Our Choice, Our Voice

Why Be a Lawyer When You Want to be a Botanist?

2009-10-12T08:51:00.003-05:00

It's mid-October and snowing heavily outside here in Minneapolis. While it's much too early for my liking to see white covering the rooftops, it reminds me in a visceral way that I'm just six weeks out from my first major deadline of my project. (I'm using "project" now as distinct from "thesis"; it evokes less anxiety.) On December 1st I will be submitting a draft of 100 pages. To make the idea more palatable, I've broken the task down to completion of two pages every time I sit down to the computer. Essentially, my butt stays put until I have finished two new pages. (If any of you have helpful hints on how to stay focused through the challenging sections of writing, I'd be grateful to read about them.)

When I get right down to it, what I most want to show or attempt to substantiate is the notion that if the decision not to parent was as legitimate and valued in our culture as is the choice to parent, women and society at large would benefit in important ways. Primary among them is that more women would feel free to be thoughtful and careful about deciding whether raising children is the right life choice for them. There would be more opportunity for contented and fulfilled lives, and perhaps more good being done in communities if people respected each woman's desires, intuitions, and their innate or circumstantial ability to do well the most important job of raising children. More than one of the women I interviewed stated simply that they do not think they would be good mothers. Isn't it in all our best interests to accept these women's understanding of themselves, and be glad, even, that they aren't taking on a job they don't have interest in or feel they would be good at?

Consider this: Why would we expect someone who wants to become a botanist to be a lawyer? Why would we perpetuate the notion that if she chooses botany anyway—because it’s what makes her feel satisfied, allows her to feel connected to and contributing to something larger than herself; because it’s what fuels her passion and is what makes her happy—that she has made the wrong choice, that she is selfish, that she does not really know what she wants, that she can still become a lawyer if she doesn’t wait too much longer, and that if she doesn’t, she will regret her decision someday.

Why would we think it doesn't matter that she may discover a new variety of plant life or that she may discover a fungi that has healing properties that we didn't know about, or that she will enjoy how she spends her time? Why don't we seem to care that because the life she's chosen fulfills her, her relationship with her spouse or partner is enhanced, or her relationship with co-workers, neighbors, friends, community? Is it not important that she has the energy to volunteer her time with a community service group, or that she has the time and energy to care for her nieces and nephews and share her love of plant life with them?

Essentially this is what we tell our young girls when we directly or indirectly presume or tell them that they will have children someday. We may be telling them that they should be mothers instead of botanists, despite their innate interests. And if we tell them, no worries, you can do both, there is plenty of evidence that she likely won't be able to do either job well or to her satisfaction.

Joan Williams, in her book, Unbending Gender, says that "If mothers have failed to achieve equality in market work, equality in the family has proved equally elusive...on average mothers spend thirty-one hours a week on [household tasks]...despite our self-image of gender equality, American women still do 80 percent of the child care and two-thirds of the housework (2)."

That's 40 hours per week in the market place and (if we presume 8 hours of sleep) roughly 45 hours per week on child care--a total of 95 hours out of 112 weekly waking hours. Is it smart to encourage anyone to do this week after week, month after month, year after year--especially, despite a woman's best intentions and effort, both professional gains and their children may suffer?

If you are a mother and are raising children while working full time, I'd love to read what you think about this. Are you able to "do it all" to your satisfaction?

Off I go into the early winter wonderland! Thank you for reading.

Williams, Joan. Unbending Gender: Why Family and Work Conflict and What to Do About It. New York: Oxford Univeristy Press, 2000.

Childless / Childfree by Choice: A Social Movement?

2009-10-12T07:24:00.000-05:00

I'm at the crossroads in my research on women who make the conscious choice not to parent where I need to zoom in on a particular focus. It's a challenging place for me to be. In my last entry, I wondered about focusing on the "naturalness" of a woman's choice not to raise children. I've since wandered off from that notion, not because I don't believe it's true--I wholeheartedly believe that for many women, not having kids is as natural a choice as having children is for others--but because I'm not sure this notion alone will carry me through 100 pages or more. At least not by itself.

My thinking of late has been around the idea that if western culture not only legitimized women's choice to be childfree, but valued it, our collective lives would be improved. In my reading to date (which has not been exhaustive), much attention is given to childfree women themselves--who they are, why they've made the choice, how they treated by society, and debunking many of the myths about non-parents. What I'm finding harder to find is literature that shifts the spotlight away from details about us and onto how our pronatalist culture should respond. The facts that we exist in noticable numbers, that our way of life is not seen in a favorable light, and that the assumptions made about us do not hold up under scrutiny are easy to substantiate in the literature. Perhaps what's needed now is a cultural response to these realities.

I'm easily reminded of the milestone shifts toward acceptance of individual freedom in the country: the abolitionists movement, women's sufferage, the civil rights movement, women's rights movement, the environmental movement, the GLBT movement, and the current and emerging interfaith movement to name a few. Could the non-parenthood movement the next big shift from intolerance to respect for individual freedom? (The language to use to describe the focus of this movement, childless women, would be the first major hurdle to jump over.)

Perhaps this is a viable focus. My thesis might go something like this: The major social movements that have spotted the landscape of American history have given rise to greater freedom for the disenfranchised to pursue and reach their full potential. A push for tolerance and eventual valuing of women who choose to not raise children may have the potential for taking it's place on the American social movement timeline.

A Matter of Acceptable Choices

2009-09-14T11:41:00.002-05:00

What do you think of the following?

Until Western cultural accepts parenthood and nonparenthood as equally valid choices, we limit for many women their ability to recognize that there is more than one course to a contented life. Some women choose to have children whether or not it suits their inclinations, knowledge-base, abilities, or personalities.

Because the culture holds motherhood in high esteem and choice to not parent abhorrent, women have children in spite of their own best interests and the interests of the communities in which they live. Inadequate parenting is often the result, which in turn, creates dysfunction in children. This dysfunction breeds negative outcomes along a vast continuum from low self-esteem to death. Many are ill-prepared for healthy adulthood, causing costly ripple effects throughout our communities and social institutions.

For the sake of individual happiness and the greater good, we cannot afford to perpetuate the notion that having children is the correct and natural path irrespective of women’s desires, intuitions, and innate or circumstantial ability to parent well. It is in the legitimization and value given the choice not to parent that will significantly impact this costly cycle of dysfunction at its root, and in turn, begin to improve the health and well-being of our society as a whole.

A Natural Choice?

2009-09-02T07:25:00.032-05:00

I'm at an all-important point in the development of my thesis paper: zeroing in on a focused and arguable thesis statement or central question interesting enough to fill 100 pages or so.

Based solely on my conversations with ten bright, articulate, and thoughtful women about their lives and decision not to parent, I'm thinking about a couple of possibilities, one of which has to do with the idea that choosing not to raise children is a natural choice. During the interviews, I asked the participants to give me their reaction to the following statement:

It is just as natural to be childfree as it is to be a mother.

The responses to this statement were varied and interesting. Four of the ten disagreed with the statement, five agreed, and one woman agreed and disagreed depending on how she interpreted the question. "I think emotionally it’s probably perfectly natural or it’s equally natural," she said. "But physically and from a perpetuation of species standpoint, I guess I would say, technically, no, it’s not as natural."

Like this woman, all those who disagree with the statement have genetics and a biological imperative in mind. One woman said, "Women’s bodies are organized around the concept of having children. Everything from how we gain weight, to our period, to how our sex drive changes is built around the concept of reproduction. No. ‘Not having children’ is a fight almost against biology. But it’s something where you choose to make sure that your brain is stronger than your biology."

Another woman spoke about the statement from a biological and psychological point of view. Emphatically, she said, "I don’t believe we’re all created to have babies. I mean I just don’t! I mean it just doesn’t make any sense that 100% of women would be child bearers. Some of that’s been by natural selection that women are unable to have babies; so why wouldn’t it make as much sense that some women wouldn’t have babies due to not physical but maybe psychological or whatever?"

From my childfree experience there is nothing unnatural about the decision or the results of my decision. Aside from very infrequent and short-lived day-dreams of what it would have been like to have children, I have never felt that I have been fighting biology. For me, to not have children has felt completely natural to who I am and how I want to live my life.

Clearly, there seems to be some arguability to this question, at least among us eleven women, and worth further study. What will be pivotal in such a discussion is how I establish the definition of "natural". Or, how I turn the term over, like a tiny globe in my hand, noting the contrast of land to sea, or the variation in the shapes and sizes of the landscapes from a distance.

It seems possible to study the question from various world views or schools of thought, such as biology, psychology, sociology, religion, cosmology, art, and from the day-to-day experiences of both average citizens and women with some notoriety.

I may just be on to something.

I'm curious how you feel about this question, and would love to hear from you, whether or not you have or are raising children. Do you feel it is just as natural to be childfree as it is to mother?

In a Word: Nurture

2009-08-25T08:12:00.014-05:00

The nurturing mother. The image is quite familiar. We see it or hear it in media on a daily basis, especially at this time of year as advertisers hope that parents (mothers in particular) will take good care of their children returning to school by buying their products.

While I'm sure most of us understands that nurturing can take place outside of parent-child relationships, my guess is that parental nurturing is an obvious and ready association. And while nurturing our children is one of the most important things we can do for the health of our society, I wonder about the "air time" of other contexts in which nurturing occurs, and its importance to our collective quality of life.

When I asked the childfree women I interviewed who or what they nurture, I got an array of answers, including:

Animal companions
Friends and other women
Husbands and partners
Literacy among non-readers
The survival of independent bookstores
Aging parents
Political campaigns
Gardens, Irises, Rose bushes
Professions that better the lives of people and communities

And six out of the 10 women mentioned that they nurture other people's kids, be they the recipients of youth development programs, nieces and nephews who are given special attention and experiences by their aunts, those receiving tutoring on reading from a volunteer, and others.

And what about the idea of nurturing ourselves? How important is self-nurture? Are women who raise kids good nurturers of themselves--of their own interests, passions, the needs of their bodies, their minds, their spirits? Is is possible? Does it depend on how much disposable income one has, on the ability to pay for art classes or see plays or get good running shoes or have an extra $40 per month for a health club membership? How many children learn from their mothers the importance of paying attention to one's own needs in addition to the needs of others? Are those women who do not have partners and therefore may have more to do than their coupled counterparts able to be good role models in this respect?

I can easily name two women who are able to nurture themselves while raising their children. One of these women is mother to three who takes time to run on a daily basis and stays in good physical condition. Another delves into various activities that interest her, such as Web site design, fiction writing, and dulla work. She has two teenage girls. And no doubt a good portion of the population parent and work in positions which fulfill them.

I also imagine that there are many mothers who don't have the time, the energy or the resources to nurture themselves well--to attend to what makes them feel joyous or fulfilled in other ways than caretaking others.

There are likely no declaritive statements or conclusions one can make about nurturing as a mother vs. one who has decided to not have children. What I know for sure is that to nurture someone or something--and for women to turn nurturing in on ourselves is vital to the health and well-being of us all.

Her Name Would be Cassie

2009-08-21T07:09:00.037-05:00

The first question I asked the 10 childfree interviewees was how they envisioned their adulthood when they were young. Some of them had awareness at a very young age they did not want to have children, others did not.

One 25-year-old woman didn't hesitate a moment with her answer. “When I was younger I imagined I would be single, I would be a business type consultant, something in consulting, and I would live in a studio apartment in downtown Minneapolis with my cats.” Her answer was the most specific of all, but several women had similar visions of a future pursuing a satisfying career, or of traveling the world, or of simply “being a very successful woman enjoying life.” And without children.

Other women envisioned a very prescribed and traditional trajectory into adulthood. One woman in her early 30s said, “I guess it was always something that I guess I just figured was expected of me and just part of being an adult. You grow up, you go to school, you go to college, you get married, you have a child. In that order” (emphasis hers).

While I don't remember thinking in grade school about babies I might have some day have, I do remember a period of time as a young adult when I envisioned a traditional family life.

It is the fall of my sophomore year in college, late at night. My boyfriend and I are walking the small town sleeping residential streets that surround the central Iowa campus. We are fully absorbed in our new, you-are-my-world love. The soft street lights infuse the molecules around us with an almost tangible yellow-orange glow, as if a single drop of dark citrus dye has been released into the softly swirling autumn air. When we stop to look at each other, the space between us is simultaneously heavy and crisp, and other-worldly. A hint of visible breath adds to the effect. Our jackets make our hug bulky. His lips are cool but all I feel is warmth.

We shuffle along arm in arm, stopping periodically at grand old 19th century houses. Several blocks into our walk, as we make the gentle curve onto a street that would lead us back to campus, the first house on the block stops us in unison. Three full stories loom over us; the building overwhelmingly inviting.

The house seems to have anticipated our arrival, its white wrap-around porch a knowing smirk in the darkness. All the interior lights are off; a single porch light winks. I wonder now how many young couples that house had welcomed onto its quaint domain, where dreams of the future are welcome, like the lingering smell of burning leaves on the air. Only the house knows for sure, but my guess is we were only one of hundreds through the years encouraged by this relic to dream. My love and I share dramatic whispers of "A house just like this" and "I can just see it" and "I want to always be with you" and "I love you."

In the middle of traditional America, the glow deepens around us, we take take the dream further. We would have children. The first would be a girl. She would be smart. She would be beautiful. We would adore her. Her name would be Cassie.

After that night and through our tumultuous relationship that ended about a year later, Cassie would enter our conversations only when we needed her, when we needed the confirmation of that night. In retrospect, our imaginings had nothing to do with life as parents. In our late adolescence, I'm certain we didn't discuss what parenthood might really be like, or whether or not we'd be good at it, or any multitude of factors that should be considered before raising a child.

Cassie had only to do with validation of ourselves, each other, and our on-again-off-again love. It had nothing to do with Cassie. I'm not sure it could be otherwise at that stage in our development. Like that surreal late-night walk, the fantasy served a specific purpose that at least for us, dissipated with the dawn. (I actually looked for the house one day, and couldn't find it with any certainty.)

My youthful brush strokes of a life so foreign to me now was, I'm sure, quite normal. In psychological terms, I was in the process of individuating. I was releasing my identity as a child, and embracing the cultural dictates of adult identity. For so many, though, this is the only adult identity that is acceptable. I am grateful I came to see other options, that the earth kept rotating that sophomore night and that in the light of day, I couldn't locate for sure that house around the bend.

But I won't pretend that I don't cherish the memory of that night--the stroll with my beau, my husband-to-be, the future father of my girl, Cassie. The experience is part of who I am, part of my history on which I have built the life I love.

How did you envision your adult life when you were young? Did what you imagined become real? I'd love to read about your story.

Learning Their Feet

2009-08-19T07:38:00.011-05:00

I love children!

I particularly enjoy that precious first decade when children are taking in the world so fully and with abandon. As I go about my daily business, each encounter with a child is a gift (tantrums excluded). Like an infant mesmerized by shiny, colorful things, I am captivated by their presence.

Just ask Denise or others I'm out with. I've interrupted too many conversations in order to smile whole-heartedly at children that enter my sphere (I want them to feel that this is a friendly place they've been born into), to play peek-a-boo over restaurant booth backs, to watch those on the cusp of toddlerhood "learn their legs," to sense their fresh spirits for even a moment.

I feel fortunate that I am able to notice and enjoy children as I do, and feel filled when I get that 3-year-old to smile back at me. Or when I lock eyes with that 2-year-old and we both can't seem to break away from our mingling energies.

I've thought about environments in which children aren't present, such as prisons. I can't fathom living a life where I did not see children often and on a regular basis, let alone not be able to interact with them. Don't get me wrong; I'm not advocating for children to somehow have a presence in prisons (though it's an interesting thought), I just have a hunch that living without the fresh energy of youth is a major part of a tough sentence.

In the reading I've done so far about women who choose not to raise children, many are gaga about kids, as are several of the women I've interviewed. Many of us are teachers, child-care workers, health professionals who work with children, work in youth-centered organizations, are religion educators, volunteer with or for kids, and take care of nieces and nephews and neighborhood kids and others. We enjoy helping nurture children outside of our immediate families.

My hope is that this myth that exists out there that people who choose not to become parents must hate children sluffs off like dead skin. I'm sure that there are many who do not appreciate children in the slightest, and I know in my gut that many more of us cannot imagine life without them.

A Matter of Language

2009-08-17T07:17:00.004-05:00

Writing about those of us who have happily chosen to not have children can be tricky. The English we use makes it clear that having children is the standard, and not having children an aberration. Here are some examples of terms to describe us:

childless
barren
nonparent
infertile
sterile
nullipara

I'm sure there are others not coming to my sleepy morning brain. The terms suggest that we are lacking. And if the 10 women I interviewed in depth are representative at all of the larger population of women who are childless by choice, this couldn't be farther from the truth.

Virtually all of the women talked about a richness to their lives--the freedom to pursue their interests and passions and other aspects of their daily lives. They can take a nap when they need to, socialize when and how they want to, nurture their gardens, their animal companions, their partners, their nieces and nephews, or their community; express themselves through art or the support of arts, and travel near or far easily.

Almost all talked about how they wouldn't have the time or energy to do these things had they raised children, and that they often feel compete gladness about their choice as it allows them the space to nurture well their own lives and their partners' lives, and the lives of others through their careers, their extended families (including children and young people), and their volunteer work and civic activities through which they hope to better their communities, society, and the world.

I'm certain that it is this confidence in our choice and the freedom it affords that the terms "childfree" and "childfee by choice" has come into popular usage. For many, it seems, these terms better communicate our intentionality and the positive spirit of our choice.

Who Are We?

2009-08-13T07:50:00.007-05:00

Do all or most of us who have made the conscious decision to not raise children share a similar profile? According to my teensy cut into this population (gathered with zero scientific rigor), the answer is yes and no.

The 100+ childfree women who completed a demographic questionnaire as part of my thesis research are from all regions of the country; have lower and higher incomes; are straight, lesbian, and bisexual; are mostly spiritual but not religious, with a few Jewish, Unitarian, and Christian women; are ages 18-65; live in big cities and small towns; are predominately white with a handful of African American, Hispanic, and one Native American women; grew up in large families and had no siblings; and whose parents were divorced and happily married.

The most frequent characteristics of these women are that they are Caucasian, have comfortable incomes, and define themselves as spiritual but not religious. I could make educated guesses as to why this is so. My personal networks are mostly white women with comfortable incomes. Women and couples who are involved in the No Kidding! networks are, perhaps, women who have enough disposable income to socialize frequently, since socializing is one of the main motivators of the network.

I'm less confident about the reason for a majority of women who define themselves as spiritual but not religious. It may be that devout individuals are adhering to religious dictates about procreation, birth control use, and abortion. I find this interesting, though, and may explore this possible connection through research (perhaps easier said than done, however).

Still, this small pool of women suggests that we are indeed everywhere and live within a variety of circumstances.

If you have chosen to be without children, what are your demographics?

Family is a Relative Term

2009-08-12T07:03:00.019-05:00

I remember a snippet of a conversation that took place with a group of coworkers at least 17 years ago now. I remember what one of my colleagues said during this conversation quite vividly, though the context has faded. Her point must have resonated with me deeply because what she said revisits me as periodically but as surely as a harvest moon. About her relationship with her husband she said, "Just because there's only the two of us doesn't mean we're not a family. We're a family, too!"

Family is a relative term. In this post-modern world, the concept of family has morphed to encompass a myriad of configurations: a single parent with kids; grandparents raising their grandchildren or the children of other relatives; gay, lesbian, and transgender couples raising children; families with adopted children; blended families; polygamous families; children raised by unmarried adults; and of course the "nuclear family" consisting of one man, one woman, and their offspring. Some single people might even consider themselves their own family.

And the configuration that I'm guessing isn't considered by too many folks as family: two adults--married or unmarried--without children.

Before my co-worker made her pronouncement, I hadn't in such clear terms thought of Denise and me, together 4 years at that point, as a family. I have since. There were two reasons I didn't give my love and I family status: 1) we were a lesbian couple, and 2) we weren't planning on having children. Still, we were a solid unit deeply in love, living and sharing our lives fully with one another. We even had our cats, which we nurtured and provided for as we would a child. Nearly 18 years later, this is still the case.

How wonderful that children growing up in these modern times can, if they are lucky, witness so many variations of family. Our 7 nieces and nephews are such children. Including their parents, they observe 5 different family models on a regular basis. My brother's family consists of his wife and their three offspring. One of my sisters has a blended family consisting of her husband and two grown men from his previous marriage as well as their two biological 10-year-olds. My other sister's family consists of her lesbian partner and their two teenage girls. Each woman carried one of their daughters. My mother is a single woman who lives alone. And finally, Denise and I chose not to have children. My nieces and nephews witness a rich variety of ways to live in love and function, with all the joys and sorrows and challenges that goes with sharing our lives with others. They know that family is not a one-size-fits-all reality.

I think youth will benefit from exposure to family diversity, perhaps allowing them more freedom to be conscious and deliberate about the creation of their families than previous generations.

How did you understand family when you were growing up and how do you understand it now?

As My Spirit Moves Me

2009-08-11T07:33:00.026-05:00

This morning began as all typical weekday mornings. Denise's alarm rings my consciousness. If she delays the inevitable, I gently nudge her. She's up about a half-hour before she's ready for her day and nudging me awake.

As I sit up in bed, roughly three hours before I have to be at work, Denise is in the kitchen putting together her rations of food for the day. I shuffle out in my robe. She stops gathering food to gather me instead for a long, quiet morning hug.

She continues bagging her lunch as I pour our coffee--eight tiny sugarbowl spoonfuls of Splenda for her, cream for us both. We meet on the couch. As the sun peeks over nearby buildings, we share one of the most important parts of our day. For 20 glorious minutes, we talk about whatever stirs us, punctuated with standard topics such as how we slept, what'll be happening at work, and obligations we may have that evening. We sip coffee and share our waking streams of consciousness.

Then, having seen Denise to and out the door with another hug, kisses, and well-wishes for the day, it's My Time: an hour and 45 minutes to do as my spirit moves me before I ready for work.

I finish morning chores quickly. I sit on the balcony and eat a bowl of Grape Nuts, leaving a bit of milk in the bowl for our cats, Moonie and Sahla. I might check and write email or practice choir music. I'll pay a bill perhaps or sink into the red shag area rug for a long stretch in the morning sun. On particularly sleepy mornings, I may shut my eyes "for just a couple minutes".

I write. I stroke a purring cat on my lap. I file papers. I rearrange furniture. I look at homes for sale in states we might want to live someday. I browse a catalog, place an order. I stretch My Time longer than I should. I think. I stare. I anticipate. I be.

This has been the way of my mornings for many years.

I asked women in my childless by choice interviews if they think they would have lost something significant they now have in their lives had they raised children. Almost all the women responded quickly and declaratively with answers like "freedom" or "a sense of myself "or "a strong and loving relationship with my husband/partner".

I echo these, and experience them all in the first three hours of my day. I value my mornings the way I value the life I have chosen. They are a figure eight I skate freely and at my own speed, endless curves of nurturing others and nurturing myself. I know as sure as I rise each morning that had I had children, I would have lost my balance and fallen down much too often, disrupting this flow of well-being for us all.

For those of you who have made the choice not to parent: Do you think you would have lost something significant that you have now in your lives had you made the choice to parent?

Starting the Journey

2009-08-09T07:31:00.019-05:00

Welcome!

A good friend and work colleague suggested that as I begin my Masters thesis, I blog about the experience. She told me, "And if I can set up a blog, you certainly can." I guess she was right! I thank her for the idea.

Her instict is right on. I have just begun to tap into the lives of women who have consciously decided to not have children, the topic of my thesis, and already I am finding this population ready and willing to have their stories told.

An example: I decided that the first step in my journey was to hear directly from women who have made the choice to not raise children. So, I asked family, friends, colleagues, and other personal networks to help me find these women and ask if they might be interested in an interview.

In the process, I learned about an organization made up of 28 US state chapters and six countries around the world whose sole purpose is to network and socialize with others who have made the same decision (http://www.nokidding.net/). I reached out to these US networks as well.

The response was swift and surprising (at least to me). Within one week well over 100 women stepped forward to be interviewed. The message seems to me to be that these women are ready to have their stories be told and heard. (I wish I could have interviewed them all!)

I invite you tell your story or share your thoughts on this topic. I simply ask that you write respectfully.

If you are someone who has decided to not raise children, here are some questions you might want to respond to:

Why did you make the decision to not raise children?
How has the decision worked out for you?
How do you prefer you, as a group, are referred to? Childless, childfree, non-mothers or non-fathers, another descriptor? Why?
What do you do with your time that is not being taken up with the responsibilities that come with mothering or fathering?
What reactions, if any, do you get from others about your decision?
Instead of your children, what or who do you nurture?
What, if anything, do you hope to leave behind when you die?
Do you feel that not having children is as natural a choice as having children?
Do you think it would be beneficial to society to have more balance between those who raise children and those who don't? Why or why not?