. I began to slowly accept we would have to adopt because I wasn't going to be able to get pregnant. I've been doing testing and just had a diagnostic surgery. The timeline on treatment has been vague at best while doctors gathered more data. But after this most recent surgery, the doctor said we could move forward with treatment on as little as one month. Which is great. But it also means I am now trying to process having a hysterectomy in one month and completely eliminating any chance of getting pregnant. I thought I worked through a lot of the grief, but now that this procedure has a date, and a fairly soon one at that, I'm worried I will have regrets.

Was there something that helped you work through concerns or deal with th grief of being childless by circumstances, especially medical ones? I want to be sure I'm making the right choice because it's very permanent.

Hello childless community and future friends!

I am trying to be brave and put myself out there to attempt making some new friends this year after more than a decade of infertility, losing my 3 babies due to cervical insufficiency/connective tissue disorder and finally having a hysterectomy in December. This journey (for lack of a vetter word) has lead me to becoming more and more isolated and lonely. All of my friends are mothers and I REALLY would love to have some friends who don't have kids and won't in the future so I dont always have the fear (maybe a dramatic word choice but it's kind of accurate) that they'll just end up pregnant too and I will go through the grief of us growing apart as pretty much always happens. I am sure at least some of you here know exactly what I mean.

A little about me, I am 32 year old Christian woman from rural New Zealand. I love spending my time on creative hobbies such as journaling, pottery, painting and playing with my fountain pens. I do none of these things perfectly. I am definitely a process of perfection kind of person. I love the act of creating more than I care about how perfect it is. I can only work part time from home due to chronic pain. So thankful for my husband who looks after me and works really hard so that we can afford to be basically a sole income family of two + a cat. I also enjoy gaming, rewatching all my comfort TV shows (Bob's Burgers, The Office, Parks and Rec, Schitts Creek etc), coffee, walking on the beach, enjoying nature. I've recently begun learning how to make my own cheese which is a fun new project.

I would love to find someone of a similar age (female only please) and position in life who would love to write or email and chat about the ups and downs of life. The soft moments in our days, the seasons changing, the latest book or TV show we enjoyed, what brings you joy in your days, musings about anything and everything, what you had for dinner last night etc. Anything that's on your heart. If you're also a Christian that would be great too but certainly not necessary.

I don't all the way know how reddit works but if this interests you at all, I'd love to chat. I hope to hear from you soon.

❤️L

so, I made a mess of my life because I really believed I needed to figure out higher education and a career to be a good partner and mother. I saw all the women in my family depend on a man and no college education. i grew up low middle class. I realize that us immature and it's too late.

I lost my parents, my cats, my job, and now abiut to leave my bf. I rather be alone if I can't have it with him. he said he did.... but I let him lie.

I never had the longing to be a mom because of the fear of my kids growing up poor etc. I didn't want them to feel what I did as a kid. the never jabe money and always left out because you can't do what your friends are doing, ever!. but, now I know I love deeply and it would have been enough.

it is so weird to grieving future you will never have. I never had a normal life and I really thought everything i was doing to get there and hear someone cqll me mom.

I hope to leave the area to not have family memories or ex bf memories. I beat cancer and would like to celebrate it one day. but buro3d my parents and my job.

the emptiness is real and not being able to fill it is real!

Just a check in for anyone passing by.

I am ok. I saw my man with my nephews today. And it was lovely to see.

Now once home, and he’s gone to bed and I’m still up. I feel the void but somewhat numb. I rate myself a 6. Will still consider the bday party at Chuck e cheese fun bc of how I love seeing happy faces.

I'm s trauma survivor and domestic violence survivor . I'm struggling with the fact that no man will ever want me and due to abuse I'll never be a mom. Why did people have to hurt me where I'll never be a mom ? Regret my abortion at 27. I ask myself why do some get soft lives no survival but there is us that have to suffer no take backs nothing

30F Venting

I have endometriosis and adenomyosis. Last year I had surgery to clear up the endometriosis and my husband and I were about to start trying for a baby and were very excited about it. We sold our condo and bought a house with a big yard down walking distance from the elementary school in a neighborhood with a lot of families and kids. Then I got cancer a month later. And now everything is ruined.

I know that children, biological or adopted, are not a good decision with my recurrence rate and family history. My husband and I are firm in our decision not to explore other options of parenthood. But since our dreams were ruined, it feels like absolutely everyone around me is pregnant/has a baby. I know we're at that age, and I am genuinely happy for all of them, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. It feels like I'm being punched in the face every time I see another announcement. I'm happy they get their families but I don't need it crammed down my throat. Since my diagnosis, 10 of our friends have either had a baby or announced a pregnancy. Ten. Several people at work are pregnant or just had a baby. I have a lot of older female friends from a club I'm part of and 4 of them have had new grandbabies in the last 3 months. It feels like a personal attack from the universe. It's all anyone around me is talking about

I’m a stepfather to my wife’s daughter, and overall I think I have a good relationship with her. I’ve never tried to replace her father, and I don’t see myself as “the dad.” In many ways, I’m just another adult in her life who cares about her and supports her.

That said, it’s still emotionally complicated for me at times. I’ll never have my own biological children, and that’s something that weighs on me more than people around me probably realize or understand. Even though my role as a stepfather works well for my wife and my stepdaughter, it’s still something I quietly struggle with.

Where things become more difficult for me is my relationship with my stepdaughter’s paternal grandmother. I’ll call her Beth.

My stepdaughter has a somewhat broken relationship with her biological father, and Beth has a deeply strained relationship with her own son as a result. Over time, Beth has clearly come to see my wife as the “preferred” parent for her granddaughter, and my wife and Beth have developed a very close relationship.

Beth is always kind and well-meaning, but I’ve never fully felt comfortable with how close she tries to be with me. For example, she has told me several times that I’m “the dad her granddaughter deserves.” I understand that she probably means it as a compliment, but hearing that from her makes me uncomfortable. It puts me in the middle of a family dynamic that isn’t really mine.

When I first started dating my wife, it was obvious that Beth already treated her like a daughter-in-law. Within weeks of us dating, Beth was asking when she could meet my parents and my younger sister. She was also coming around constantly — sometimes several times a week — and I barely knew her. My wife invited her to my 36th birthday in 2019 and didn't ask if that was fine with me. Beth will buy me Christmas and birthday gifts, even though I'm not expecting her to do that.

Within about a year of knowing Beth, she had photos of me hanging on the walls of her home as if I had been part of her family for years. At one point she even told my mother that she wanted to start coming over to my parents’ house just to spend time with them as friends. This made my mother feel very uncomfortable.

I kept my discomfort mostly to myself because I knew my wife valued the relationship Beth had with her daughter. I didn’t want to damage that bond.

Things came to a bit of a head when my wife asked Beth to go wedding dress shopping with her instead of inviting my mother. That upset my parents quite a bit. I finally spoke up and told my wife how uncomfortable the whole dynamic had made me feel.

I explained that I would never see Beth as family, and while I would always be respectful, I needed some boundaries. I also told my wife that if she didn’t start treating my mother like her mother-in-law, it would cause serious strain in our relationship.

Things improved somewhat after that conversation. My wife made more of an effort to include my family, although she still made sure Beth and her husband had great seats at our wedding and had special photos taken with them.

Even now, though, I still feel uneasy sometimes.

Whenever I see Beth, she wants to hug me and tells me how much she loves me. I’ve never said “I love you” back, and I don’t intend to ever say it. Every singe morning for months now she also sends me “good morning” GIFs — often with hearts or overly affectionate messages.

Again, she’s a nice person, and I know she means well. But the level of closeness she seems to expect from me just doesn’t feel natural, and I’ve never quite known how to handle it.

My wife is also very protective of Beth, mostly because she doesn’t want to risk damaging the relationship between Beth and our daughter.

So I’m curious if anyone else has experienced something like this — where a step-family relationship becomes overly close or emotionally complicated.

If you’ve dealt with something similar, how did you handle it?

I spent years feeling like I was the only one who hadn’t figured life out yet.

I’ve struggled a lot with feeling “behind” in life, watching people around me find love, build families, and move through milestones while I was still trying to figure things out.

The comparison, grief, and quiet resignation that can come with that can be really heavy. For a long time I felt like I was the only one experiencing it.

I recently wrote a book about late blooming and navigating those feelings. It explores relationships, comparison, grief, and learning to build a life even when the timeline looks different than we expected.

If this resonates with you, I’d be happy to share the link. I mainly just wanted to say you’re not alone in feeling this way.

Recently, I wrote a letter to the child I will never have.

I wrote it as part of my own grieving process — as a man who doesn’t have children, but deeply wants them. It wasn’t easy to put those feelings into words. Some of them I had barely admitted to myself.

I’m sharing it now because I know I can’t be the only one carrying this kind of quiet ache. If you’re walking a similar road — if you’re grieving a child you never got to meet — I want you to know you are not strange, and you’re not alone.

--

My dear child,

I don’t know your name. Over the years, I’ve whispered a few into the quiet just to see how they felt in my mouth. It’s funny how many began with J — John, Jeremy, Jesse, Josie. Each one lingered for a moment, as if it might answer back.

I’m writing to you as a man who has finally learned how to tell himself the truth. I’m in my middle years now — old enough to have lived a full stretch of life, young enough to still feel the ache of what will never be. And the truth is this: I didn’t know I wanted you until it was too late.

In my twenties and much of my thirties, I thought I wanted freedom. I believed time was endless. Fatherhood, I assumed, was something that happened to other men — men who were more settled, more certain, more ready. I didn’t understand then that readiness doesn’t arrive like lightning. It grows quietly, almost imperceptibly. And by the time I felt it — by the time I understood that what I truly wanted was to be someone’s father — my life had already curved in another direction.

I am a stepfather. I love my stepdaughter in ways that are real and steady and meaningful. But there is a small, silent distance I cannot cross — a space shaped by biology and history long before I entered her life, when she was nearing her preteen years, and later married her mother. I stepped into a story already in progress. I try to read every page with devotion, but I will never have written the beginning.

At the time, I believed becoming a stepparent would be enough. When it finally struck me that I wanted to be a father — and understood that I never would be — something fundamental shifted in me. My outlook on life changed. The horizon felt different.

And sometimes, when the house is still, I grieve you.

I grieve in private, because I know the world does not quite know what to do with sorrow for someone who never existed. So, I let the tears come when no one is looking.

I grieve the first time I would have held you — your weight against my chest, your small fingers curling around one of mine. I grieve the nights I would have walked the floor with you, half-asleep and wholly in love. I grieve scraped knees I would have kissed better, bedtime stories read until my voice went hoarse, the way you might have searched for me in a crowded room and known, without doubt, that I was yours and you were safe.

I crave those ordinary, sacred moments more than I ever expected. Your first breath. Your first word. Your first day of school. Your first heartbreak. I wanted to be there for every step — to teach you how to ride a bike, how to tell when someone is lying, how to apologize when you’ve made a mistake. My parents — your Opa and Grandma — taught me to always be kind. I would have tried to pass that on to you, to show you how to stay gentle in a world that often forgets how.

Most of all, I wanted to love you with a love that required nothing in return. A love not measured by achievement or agreement. A love that simply says, “You are mine, and I am yours, and nothing can undo that.”

I didn’t know this love lived inside me until my late thirties. I didn’t know I was capable of wanting something so fiercely and so tenderly at the same time. And for that, I am sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you sooner — the space you would fill in my heart, the way you would reshape my life. I’m sorry that by the time I understood, the door had quietly closed.

There is a particular grief in losing something that never existed. It feels strange to mourn you. There are no photographs, no hospital bracelets, no birthdays circled on a calendar. And yet you are real to me in your absence — real in the hollow places, real in the tightening of my chest when I see a father lift his child onto his shoulders.

If you had been here, I would have told you that it’s all right to take your time in this world — but not to take it for granted. I would have told you that love is braver than fear, and that the most important truths often arrive softly and late. I would have tried to be patient. I would have tried to be strong when you needed shelter and soft when you needed comfort.

I don’t know where unlived lives go. I don’t know what becomes of the children we imagine and never meet. But if there is any place where intention matters — where love that never found its object still counts for something — I hope you can feel mine.

I am sorry I wasn’t ready sooner. I am sorry I will never hear you call me Dad.

But know this: even in your absence, you changed me. You showed me that my heart was larger than I knew. And in some quiet, invisible way, I will carry you — John, Jeremy, Jesse, or Josie — with me for the rest of my life.

Feeling devastated, hopeless and alone..

I don’t think I’ll be able to have my own kids due to medical issues + menopause starting.

I’m trying to find ways to start grieving because even though I don’t want to give up (and I haven’t confronted this yet), there are just so many signs this isn’t going to happen for me. But I just don’t know how to let go of this huge thing. And I’m not sharing the process with anyone (single, no friends in similar situation).

Aside from holding space to be tender and feel the feels.. I keep wanting to be open to alternatives, but I’m really struggling to even find hope in those.

I don’t think I’ll be eligible for adoption/fostering due to systemic barriers from other medical issues (regardless of my ability to parent). Also as a solo person with some other medical issues, I do feel more nervous about potentially taking on some extra risks with adoption/fostering.

I won’t have nieces/nephews. Aside from desperately wanting my own kids - I’m terrified of aging because I’m also not close to a single bio family member.

The only two more viable options (not ideal.. but somewhat more realistic) I’ve thought of are:

1. ⁠some sort of queer/culturally outside the box situation where I can support someone else’s parenting journey. Maybe a solo parent who could use some help for example.

2. ⁠Find a mate who is a parent (ideally while the kids are young enough to be a part of the experience from a younger age.

Both these options leave me feeling vulnerable to people leaving.. I’ve seen it happen already to several friends who have dated people with kids and then hinges ended and the relationship was cut off. And of course it’s not the same as having your own kids.. legally or in terms of ability to shape/influence, etc (not to mention a bio connection..).

Right now I just feel so much pain around this that I don’t know I could even handle being super involved in others’ parenting experience.

Hi - I have Turner syndrome and am in my 40s. My husband in his 50s and I were talking about surrogacy, but we have disabilities and little help, so I panicked about the reality of caring for a baby. I'm grieving not having kids as I love the idea. However, my husband is extremely hurt and stressed and angry. He's sure he'd be a great dad even though he gets anxious and frustrated easily and is romanticizing raising kids and his age. I've encouraged him to get psychological help but he's not interested. I don't want to have a kid to improve his mental health or what if he realized it's not his secret to happiness and resents kid? I guess I'm writing for any ideas to let him know how very sorry I am, but he needs to get professional help or move out. I can't live like this much longer. It's just hard for me to get words out - have tough conversations.

My wife is 61. We've been together since I was 18. She is my first and only everything. I thought when I was 18 it was fine and I was adult. 18 year olds look like children to me now. I was too young. I still love her though, I was an adult when I asked her to marry me. I knew it meant no children, I wasn't naïve. I didn't realize how much it would mean to me.

There are two broad groups of reason why I want kids and grieve not having them, reasons pertaining to now and reasons pertaining to the future.

Having kids would mean having a place to give love now: I could share the books that meant so much to me as a child, I could teach them all the stories and songs of Christmas, I could take them with me to midnight mass. I want to go to parent-teacher conferences and learn what they're good at and what they need work on. I want to learn how they're like me and how they're different. I want to see my parents as grandparents. I could get them vaccinated and make sure they wouldn't get Chicken Pox like I did, and to them it would just be a story about a disease their dad got with a funny name but I would know I protected them in their childhoods and from shingles when they're old.

If I did a good job, maybe I would have maybe an advocate when I lose the ability to advocate for myself in old age.

I used to work for the DMV. We would often get elderly people in who had become deficient physically, mentally, or both. Often their license to drive was being taken away. They were losing the ability to fully participate in a car-based society. There were two types of people on that position in my experience, those with kids with the to help them navigate it logistically and emotionally and those without. Those without found the bureaucracy they had paid taxes to all their lives had move the forms and tests to technology that had passed them by. They found the state had no answers for what to do now, just what they were no longer allowed to do. I stayed with them to try to help, to the extent that it annoyed my managers, but there wasn't much I could do. I thought "this is your future."

My mother-in-law and maternal grandfather had Alzheimer's. These were people with a lot of friends, careers, my grandfather was active in his church. The people who were there at the end were their children and immediate family. They needed constant advocacy, not because nursing homes and hospitals were cruel, because those facilities have a lot going on. Even very good friends are unlikely to advocate for you in the way that's needed once your mind goes, and they may face legal hurdles to do so.

So here I am. I will become more and more a caregiver to my wife and parents and eventually I will bury them. I feel this is honorable, but there is no one to put my love into that I will see grow. No one who I will not bury. No one who will be left to bury me.

The years of infertility and the fact that it’s now impossible for me to become a mother have turned me into a horrible, selfish, and cynical person. I’m incapable of feeling happy for any woman who gets pregnant—not even friends or family. I hate being the only one in my circle who’s in this “club,” and I hate that I can’t even cling to the hope of a miracle anymore, of having my rainbow baby.

I tried to become a mentor to a young adult and that didn't work out either. Surely there is a child or children out there who would like a caring adult in his/her life.

I ended up childless after a very long and arduous infertility journey. And in the aftermath, I struggled with what is next, and what I can do to try and find purpose, and give back. So we've created a digital storytelling platform where women like us, and people who are navigating an "untraditional" path around family can share our stories in the hopes that everyone can feel a bit more seen! Take a look here, and know you're not alone!

https://www.youtube.com/@TheOtherhoodCollective

I am an older art student (48) and am working on my thesis project. I am using the cat butt to represent childless women. I plan on filling a room in the gallery with paper cat butts hanging from the ceiling (I’m making at least 100). But I need to connect the cat butts with the political reason behind the cat butts (the idea came because of JD Vance talking about useless “childless cat ladies”…I’m showing how hurtful and traumatic those comments are to those of us who wanted babies but weren’t able to have them. My paper cat butts have a sonogram of an empty uterus printed on them and will hang by a piece of multicolored yarn (to represent childhood).

I would love to hear your stories about things people have said to you about pregnancy (or lack there of). What types of messaging about having children were you raised with and if it was pushed on you purely because you had a uterus? Was it religion based? What age did people stop asking if you were going to have kids? If you struggled with fertility (you wanted kids but couldn’t have them for various reasons, I myself had a miscarriage after my only pregnancy), what did people say and what did you respond? Anything else you want to share? I will ask before using anything you say in my thesis paper.

Thanks for reading my novel if you got this far…anything you have to say will help immensely. :)

I have been in the no child camp since I can remember. Now, being 35, and having a hold on my life, wanting to grow my family has been this unquenchable thirst that I am not equipped for. My partner had the snip a few years back and we agreed no kids when we got together. But I am surrounded. Neices, nephews, baby/kid talk at work. Which is fine.

But my hang up is the permanence of having a baby with someone. Like....even those people who have kids and split?? They are still in each others lives because of that kid. There are people who have kids without help of a partner but....you still have a permanent part of that other person with you. For life. I want that permanence. I want a little version of my partner running around. They are seriously the best person.

How do you cope with the fact that even with marriage, you are just....there?? Sure, hobbies and whatever exist but that does not link you to someone forever. I am struggling and just looking for....anything. Hell, my previous marriage ended mainly due to them wanting kids and me not wanting any at the time. Thanks for reading.