Bridging the Gap Between Parents, the Childfree and the Childless

Friendships can survive and thrive when we take different paths, but only if we validate each other

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

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Childfree and childless women are underrepresented in the media. And I now realise mums are too.

I’ve lost count of the films, books, or series I’ve watched where the writers have the stoutly childfree woman change her mind (I’m looking at you, Big Bang Theory), or the childless woman is given her miracle baby.

How I wish writers would use their imagination and devise an alternative “happily ever after” instead of the usual baby trope.

So, I was somewhat confuddled when I heard a mum influencer (whose name I can’t recall) talk about how mums aren’t represented in the media.

I reflected on this for a bit and then realised she was right.

The message we hear is that women are only considered valid, worthy, kind and interesting before they have children or as long as they want children and go on to have them.

At the core of this ubiquitous depiction of women on our screens and in our books, there is a creeping sense of isolation and loneliness in all of us.

These negative feelings create divides.

We fence ourselves off into our corrals based on our reproduction status.

I’m here to tell you it doesn’t need to be like this.

Children can be part of the adventure, but the miracle baby isn’t guaranteed

Stories captivate us. They take us on journeys of discovery and adventure. Then, at the end of the story, a baby is born, and they all live happily ever after. The end.

This is where the mum influencer’s words come into play.

The way in which children are used as the happy-ever-after ending suggests that children and parenting aren’t part of the main adventure.

So the influencer is right: mums aren’t truly represented in the media. The protagonist is rarely a parent and certainly not a mum.

But heck, isn’t having children one big adventure in itself?

Last month alone, I read two books that shoehorned pregnancies into the ending (no spoilers here, but for those interested, it’s this book and this book).

For those who are childfree or childless, the “they had children and lived happily ever after” is one sure way to ruin a good story for us, and quite frankly, it’s lazy storytelling.

Not everyone wants children, and not everyone can have children. Isn’t it time our media was more inclusive and representative of its consumers?

I met the author, Dr Annie Kirby, at the Storyhouse Childless conference, where we were both panellists.

Annie never got her miracle baby.

For the childless, it is emotionally exhausting being on the periphery of fictional childless women who always get their miracle babies.

Determined to showcase reality, Annie wrote her own novel.

Annie’s book, The Hollow Sea, explores a captivating fantasy world where she skillfully weaves her characters, who are parents, childless and childfree, in an interconnected web of self-discovery, personal growth and acceptance.

I applaud Annie for taking her happiness into her own hands. It’s not easy.

Parents and non-parents are pitted against each other

Whether childless or childfree, all people without kids experience the weight of pronatalism.

We are othered, shamed and excluded.

Governments, religious leaders and the infamous childfree hater Elon Musk all lead this resistance toward people without kids.

And yet, the same groups that are trying to galvanise the stampede against people without kids are, in fact, wolves in sheep's clothing. They do not provide adequately for parents and children.

I previously had the privilege of talking with Sangita Myska on LBC, a national radio station in the UK.

Sangita held an open dialogue around a problematic comment by an unidentified diversity, equality and inclusion trainer who said that not having children is a “privilege.”

Let me be absolutely clear.

Having the choice to have or not have children is a privilege.

But there is no privilege in not having children.

Certainly, wanting children and not having them is not a privilege.

Suggesting not having children is a privilege adds to the already divisive and polarised attitudes circulating about people with kids and those without them.

The implications of this problematic use of the word “privilege” pits parents against non-parents. It increases the resentment and hostility toward non-parents and reduces compassion.

I’m begging you, please don’t allow the ulterior motives of conservative people to widen the chasm between parents and non-parents.

It’s the comparisons that cause the divide

As a childfree woman, I regularly have my happiness called into question.

Yet, there’s an assumption that parents are happy just because they are parents, which is damaging. Too many parents suffer in silence.

I’m so tired of the squabbling about who’s happier, parents or non-parents. Google has 326 million hits discussing whether parents or non-parents are happier.

The truth is that having children may make some people happier, while choosing not to have children leads to happiness for others.

The path to happiness is not universal.

But stuck in the middle are the childless—a disenfranchised group of people who want children but can’t have them.

So maybe we could start discussing how we can build happiness outside of childbearing and rearing.

This conversation would benefit everyone whether we have kids or not. Because the happier a parent is within themselves, the happier they are as a parent.

Beware of your perceived reality

During the COVID-19 days, I drifted away from a friend who told me that enduring the pandemic was “harder for people with kids than for those without.”

She hadn’t considered those desperately wanting children for whom IVF appointments were cancelled. Their very lack of children and the halting of their IVF journey were what made this time so devastating for them.

Was she really that ignorant of the anguish of people not being able to receive life-saving healthcare, or be with loved ones in a time of need or as they passed away? Was she really that blind to the crippling loneliness and isolation many people endured, which had a catastrophic impact on their mental and subsequently physical health?

She hadn’t credited workers on the front line burning out from long hours in stressful and unprecedented conditions.

And she certainly didn’t recognise the excruciatingly hard experiences of those with cancer or other diseases.

She simply viewed the world through her perceived reality and guaranteed herself a fast-track promotion to social disconnection. Her words felt like a play in the suffering Olympics. I backed away from her.

Sure, I could see she was struggling, but to hear her blatant “I’ve got it worse than you and anyone like you” was galling.

There are many ways life is hard.

Parenting during a pandemic is titanium hard. Heck, parenting full stop is hard. But it is not the only hard. And suggesting such is invalidating and dismissive of the myriad of ways we are human.

I understand where this comes from.

My friend was in a place of stress and struggle. She was suffering. And by her perceived reality, things would have been easier if she didn’t have children.

And she’s right. But similarly, things would have been easier for other people if they didn’t have cancer, weren’t excluded from the bedside of a dying loved one, were able to continue their IVF journey… and so the list of hard life experiences go on.

The error of her ways was that she made having children the global equation for suffering. Her words denied and dimissed the lived experiences of many people who weren’t enduring exactly the same flavour of life as her.

Having or not having children is not the only measure of whether life is hard. In fact, this very notion does parents a disservice.

Not all parenting experiences are made equal

Some of my parent friends tell me they feel better understood by me — a childfree woman — than by other parents.

While society tries to group us neatly into parent and non-parent groups, this only leads to unrest.

We all know of the conflict displayed in places like Mumsnet.

Working mums and stay-at-home mums bicker between themselves. Arguments and endless judgments ensue between parents about what their children are fed, how they are potty trained, what books they read, what they wear, who they play with…

The infighting highlights that being a parent is insufficient in itself to build meaningful connections with other parents.

The lived experience of someone who is a working, single parent, has three children and is living on the poverty line with no support network is very different to that of the wealthy parent with one child who has open-ended support from family.

When we bunch people together based on their reproductive status, we assume this reproduction commonality is the foundation of connection.

But this is as ridiculous as suggesting that two people should go on a date because they are both single.

Our interests, value system, morals, religious and political beliefs, spiritual practices, and ability to extend compassion are of far more importance in creating bonds than whether or not we have reproduced.

So, instead of pitting us against each other, let’s build connections that aren’t limited to whether or not someone has children.

How to find commonality and show love for each other

Some friendships thrive, and some evaporate when children come along.

A while ago, I was on Newstalk, an Irish national radio show. We were discussing how children can change friendships.

In my experience, the friendships that survive are the ones that incorporate reciprocity.

Sometimes, the pendulum swings one way and stays there for a while, but it needs to return to the equilibrium at some stage.

I will happily go to soft play and listen to endless anecdotes about my friends’ kids. And I will delight in this because I love my friends and want to be a part of their lives.

But I need the same courtesy extended to me.

This may be as simple as sending me a text message, walking or running together or maybe a good chat over dinner.

If my friends want to voice their exhaustion and frustration with the sometimes arduous role of parenting, I’m here for them.

I will listen and empathise. I will never turn around and say, “Oh well, you chose that, so suck it up.” I will also bask in their tales of happiness and encourage them to share their joy. (I draw the line at being sent photos of babies with food all over their faces, urgh, no thanks).

Similarly, if I am experiencing difficulties in any area of my life, my parent friends that remain, grace me with the same space.

They don’t come out with othering and belittling comments such as “Well, it could be worse; at least you don’t have children to deal with as well.”

My parent friendships that have survived the inevitable rhythm changes that come with children are the ones that don’t indulge in any oneupmanship or comparison.

After all, as I always say, compassion is never found in comparison.

As for my childless friends, while I don’t know what it’s like to want children desperately and not have them, I do understand the feelings of isolation, loneliness and grief. I see them.

Some of my childless friends are still navigating their grief journey and find it challenging being around children. This can cause difficulties within their friendships or extended family.

I wish society, in general, recognised the complexities of childlessness and was more equipped to show support and love.

Yes, children bring about changes in our friendships. But when we accept this and learn to adapt, we can still find a way of honouring and celebrating our friends.

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I was never able to communicate effectively with my friend who died on that hill of parents having a harder time during the pandemic than non-parents.

Perhaps I could have done more to validate her suffering and help her feel safe and seen in my company. Maybe if I had done that, she would have come round to affording me the same courtesy? I guess we will never know.

Before you give up on a friendship for taking a different path, can you hold space and honour it?

We are all just doing the best we can with the tools we’ve got.

Because ultimately, children or no children, we are all human. And part of the human experience is dancing through different emotions. Whether that’s joy, hurt, excitement or isolation, we all know these feelings.

Being human is our most poignant area of commonality.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could pull together based on our shared humanity instead of pulling apart due to our reproduction status?

By Ali Hall

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