A Different Lens

I have come to realize that I will always experience life through this different lens. For me, it is not about accepting being childless, or getting over/letting go of wanting children – that’s not going to happen. There will always be moments that create a certain wistfulness....click Read More

A Different Lens
In 2020, when our world was first gripped with coronavirus and lockdown began, I thought my experiences of isolation might prepare me better than others. Often being the only childless person in a room, I know what it is to feel isolated and have developed coping strategies.
Then, as stay-at-home orders were put into place, many children returned to their parents’ homes. Families became each other’s bubbles. In time, my feelings of isolation that stem from being involuntarily childless were stirred up. Suddenly, instead of coping well, my isolation and childlessness felt magnified. 
I have come to realize that I will always experience life through this different lens. For me, it is not about accepting being childless, or getting over/letting go of wanting children – that’s not going to happen. There will always be moments that create a certain wistfulness.
For me, it’s about learning to live with being involuntarily childless.  It’s about learning how to avoid what provokes grief and pain, about discovering new ways to experience peace and joy, about getting get out of my head and out into the world to experience life, people (friends old and new), movement and creativity again.
My new ways to experience peace and joy tend to be simple. They involve small shifts inside. For me, feeling peace and joy these days is about…

• Doing at least one thing each day that calms me (...no more 'do one thing a day that scares me' - that quote used to be on my refrigerator through my thirties - I've had enough of that)….solo walks, breathing deep and exhaling slowly, soaking in warm water, visualizing my favourite water views, stretching, rubbing my dogs' bellies/chins  
• Finding beauty around me – early spring crocus and hellebores, blue sky, birdsongs, cerulean blue water, waves, water sounds, any form of greenery, roses, peonies, climbing sweet pea and morning glory, the setting sun, my dogs’ soulful eyes and wagging tails, nature's colours, the colours I create outdoors and in, time spent with my parents, my partner’s smile and cooking, conversations with dear friends, the kindness, friendship and laughter of other women in my shoes
• Enjoying visits again with long-term friends who have children because I now also have new friends who know firsthand what it means to be childless not by choice and offer the right words when I need them
• Feeling like I’ve surfaced from the worst of my childless grief, and knowing that when the waves return…and they will…that there are people in my life who totally get it and provide comfort without question

In his book Beauty The Invisible Embrace, John Donohue wrote, "...beauty is so quietly woven through our ordinary days that we hardly notice it. Everywhere there is tenderness, care and kindness, there is beauty....it is often the whispers and glimpses of beauty which enable people to endure on desperate frontiers. Even, and perhaps especially, in the bleakest times, we can still discover and awaken beauty; these are precisely the times we need it most. Nowhere else can we find the joy that beauty brings."  
During this year of heightened isolation, I've realized and accept that my learning how to live with being childless is a work-in-progress.  The grief of involuntary childlessness doesn’t ever really go away. While the pain of loss softens, grief continues like unexpected waves. Some are gentle and easy to withstand. Others smash without warning, leaving me bruised and breathless. This past year has been full of smashing waves.
May we all find simple, beauty-filled moments. May we help each other through the waves. Take good care & stay safe. xo