Archives for posts with tag: childless by choice

I’m sipping a hot cup of black coffee this morning, the first hot one this year, I think. It was a choice based on preference and chilly weather. It’s a foggy morning and the autumn chill made the thought of iced coffee less appealing. I’m grateful to have the choice, the freedom to make that choice, and the agency with which to act upon my preference by doing so.

A whole lot of years ago, (about 47 or so years ago) I made a choice based on preference that I stood firm on with few regrets, no hesitation, and only rare moments of poignant wonder about what a different choice might be like; I chose to be childless. I chose not to parent. I chose to avoid motherhood. I made this choice at a pretty young age, before ever having a moment of therapy, and before having to face the necessity of terminating a pregnancy. I made this choice based on my preferences, my understanding of myself, and my perspective on life, and the world. It was less that I knew what I wanted, and more that I knew what I didn’t want. I did not want to become little more than a vessel for other life, and it sure seemed to me at that time that such was the lot in life of most women with children. So I chose. I was free to do so. I had the agency to enact and stand firm on the choice I made, though I had to fight for it time and again.

…It was a smart choice, for me, all things considered, and I remain glad that it is the choice I made for myself…

How you vote in this election may determine whether your daughters and future generations of women are free to choose to be childless, if that is the choice they wish to make for themselves. It’s an important election, and there really are people in the world who would like to force women to breed for some nebulous greater good, or as punishment for their fundamental humanity, regardless of the risk, regardless of whether the woman is suited to motherhood… regardless of her choice. Pretty terrifyingly grotesque, frankly. I don’t understand such people. That’s the stuff horror movies are made of.

Anyway. Vote. Your freedom of choice and even your personhood and agency may depend on the outcome. Yours, and a lot of other people’s besides.

I’m sipping this excellent cup of coffee daydreaming about love. I enjoyed a lovely evening with my Traveling Partner yesterday, after a difficult (but short) workday fighting off a nasty headache. It’s not so bad today, and I’m grateful. I face the day ahead relaxed and at ease. I slept decently well and I feel rested. I want to paint, but it’s not time for that and I laugh at my foolishly inopportune inspiration. Maybe later? I’ve committed to taking some photographs for my partner later, but perhaps after that?

I sit quietly on this rock at my halfway point on my morning walk. Shorter walk today, but no less appreciated. I can see the traffic going by on the highway, a stream of lights through the fog. I finish my coffee and my thoughts. I look over my writing before I head back up the trail to the car, and on to the office. My heart is filled with love and I am enjoying this strangely tender, grateful moment. I’m so glad I’ve gotten to live this life I chose. It’s a worthy journey. There’s more ahead, and further to travel on this mortal path.

It’s time to begin again…

I’m sipping my coffee, thinking my thoughts, and waiting for the sun. It’s a quiet Sunday, and only three days until I take a break on the coast for a couple days to rest and paint. I’m grateful for the opportunity and the means to enjoy it.

This morning I started my day thinking about my Traveling Partner with gratitude and love, and appreciating how much the world has changed since I was a child. Oh, for sure not perfect; we human primates have a long way to go before we’re anything more than fancy fucking monkeys flinging poo at each other across the cages we’ve devised for ourselves. We’re honestly pretty fucking disappointing in many ways. We could do so much better. Still…

In some important ways we’ve begun to do better than we once did, and I can see it without “straining my eyes” – metaphorically – just thinking about how much more free to experience and express emotion men are in America than they were when I was a kid. I’m so glad that’s true, too. They need that freedom and emotional safety as much as anyone. It’s easier now, and more likely, for a man to choose domesticity over corporate life. Men are less often viewed as babysitters of their own children, and more likely to be respected and valued as parents – and recognized for their contributions.

I see signs of change in the acceptable norms for women, too. Fewer of us are dismissed out of hand for having feelings or opinions that differ from those of the men in our lives. We own property. We have our own finances. Our votes aren’t merely tolerated – they really count. We work. We create. We lead. The conversation about reproduction involves fewer people assuming we’re walking incubators of future generations with no human purpose beyond breeding. We’re free to choose to be childless.

Other changes, too – a lot of them. We’re not perfect beings of compassion, light, and intelligent wisdom. We’ve a long long way to go, and there are definitely some holdouts fighting human progress with stupidity and violence. We’re still making slow progress. Hopefully it’s fast enough to ensure our survival…

… There’s still too much violence in the world, way too much… We should do something about that…

Just thoughts on a quiet Sunday morning, I observe them as they drift through my awareness. My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting, and let’s me know he’s going back to bed. His decision to make his own coffee this morning may have been overly ambitious. I assure him I’m happy to make coffee when I return home and wish him good rest in the meantime. Then I sit wondering if I should cancel my trip…or figure something else out to solve the potential “coffee problem” while I am away…

…A pour over is unquestionably a great cup of coffee but it sure won’t “make itself”…

Waiting for the sun.

The sun rises late these early autumn mornings. There’s a dense mist clinging to the ground in the low places. I’ve still got the nature park to myself when the gate screeches open and clangs firmly in place. It’s still too dark to walk the trail without a headlamp or a flashlight. I’ve got both with me, but I prefer to wait for the sun – or at least for daybreak, and enough light to make out the trail without a light.

A hint of daybreak on the horizon.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Yesterday was a pleasant day in my partner’s good company. I’m hopeful today will be as well. I enjoyed the intimacy of our conversations, and the depth and breadth of the topics we discussed together. We felt like old friends, again, and lovers. Partners. It feels good to be rebuilding that together. It’s too precious to take it for granted or to haplessly let it slip away. Fuck, I love that man. I sit with my thoughts and my awareness of his enduring deep love for me. Love does take work… and it is so worth that effort.

I sip my coffee, think my thoughts, and watch the horizon. It’s time to begin again.

I’m taking a minute or two after finishing my walk, to sit with my thoughts awhile before moving on with the day. It’s Mother’s Day. I am thinking about my father, and trying to remember how old he was when he died… wasn’t that in 2003? 2002? I’m not certain, and it vexes me. He wasn’t “old”; he passed in his 60s. I didn’t find out when it happened, only after. Quite a bit after, actually. I wasn’t very close with my family at that time (even now, actually). I have a David Bowie song in my head… I don’t know why these are related, but I feel as if there’s some connection.

The sun rose orange, this morning. I stayed quite local, not that what trail I walk has much to do with anything. It’s just a detail.

Mt Hood in the distance.

Mother’s Day is a weird sort of holiday. Certainly mothers deserve to be celebrated, and supported, and also given some fucking help with things, and an occasional fucking day off. No question about any of that… but… if a woman with a child (or children) isn’t getting these things from her partner, family, community, or society, does a “Hallmark holiday” make up for that at all? Mother’s Day is bit like the “carbon offset credit” of holidays. A “get out of jail free” pass for not paying due regard to mothers and the difficulty of that work in the first place. Still, I’m not intending to piss in anyone’s punch bowl; enjoy it, Moms, you’re overdue for more and better. It’s tough exhausting work.

…Funny that I’m thinking of my Dad, though, and can’t remember any Mother’s Days, from my youth…

I’m 100% okay with not being a mother, myself, and don’t feel any loss over not being part of this “holiday”. Choices. I am glad I made the choices I made. They led me here.

Looks like another sunny summer-y day ahead. My Traveling Partner turned the outside water back on for the season, in spite of being injured still. I can’t quite reach the valve, myself. I think about the day ahead, and my list of things to do. Some of the stuff on my list is routine housekeeping, and gardening, and with my camping trip only 7 days away now, a few things to do with that are making  it to the list, too. I’m excited about that. I’m  hopeful that I’ll have no cause to leave the house after I return from my walk; it’ll be utter chaos “out there”, being Mother’s Day. Looks like a lovely Spring Sunday ahead…

…60 doesn’t “feel old” to me and I sit with that thought for awhile,  remembering my Granny at 60… my Mom… my Dear Friend… My perspective on age and aging has changed a lot over the years, as I’ve aged, myself. I  was in my 20s when my Granny was 60. I  was 40 when my Mother was 60. By the time my Dear Friend was 60, I was not quite 50. Time is catching up with me. lol 60 hasn’t really changed much…but my understanding of it sure has.

I’ll be 61 this year. I haven’t given it much thought. I have most of what I need in life, and a handful of pleasant luxuries besides. It’s a good life, and I am in a good place, and have to put real thought into it to come up with something to want “for my birthday”. Mostly I want my Traveling Partner to be sufficiently recovered to go out for a meal together, and maybe a drive in the countryside – perhaps a picnic lunch at a favorite spot, and some romance… something simple and ordinary.  Modest wholesome experiences of life and intimacy and a wee outing together would feel pretty lavish right now. Fuck, that actually sounds quite delightful! I surely won’t hold it against him if he’s not yet up for it. Sucks to deal with an unexpected injury and the time it takes to recover, but it can’t be rushed, and it’s something most people eventually deal with. We’re in it together and that matters so much more than any birthday gift could.

My camping trip feels like a birthday present to myself. It’s planned for a bit longer than I might typically go, and I’ll be geared up for “glamping” thanks to my Traveling Partner. I’m super excited about it.

What love looks like to me.

I sit smiling, thinking about love. The other day I came home from a manicure appointment with glittery aqua-blue nails. My partner commented that they were cute but didn’t go with anything else I generally wear. I laughed that off and pointed out the sweater I’d been wearing as close enough. Hardly an hour later he had 3D printed me a super cute pair of earrings that were an amazing color match for my nails. I feel so loved. Earrings are the only jewelry I wear, generally. He knows and cares, and loves making me smile. I’ve pretty much been wearing them ever since. lol It feels good to be so loved.

The moments tick by as the sun rises. It’s already time to begin again.

I’m sipping my coffee, and trying my best not to be bitter. Too much anti-woman garbage in the news, and it inevitably filters into my consciousness. I put on music to soothe my soul, and remind me that the path ahead is not reliably smooth or paved.

I don’t prefer to pour my anger onto the page, spilling like the blood I’ve already shed, wasted like the time it would take to try to argue the point that women are fully human, conscious, with agency and their own reasons to live beyond being brood mares or objects to be used for sexual fulfillment. Fucking hell, I hope you’re at least not surprised to learn that there are many decision-making individuals in the world who don’t see women as fully human conscious beings with rights and agency… because, yeah, that’s a fucking thing. Unfortunately. Second-class. An after-thought. Hell, there are people who disagree with women having the vote – or the right to withhold their consent. No shit. Wild, right? Disappointing, certainly – and yeah, I’m angry about it. Are you kidding me? Ohio just criminalized marital rape – it’s 2024 – until now, it’s been just fine to go ahead and rape your wife. Hell, if that’s too much work, go ahead and drug her, then rape her, totally legal. Gross. We can’t do better than this?

…A lifetime of seething impotent rage, just waiting for an opportunity. I’m an American woman…

I take a breath and a sip of my coffee. These aren’t abstract concerns for me; I’m a woman. Lacking the option to willfully choose not to bear children would have changed my life dramatically. My educational options would have been diminished (because that was a thing, and not so long ago). My career options, too, would have been very different, and very limited. My leisure hours could not have been spent on art – I’d have been forced to devote my time to child-rearing. That wasn’t the life I wanted, at all. Nothing about me is particularly “maternal” beyond having a vagina and a uterus, and by the time I reached adulthood, my chaos and damage were so profound that any child of mine was going to have a rough fucking go of it – it takes a long time for trauma to heal, even with persistent self-work. I knew when I was just 14 that I did not want children. That’s still true. (I am fond of my stepson; I met him shortly after he finished high school. He’s a good guy, doing his best, and he’s come so far since I first met him. I enjoy being a bystander on the relationship my Traveling Partner shares with his son – and that’s close enough to motherhood for me.)

I breathe, exhale, relax – and remind myself not to allow my anger to poison me. “The way out is through”, for sure, but no need to be ridiculous about it. Tantrums and lashing out don’t help anyone understand things more clearly, and don’t help me feel better. Hell, tantrums and lashing out don’t even give me momentary relief. You know what does? Knowing that my Traveling Partner, the person I go home to each day and wake with each morning, doesn’t hate me, doesn’t hate women, and understands us to be wholly human people. There’s comfort and healing in that. I’ve come a long way from that angry young woman who stood on the threshold of adulthood wanting vengeance.

I sip my coffee, and watch the dismal rainy gray dawn unfold on an America that hates women. You know who you are (although you’re probably not reading this). Do better, for fucks’ sake. There are little girls everywhere each trying to become the woman they most want to be – give them a fucking chance.

I sigh quietly. I’ve gotten caught up in a moment of pain. I breathe, exhale, relax, and let it go – again. I watch the little brown birds in the park, and the traffic making the trip around the block below, looking for parking. The rain falls softly. It’s an ordinary day, and there is no cure for pain – just a new moment, and a chance to begin again…

Let it go

Begin again.

So… the news, right? Problematic, most certainly if you are a woman. Not solely because abortion services are a sometimes necessary piece of a woman’s reproductive healthcare, but also because of what the recent SCOTUS decision says about how those people devalue female human beings, generally. There will be plenty of folks throwing words about the issue(s) at our collective consciousness for days (weeks, months). Anything I might want to say is likely to be covered more skillfully by another voice. I’ll let this one go; know that I’m am hurting over it, myself. Shocked and appalled and angry, like a lot of other people. I’ll be writing letters to elected representatives (not because it is assured to be the most effective action to take, just that I can take it, repeat it, and do so as often as needed to feel heard). I’ve got plenty of stamps for snail mail, and great internet connectivity for emails.

…But… Or… And? Maybe “and” is right… please take care of yourself.

Take time for joy, too.

My Traveling Partner and I have been putting a lot of time into “the (new) family business”. It’s fun to work together on a task, and enjoy the shared experience of successful completion and a job well done. I think it also serves helpfully to give my partner better insights into what I realistically can and can’t actually do these days. When I’m just standing around, or hanging out watching videos, it’s probably pretty easy to overlook how much pain I may actually be in, or that I struggle to climb a ladder, or that standing on my ankle for long results in intense fatigue (pretty quickly), or that I often just “run out of energy” in the late afternoon.

…I started this several days ago. I put it aside, because it didn’t look like political events were going to improve (or change) much at all, and also, life is fucking busy right now, and I grab every chance I can to hang out with my Traveling Partner – even when that choice may not be ideal self-care. I fucking love that guy, and our mortal time together is precious and limited. Today? Today I hurt. I’m quite a lot of pain, and returned home from a long seeming work day in the local co-work space to my partner’s shitty day, bad mood, and surliness. I ran an errand. Came home. He’s frank and clear with me, not unkind just having his own experience. I don’t really want any part of that mess, right now, so… I head to the studio and sit down to write.

Sometimes we just need room to be. Better or bad, convenient or not, there are moments in a human life when handling it alone feels ideal. I mean… that’s one woman’s opinion. I happen to like some solo time (like, a lot of it), so perhaps I am biased. I enjoy my own company. 🙂

When it’s just me, “everyone” in the room wants to do what I want to do, without regard to what that happens to be. lol Read? Sure. Write? Hell, yes. Paint? I’m ready for it. Watch some videos on YouTube? I’m down for that and I’ll definitely be okay with whatever I may choose to watch. lol. Cook a meal? It’ll definitely be whatever I may enjoy, myself, without holding space for other preferences. Just sit awhile, in a quiet room? No problem – and no interruptions (however long I may sit quietly). Go to bed ridiculously early? Sure. Go for it. Stay up foolishly late? Also fine. Listen to the music loud? I can do that any day, any time, but when I’m alone it’s often a different playlist.

…I’m just saying, sometimes I really enjoy hanging out with the woman in the mirror, just being.

Solo time is peculiarly rare these days. Life wedges in a lot of human interaction, in spite of the pandemic, in spite of working from home, in spite of making an effort to get the downtime I actually do need. My Traveling Partner is social (very), and we adore each other. Time together is time well-spent and these mortal lifetimes are limited and too brief. Friends? I don’t see them often enough these days, so it’s rare to turn down a chance to hang out – even if it might have been excellent solo time, with different choices. Work? Even working from home full-time, I “see” a lot of my colleagues on calls, and the conversation is almost continuous in the work channels on Slack. Running errands puts me out in the world interacting with more other people. They’re everywhere. lol Finding moments to be really alone actually takes real effort and planning. I’ve got a camping trip planned for the end of July. 🙂

My partner checks in with me. We’re okay. He’s careful to confirm that he was gentle enough with me; he was having a pretty terrible day apparently, and his emotions were raw and on the surface. I appreciate the consideration, and we share appreciative grateful words of love. I make a point of ensuring he is aware of my physical discomfort, also making a point to be considerate, and gentle with my words. Sometimes we’re sufficiently emotionally “rugged” to roll with a moment of temper – helpful because we’re both fucking human – other times we need more tenderness and care from each other. Today feels good. Connected and intimate. Aware. Compassionate and empathetic. Nonjudgmental. Feeling heard without having to try so hard. It’s nice.

Late afternoon hints at becoming evening. It’s a warm day, and I hurt too much to cook anything that requires a lot of effort. Burgers? Maybe. I don’t mind making the run. A sit down dinner out would be lovely…but… Even now, neither of us feel really comfortable in public spaces that are occupied by people in close proximity. It’s pretty convenient not being sick every two or three weeks with some sniffle or stomach ache, and while it may not have stopped COVID in its tracks, the social distancing thing has been excellent for our health. LOL Sandwiches? Burgers? I don’t actually care much – I barely have any appetite, in spite of taking appropriate steps to manage my pain. The pain shouts into my consciousness louder than my empty stomach. It is what it is.

I take a sip from my glass of clean water, and pause for just a moment to really appreciate having access to a steady supply of potable, filtered, clean drinking water. Then – I begin again.