For a long time, feelings of isolation and disconnection characterized my experience of being involuntarily childless. 
Whether at work meetings, social gatherings, across boardroom tables where I volunteered, people around me were bonding over conversations about their children. So many times, I was left out.
In my experience, today's typical conversation-starter question is, "Do you have children?" And, I dread that question for many reasons. Mainly being that no one asking seems prepared for a 'no' response.
When I say 'no', awkward silence is the most frequent consequence. Then, it feels up to me to bridge the silence and dispel the other person's surprise and apparent discomfort. 
I want people with children to know that the question "Do you have children?" can be painful for many people. I want people who ask this question to know...

If You Ask

If you ask, "Do you have children?"
I will say, "No"
Then I will most likely ask about yours.
This is my strategy
To deflect
From the awkward silence my response usually elicits.
And my attempt to prevent
Intrusive questions, or
Thoughtless suggestions.

But,
You should know
Behind my one-word response that may seem abrupt to you,
Is an explanation that is excruciating for me.
It is my story
Of a lifetime spent expecting, dreaming and hoping that I would be a mom,
And then how I had to stop.

After years of continuous disappointment,
First, I lost the expectation then I lost hope.
I had to stop.
I didn't let go, move on, or make a decision.
I had to stop my wishful thinking
That had long become
Constant disappointment.

It doesn't mean I didn't want children enough, didn't want to be a parent as much as you.
But I HAD to stop,
Because grief had become the ever-present consequence,
An all-consuming state.
My grief was devastating and real,
Fueled by remnants of hope,
In the company of continuous disappointment.
I lost myself.
This was no way to live.

And so, I had to stop.
And when I stopped
More grief was the consequence,
Deep, devastating and real.
Sadness, anger, isolation surrounded me.
I had to learn how to sleep again, feel joy again
Find calm, peaceful thinking.

In time
With understanding support, connection and self-care,
I have surfaced,
I feel a softening
Feel lifted,
Can feel peace and joy again,
Am living more fully again.

But
You should know
That a woman or man who wanted to be a parent
But wasn't able
Didn't willingly let go, move on, or make an easy decision.
She wanted children as much as you.
But she had to stop. 
He had to stop wishing, wanting, trying.
He was devastated and, at some moments, still is.
Their grief should be recognized and gently acknowledged.
​Any woman or man grieving this loss should be consoled.
Not asked questions.
Or given suggestions.

And
You should also know
We want you to include us 
In your thoughts, conversation and community,
Just without first asking, "Do you have children?"

Until I found available resources, the silence around involuntary childlessness was, for me, one of the most difficult parts of living this experience. Until I met other women in my shoes, I kept a lot of hard thoughts and most of the sadness felt to myself. I felt alone and isolated.  And, certain phrases expressed by parents unintentionally hurt.  The 'as a mother', 'as a parent', 'I never knew love until...' qualifiers made me feel less than. The phrases still make me want to shout in response, "As a caring, compassionate human, I feel love and am as empathetic as you."
​With these thoughts, the following words came together.

This Deep Loss

Childless
Does not mean
Less than.

​Childless
When not by choice
Means to be forever
Without the children
We expected, dreamed about,
Wished for, hoped for,
Wanted.

These children who never came
Are deeply loved,
Are heavily grieved,
Always missed.

To be childless involves
Feeling isolated,
Heartbroken,
Judged, misjudged,
Sidelined, misunderstood.
 
When involuntary,
​Childless means child loss.
​
Those of us who experience
This deep loss,
Have loved as profoundly and
Grieved as heavily,
As any parent would.