The Childless Woman Who Soared

A modern fable and love story to a woman whose time has come

Sep 21, 2024

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What happens to women who don’t have the children they thought they would?

First, often, there is fear.

What now?

What does a life without children look like?

Because a child is not actually a goal, when you think about it.

A child is a map.

Children are maps that light a path through the wilds of unfilled time. They give us things to do. Tasks to perform. Feeding. Clothing. Soothing. Doctors’ appointments. Parents’ evenings. There are celebrations to hold. Developmental milestones to honour.

They are maps to understanding ourselves and our purpose in this world.

When a woman becomes a mother, she is taking on an identity that was tailor made for her; every thread and stitch custom made to her body. It has long been waiting for her, hanging in her wardrobe like a coat. For some, it is a precious heirloom, for others a dusty hand-me-down she longs to be rid of.

They are a map to understanding how to feel. When we have a child, many of us are told, we will feel happy. We will feel fully grown. We will feel fulfilled. We will feel at peace.

And if we do not have them, we will feel sad. We will feel purposeless. We will feel stunted and lesser.

So, of course, most women who can, take this map and the comfort of following a well-trodden highway.

But for women without children there is no map.

And instead of a well-trodden highway, there are fields and forests and lakes and seas.

So what does she do?

Perhaps if she has chosen this life with a free and easy heart, she bounds into the landscape, excited by this unconquered territory.

But if not, perhaps she sits down and she cries. How will I ever find my way? She wonders. She has no tools. No handbook. Precious little confidence. She feels wholly unequipped for this life.

She feels sad, and no wonder, for all she has ever heard of this life is its’ many heartaches and regrets. For a time, she simply sits and cries.

But she has courage, and eventually, she rises. She sees something in the forest that intrigues her. A flash of something. Colour. Movement. Light.

She walks forward. Her steps are heavy and slow. She still feels grief on her shoulders like the remains of snow.

She starts to forge a path. Pulling out weeds and vines. She gets scratches on her arms. She winces. She howls in frustration at times. She feels lonely. But she keeps going.

Over the months and years she starts to find her rhythm.

She feels in tune with the earth and with her body. She runs. She laughs. She plays. She learns. She creates things that are new. Music, stories, poems. New ways to think, to be.

In time she crosses a highway filled with thousands of mothers and fathers and children.

She stops to watch them.

And she sees a lot of love and happiness.

But she also sees this.

She sees exhaustion and anxiety and fear and hardship. She sees cruelty and neglect and frustrated desires. She sees sickness and death and loss and despair.

In a single beat she sees all this love and happiness and misery and pain and finally she has the wisdom to understand.

The blissful life she thought she was missing out on is an illusion.

These women had no more happiness or pain than she did.

Because every life is a tapestry of joys and hardships and frustrations and elations as unique as a thumbprint.

But the map had fooled her into believing that motherhood would buffer her against this inescapable reality.

She walks away.

That night she lights a fire.

She warms her hands. She thinks about the course of her life and she feels a deep sense of contentment and pride for all that she has achieved without a map.

She had no one to praise or reassure her.

No one to show her the way.

No blueprint for filling her time.

No cues for how she should feel about her life.

She made it all for herself. She drew her own map.

And because of that she feels her own worth instinctively, as tangible and life-affirming as the blood flowing through her veins.

She is wearing a coat, but it is not the coat that was hanging in the wardrobe for her, it is a coat that she knitted herself from wildflowers.

And then something happens.

In the clearing, a pair of fearful eyes staring back. A younger woman.

The woman gets up. Extends a hand. Brings her into the light and the warmth.

The younger woman greets her, and then she looks down sadly.

“I‘m lost,’” she says, her eyes welling with tears, “I have no map.”

The woman looks at her with great tenderness.

“I know,” she says gently, “I know, I also had no map when I first came here.”
“Can you give me a map of this place?” the younger woman asks hopefully.
“I cannot,” the woman says, “for your map is different to mine. There are a great many maps, you see – as many maps as there are people – although sadly most of us have never been shown them.”

The younger woman hears her and nods, but her face drops.

And the woman, seeing this, stops and then says:

“I cannot give you your map. But perhaps, if it would help, I could show you where I have been?”

So she picks up a leaf and a stick from the mud. And with the younger woman looking on and with eyes ablaze from the light of the fire, she starts to draw.

Dedicated to pioneer and icon for childless women, Jody Day one of the first women to pick up a stick and draw.

By Nadia Huq

Thanks for reading this piece which was originally published on Medium. If you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear your thoughts; please leave a comment or share it with a friend.

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