Here’s the situation: I want kids. I could have them. But I’ve decided that I shouldn’t.
I’ve fought mental illness since I was a child—I remember being suicidal in fifth grade—and I’ve been medicated since I was 15. First for depression; after I got dumped at a birthday party and took forty-seven aspirin in the bathroom, then walked calmly into the next room and told someone I’d just taken forty-seven aspirin, I was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder. I never get the expansive euphoria a person with bipolar I might experience during a manic episode; instead, I have periods of hypomania, bursts of creative energy, domestic or work productivity, or extreme irritability, and then crash. My depressive episodes dive far below sadness, into an inability to feel anything, hours where I’m aware time is passing but utterly indifferent to it. Even when well-medicated, my moods cycle rapidly and without much reference to the world outside my head.
In the past two decades, I have taken the following drugs: Prozac (twice), Zoloft, lithium, Depakote, Wellbutrin (twice), Zyprexa, Effexor, Lamictal (twice), Geodon, Seroquel (twice), Ativan, gabapentin, Lexapro, Trileptal, and Celexa. I’ve gone through an exciting range of side effects: Prozac makes me cry and/or vomit; lithium is terrible for my skin; Zyprexa made me lactate (“Oh, I’ve read about this in the literature,” said my doctor, “but I’ve never heard of it actually happening!”); Ativan is so addictive it took me six months reducing it by a quarter-milligram every two weeks to successfully get off of it, and every time I felt ill and hungover for two days. The second time I took Lamictal, in the summer of 2007, I developed gastritis which went undiagnosed for three weeks, while I threw up every day and lost twenty pounds and a cup size; I was also trying to wean myself off all medication at the time, as my psychiatrist wanted to re-diagnose me from scratch. The psychiatrist before that had recklessly prescribed far too much Ativan (an anti-anxiety med similar to Valium), destabilizing my delicate chemical balance entirely. Unable to eat, crying uncontrollably, incapable of navigating social interaction, I checked myself into a psych ward the weekend of my 28th birthday, just to give my parents a break from trying to care for me.
I’m mostly okay now, don’t worry. I’ve found a three-drug combination that whittles down my extremes. I’m still prone to mood swings, but I’m aware of it, and so is my husband, who’s excellent at talking me down without giving advice, soothing me with tea and back episodes of Supernatural (or, as he’s been calling it lately, Handsome Feelings with Sammy and Deano). To paraphrase Wendy Wasserstein, he’s my Leonard Woolf. I get uselessly anxious under stress, and I go through a major depression every spring. But I’m mostly okay.
This is all a long-winded way of saying that despite being biologically capable of bearing a child, doing so would risk all manner of birth defects. And I can’t stop taking my medication long enough for pregnancy and breast-feeding. Not to mention there’s a strong chance of my illness being genetic—my greatest fear, besides drowning in a cave, is having a child who commits suicide.
But I would love to have children. I know many people—well, let’s be honest, it’s mostly women who talk about this, endlessly, looking darkly at each other across an imaginary line, launching thinkpieces like missiles across the border between Kids and No Kids…so let’s say I know many women who don’t want kids. Most of them feel judged for this, that society tells them they’re less-than if they don’t reproduce. (On the other hand, a friend of mine with three kids aged five and under garners stares at the grocery store and whispers of “She must be crazy,” so there’s judgment enough to go around, more’s the pity.) I don’t frown on their decision in the slightest, but I’m not one of them. I’d love to have children of my own, smart little bespectacled critters with no athletic ability and piles of books on their bed. They’d watch Bruce Lee movies with their dad, and I’d read them Knuffle Bunny and Dealing with Dragons and The Westing Game, and we’d all play Settlers of Catan on Fridays and drink hot chocolate and generally be Team Andersen together.
Since pregnancy is out of the question for me, however, the obvious answer to my desire for motherhood is adoption. And that was the plan: “It’s just DNA,” shrugged my husband when I told him I couldn’t help carry on his genes, because he is perfect. I even read about inducing lactation with a breast pump so I could nurse an adopted baby.
Then, a couple of years ago, I got tired. Tired down to my bones and deeper, flu-intense fatigue that lasted for weeks and brought with it full-body pain and stiffness. It hurt to type. I hobbled around like an octogenarian, because every footstep required effort. At the time, I was living in Brooklyn and working at an independent bookstore in Grand Central Terminal (hi Posman’s! I love you!)—my bosses were incredibly understanding, letting me do things like lie down on the buyer’s office floor during lunch, but I still missed a lot of work. And my sick days were unpaid for the most part, so our income took a hit even while my employers scrambled to fill the gap I left when I had to stay home.
My doctor tested for everything: my first bout of exhaustion was in winter, and I turned out to have a pretty serious Vitamin D deficiency. On enormous doses (50,000 IU taken once a week), I bounced back, and thought all was well. But the tired came back, and the pain. I spent most of my wedding reception in fall 2012 sitting down, unable to summon the energy for our first dance to “So This is Love” (YES I’M A SAP SHUT UP.) Finally, my doc diagnosed fibromyalgia, which I still find somewhat embarrassing, as it’s the whitest, middle-aged-ladiest disease possible. It’s also not especially treatable; the gabapentin I was already taking as a mood stabilizer does help with the pain, but mostly I just need to rest.
I managed to rebound for that holiday season—and believe me, December retail at Grand Central is every bit the special level of Hell you think it is—but kept feeling worse through that spring. Eventually my boss persuaded me to take medical leave from the bookstore, during which I received short-term disability, a possibility I didn’t even know existed until she suggested it to me.
Greater action was needed, though. I couldn’t just keep working for a few months and recuperate for a few more—that was unfair to an employer, and hard on us financially. New York City was starting to get to me, the smell, the pace, the constant noise–our apartment was literally next to the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, so my life was never silent. So we packed up ourselves, two cats and a rabbit and moved to my mid-sized hometown in Kansas last June, and lived in my parents’ basement for the next nine months. The new American Dream.
For a while I felt fine—good, even. I started to think it had just been the city, that being in a slower environment was what I’d needed, that I wasn’t even sick. My husband became a rural mail carrier (yes, this is the funniest job in the world for a man born in Stamford, CT, who spent 13 happy years in NYC), and I got a part-time gig as assistant to an insurance agent. It wasn’t a bookstore, but it was all right. I was doing yoga and writing slash fiction (Destiel shippers say hey), and I started roller derby training with the ICT Roller Girls, hotpants and all. After I learned to skate, a crucial step, I planned to adopt the nom de derby Eustacia Violence, because everybody loves a Thomas Hardy pun.
Then there was a day in November where I felt kind of off all day. I skated for two minutes and started shaking and panting from the effort. At first I thought it was the flu, although I had no fever; but as the exhaustion stretched into weeks, and my hands and thighs started aching even after days of rest, I knew that it was the fibro, that it was real, and that I had another chronic disease to add to my list.
I quit my job, unable to put in even 20 hours a week. It took probably a month to recover to a point where I wasn’t in pain, longer to regain the energy to run an errand or hang out with friends. These days I can generally manage to leave the house once a day, if I don’t do anything for hours afterward. I feel, on bad days, like my life has been stolen from me, that I’m a burden to my husband, that I’m worthless as an animal, that I give nothing to the world.
And there’s no way I could care for a child. Just being around my niece and nephew, or my friends’ kids, while fun, tuckers me out after a few hours, and it’s a relief when I can disengage. I couldn’t do this with my own kids, obviously, not without a full-time nanny; I’d be an absent sickly mother from a Victorian novel, and I can’t do it. So I’m not going to. It breaks my heart. It sucks. I don’t know what to else to do.
There are advantages to remaining childless, of course. We can buy a smaller house, in that imaginary future time where we’re financially stable enough to buy a house. We can have married-people snuggle time whenever, since we can ignore the pleas of kitties shut out of the bedroom without it being terrible people. And as my husband said, “If we don’t have kids, I’ll have more time to do the things I want to do.”
(“For my vanity’s sake,” he said when I discussed this essay with him, “make it clear when you quote me that I’m not a man-child.” I assure you, he’s not. He has boyish enthusiasms: terrible movies, reading and drawing comics, endless clicky games of Civ 4. But he works hard to support us, and he takes good care of me. If you’d like a pop-culture analogue, he reminds me of Ben Wyatt. Cute, too.)
I’m shaky about writing this. While I’m open about my illnesses to family and friends and employers (the latter likely to a fault), I’ve never talked about this to strangers, and I’m terrified to put opinions about parenting and mental illness on the Internet, because There Be Flame Wars. There are other women like me out there, though: women who long to have kids, to create tiny experimental people and help them become adults, women who aren’t infertile but have made the conscious decision not to give in to this desire, forced to do so by circumstances beyond their control. Women whose childlessness is not by choice, but by tragedy.
I want to tell them they’re not alone.
Tags: anna andersen, family, health, making a life for yourself the best you can, mental illness, parenting
Eustacia Violence. <3
Handsome Feelings with Sammy and Deano!
This is beautiful. If anyone tries to flame you here, I’ll be first in line with a bucket of ice water.
I have a relative who, like you, wanted children, but whose mental illness also made pregnancy and babies impossible. She has adopted a couple of teenagers out of foster care — not an option that would be everyone’s cup of tea, and certainly one that has its own challenges (And oh man, talk about judgment! People’s eyes go wide when they hear). But it really makes me happy to see her building the life that’s right for her. I hope the same for you, whatever that looks like.
Here to join the bucket brigade. And to say thank you for writing this.
Thanks for writing this. I’m so sorry about your health problems, but I completely understand. I have the early stages of MS and I understand the fatigue and pain all too well. I love your image of the sickly Victorian mother who has taken to her bed. People generally suck (as I’m sure you know all too well, having worked a long time in retail), but I’m sure there will be no flame wars here. Also, your husband sounds like the best.
Thanks for writing this, and I’m sorry that the choice that’s best for you is so painful, and I hope you have lots of nephews and nieces and friend-babies to snuggle and read stories to, although I know that that’s not the same as having one of your own.
I am planning to try and and have children despite my own history of WTF-brain-chemistry and sometimes I worry that I’m being selfish but usually I convince myself that if only paragons reproduced we’d have died out already. This is not meant to imply that I think your decision is wrong–only that in this kind of situation every choice can be painful and uncertain. But I’m really glad you’ve come to peace with your situation. And it sounds like your husband is awesome, and you have kitties, and there is fanfiction in the world!
I’m right here with the ice water alongside thebellewitch. This was beautiful and honest; I applaud you! I think many people who have kids shouldn’t have them, and sometimes the best way to be a parent is to know one’s limitations and not be a parent, if that makes any sense at all. Only you know what’s right for you, and I’m happy for you that you know what that is.
and I can’t do it. So I’m not going to. It breaks my heart. It sucks. I don’t know what to else to do.
Yup, there it is. A choice of sorts, made because it is the best choice in the circumstances. I’m sorry, I know it’s so hard.
If you’re like me, you get a lot of blowback from every corner: from people who don’t know you’ve made this heartbreaking but necessary choice, from people who don’t know about the factors that led you to your decision, or – and for me, this is the crusher – from people in whom you have confided who blithely tell you your difficult choice is an over-reaction and that oh gosh everything will be fiiiiiiiine just go ahead and have the kids and it will all work out somehow.
You made your choice; I respect and appreciate it, and I sympathize with you. One of the hardest things no one ever taught me, so I had to figure out for myself: sometimes the best choice you can make just breaks your damn heart.
I’ve been spectacularly lucky to get zero pushback from relatives, at least–it probably helps that there’s a long history of mental illness in my family, so nearly everyone knows what I’m going through. And hey, when you don’t leave the house much (and sticks to Nice Parts of the Internet, for Nice People), one’s interaction with malicious strangers is kept to a minimum.
Beautifully written, and I’m so happy you have a supporting husband! Going through everything you describe sounds horrible, and I’m glad you have someone to be with you through that.
Also, only somewhat relatedly, screw anyone who says “why not adopt?” as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Financially, emotionally, and ethically it’s a minefield, and people who have never done it, or really thought about it, act like it’s picking up a cabbage patch kid.
Thank you for writing this; it hit me right in the gut.
My mother had (has) severe depression that was untreated until her three children (I’m the oldest) were well into the teens, and it was a rough childhood for us. She was either screaming that she was going to wring our necks and then knock our heads together, or sleeping, and god forbid one of us woke her up; that was when she hit us. I have depression as well and, although I can manage it pretty well, I’m terrified to have kids because I am so scared I will put them through what I went through as a kid.
It’s such a difficult decision and I respect the one you made tremendously. I wish you all the best.
Rough childhood over here, too. Allllll the women in my mother’s family have some form of anxiety. I inherited general anxiety and depression. Most of the men too. Mother’s anxiety led her to be a neglectful parent.
Add to that her choice of husband. He was emotionally/verbally/physically abusive. His dad was emotionally/verbally/physically abusive. And I am just like both of them in personality, temperament, etc. Who wants to guess what kind of parent I would likely be? I decided the abuse cycle ends with me. I remain child-free.
Surviving my childhood makes me think my parents should have been child-free as well.
I like other peoples’ kids. I enjoyed teaching public school and running an inner city day care center. (Not simultaneously. Are you nuts?) I am a good auntie and work to be supportive of others’ parenting. I tell people I love kids; it’s just parenthood I’m rejecting.
You know, I don’t have fibromyalgia or any kind of debilitating physical illness, but I do struggle with depression and borderline personality. I am totally right there with you on being afraid to pass that stuff on to any kids I may have – considering my mother and aunt and grandmother and probably more women in my family stretching back have and are still struggling with it too, it seems likely. I had a week-long stay in a psych unit two months ago after a suicide attempt, and watching my mother deal with it has only reinforced that fear. Not only do I not want to deal with a suicidal or depressed child because it would be incredibly difficult and heartbreaking, I don’t want to subject another human being to it.
So that’s my roundabout way of saying, thanks for writing this and showing me I’m not alone.
Wow. It sounds like you’re doing the damned best you can with the shitty hand you’ve been dealt. Thanks for sharing your story, and making sure we don’t forget the those “whose childlessness is not by choice, but by tragedy.” Powerful
Oh. Oh, this is hard to read, and so, so good. Oof. Thank you so much for writing it- I know I’m going to come back here for comfort.
Thank you for writing this piece; my brother struggles with mental illness as well, and I hope to be the first in line to support his choices regarding parenthood. I don’t know yet whether he’ll ever recover enough to have kids, but hopefully he and I can talk about it honestly if he’s ever in doubt.
Lump in my throat. As someone who understands the choice – thank you for writing this.
I have type II bipolar as well (our meds Venn diagram overlaps!), and I actually couldn’t read this whole thing because it hit too close to home for me, but I wanted you to know that sharing this is an awesome and brave choice. Thank you.
Thank you so much for sharing this with us, Anna. This was deeply honest, funny, and beautifully written, and I appreciate that you were willing to put this out there. I’m sorry you had to make such a heartbreaking choice, and I wish you the best as you move forward. I’ve got depression and some anxiety issues, and I often question whether I would be fit to be a parent (though I’ve got a while before I’ll have to make a decision on that). I already know I’ll be coming back to this piece often in the future.
Also, as a fellow Supernatural fan, “Handsome Feelings with Sammy and Deano” is the best way I’ve ever heard the show described. And your fanfiction with John Donne references sounds amazing (Destiel shipper saying hey!).
Hello, Destiel shipper! WE’RE EVERYWHERE.
No, but seriously, can we be friends? I need more people interested in talking about SPN AND making Thomas Hardy puns.
Yes, absolutely! I have (sadly) yet to read anything by Thomas Hardy, but I love any and all puns, literary or otherwise, and will happily natter on about Supernatural for hours. Also none of my friends are into the show at all, so I only get my fandom fix from browsing tumblr and would definitely like to have someone to actually chat with about it 🙂 If you want to e-mail/gchat/whatever sometime, I’m at jocasta.carr at gmail dot com.
Terrif! You’ll get a sprawling email of some sort if this headache ever goes away.
Hello love, thank you for sharing this. I have a friend who, if she had been older/more in control of her fertility, would not have had a kid for similar reasons. She is doing the best she can but her son has it awfully hard.
I wonder if you have ever read Hilary Mantel’s autobiography? She did not make that choice in the same way you have, but it is a lot about clawing back an identity as a childless woman in the face of lifelong, debilitating illness.
The irony is that people for whom a reasonably-made decision not to have kids trumps a desire to have them are the kind of people the world needs more of.
That’s true, but the nice thing is that just because they’re not passing their genes on doesn’t mean they don’t have influence. Sharing stories like means that more people will have the emotional resources to make decisions that are right for them, even when it’s painful.
Thank you for writing this. I just burst into a huge pile of tears at work reading this because I’m struggling with the same decision myself. It’s nice to know I’m not alone in struggling with this huge decision under the yolk of bipolar & and chronic disease.
yes.
I am not facing the same issues around children, but I completely empathize with feeling robbed by chronic pain. Thank you for writing this.
Everyone, I am so blessedly overwhelmed by the love & tenderness of your comments I can’t even respond yet. Like, I knew The Toast was an exception to the “never read the comments” rule, but I’m so touched I feel dizzy. Thank you all so much for reading.
Thanks so much for sharing this! Please come hang out with us all the time.
I’m an inveterate Toast lurker. Perhaps I will be braver in the future, since, y’know, ALL MY SECRETS ARE OUT.
It may not feel like it, but you have a courage that many only dream of. Beautifully written and I (perhaps naively) hope that you receive only support and love.
Not much to say, other than: thank you for writing this.
Thank you for writing this. There’s a streak of mental illness on both sides of my family, and my chronically depressed dad was in bed for a lot of my childhood. I guess I’m lucky in that I don’t want children anyway, so the choice was already made before my depression and anxiety even began to flourish.
I am in a similar boat with the bipolar and the fibro, and have also decided to not have children due to health concerns. {{Big internet hugs to you}}
This hits me, because I’m afraid it’s going to be me in a few years — as a 26 year old with manageable fibromyalgia and various other chronic illnesses, I’ve already made the decision that I’ll adopt if I am in the position to have a child. Thanks so much for sharing this; it’s hard to talk about (I feel you on the embarrassment of having to say, yeah, it’s fibromyalgia. I normally cringe and I hate that I do that) but it’s important. <3
Yes, the embarrassment! And the embarrassment about the embarrassment. Because, of course, a lot of it stems from fibro being dismissed as imaginary since it largely affects women. So it must be a bunch of delicate hothouse flowers making shit up for attention, right? And as much as I fight that attitude, I also feel such an obligation to be a Strong Female Character that lack of physical stamina makes me feel like a failure as a feminist. Guilt! Shame! They’re the greatest.
Thank you. This was beautifully written, and it made me feel less alone about my non-child-having situation. And it’s the only thing I’ve ever read that did that.
I’m so, so glad.
Why you make me cry so with your piercing of my denial? Lovely piece & well written though 🙂
Please can you be my mentor??? I empathized with 100 percent with this, but also, I am always happy to see someone who has had similar life experiences out there writing and being and living. Thank you!
Why, of course I can mentor you! Lesson One: not getting dressed before noon. Go!
A fellow Kansan and a Dean/Cas shipper? Be still, my heart. <3
In all seriousness, thank you for sharing your story and your experience. Some friends and I talk about this on occasion. I have a small child, and the worst thing in the world for me is seeing my anxiety and moods in his small face — a thing I’d sort of hoped I could pretend away with nurture but have to acknowledge may be wired into his genes.
Anna – this is Paige, I used to hang at WORD sometimes. Hi! This was a really touching essay, thank you for sharing it. And I don’t mean to discount the focus of your piece, but I, too, soothe my (much milder) depression by watching Supernatural. Hearing someone I actually know say they do the same really affected me. There is some kinda magic in that show, I dunno.
Oh hey, I absolutely remember you! *waves frantically* It somehow does not surprise me to learn you like SPN. It really is strange but effective medicine for depression and anxiety.
Also, I really, really need more people to talk about Supernatural AND the novels I’m reading. Right now I have essentially none. SO HELLO LET’S BE FRIENDS.
Yeah! FRIEND TIME I added you on facebook, but I really don’t use it at all, so I’m setting up a twitter account – I’ll message you with the link!
Oh man. I feel you on this. Grew up thinking I would have children to make my awesome parents happy. Then when I started trying at 32, I found myself relieved each month that it didn’t happen. It slowly dawned on me that I was more or less terrified of pregnancy. I was afraid of “losing control” of myself. A year later, SURPRISE! Diagnosed as Type II Biploar. I argued with my shrinks for a long time. Are you sure? I’m not making this up to get attention? Maybe I’m just a worthless, lazy asshole buying into the pharmaceutical industrial complex so I fit into society? They would walk that road with me so patiently and every time it ended in the same place. The evidence was there. Depressed mother, Bipolar I brother. Ten years in psychotherapy with no real progress. Long history of hypomanic phases that I referred to as being “restless”. And when I read about how pregnancy is the most dangerous time in a bipolar woman’s life because of 1) having to quit meds 2) being saturated in hormones and 3) stress of impending child? I realized what my body knew all along- pregnancy was not right for me. I thought about adoption alot. I wasn’t afraid of parenting after all, just pregnancy. But I’ve been through a few rounds of profound depression as a medicated person and I know that it’s coming for me again someday. When I’m in it, all I can do is thank my lucky stars that it’s only me I have to take care of. I don’t regard my childlessness as a tragedy because my body never had that MUST HAVE BABY NOW thing that so many women go through. It’s hard. It’s all hard. I’m rooting for you and your health and your happy life.
Thank you for writing this.
I don’t have any debilitating physical conditions (well, unless you count being a supertaster, which can be worked around) but I do have OCD, and for the longest time after the symptoms started (six years ago this June) I just spent my time waiting for them to magically vanish so I could go on with my life. That didn’t happen. And because the kind of OCD I have manifests as a horrible, pervasive fear of hurting children, the kids question is . . . pretty much moot. I mean, what would I tell them? “Sorry Mommy can’t hug you today; you’d give her a panic attack?” When a friend announced that she was pregnant, I cried and felt horrible about it; it’s a selfish feeling, but it’s hard not to grieve for your own lost opportunities when you’re watching other people get what you wanted so badly.
Oh yes, the stab of regret when a friend announces a pregnancy, followed by the stab of guilt. I know it well.
Another thank you for this article. I suffer from Bipolar I (with psychosis!) and a crippling connective tissue disorder. I desperately want to have kids, but I have made the same choice that you have. After what I’ve experienced, I couldn’t knowingly cause another human suffering, whether from my parenting or from my genes. It’s hard though. I cry a lot sometimes. On one hand it’s good to know I’m not alone, but on the other I wish nobody had to be in this position, us included.
Thank you for sharing your life so openly. I’ve been diagnosed with OCD and depression and similarly a commenter above, am absolutely terrified of hurting anyone else. Thankfully my medicine is doing me well, but I still just don’t know if I’ll ever be strong enough and well enough to have kids. Such a hard and selfless decision on your part. God bless you <3
Wow. First, thank you. I relate to this so much, as married fibro/CFS/depressed married nerd who had to live with her parents in Kansas(City, Mo) for a while and has been making and re-making the have babies/adopt/foster-as-a-wise-and-grey-haired-woman decision for years. I’m not able to be a good aunt, can’t walk my dog even though that’s her favorite thing, not to mention passing this crap on to another human, but I still think, well, maybe I could make it work. I know of a mother my age who had a baby even though she has terrible fibromyalgia symptoms and she gets help from her mother and a nanny, but that kid is practically 100% of her life even with that help and I just don’t think I could do that. I think a lot of women say their kids are their entire lives but I know they don’t literally put all their energy on parenting like this.
Second, I am so mad that in writing such an honest and understandable (for lack of a better word) article, you had to consider the possibility of backlash and flame wars. I’m glad that The Toast exists because I feel like these conversations can happen without knee-jerk wankery, and, again, glad that you wrote this.
These decisions in life are always painful, but you have done the right thing for you and your husband. Take joy in the kids you can spend time with, and look after yourself. Also, I absolutely love “Handsome Feelings with Sammy and Deano”! Your husband sounds like a treat.
I don’t know. Tough choice, for sure … I feel for you and respect your choice a whole lot. But do you think that only normal people with no problems or disabilities or depression have kids? The truth is, no-one is normal. My kids are the reason I try every day.
What if trying every day at your full maximum ability is not enough to get your own teeth brushed? Some of us are exhausted just trying to take care of ourselves. For long stretches there is not enough “try” left in the tank for giving kids the bare minimum, much less the rich environment they deserve.
Some survivors of poor parenting become excellent parents. They know well what NOT to do. Some people fighting emotional illness become excellent parents. They know they need their extremely sturdy network of supportive friends, family, and medical help.
That said, some of us know we are not able to overcome the poor parenting we just barely survived. We know we are unable to give a child what s/he truly needs. Some of us are without that necessary support network, or have not yet built one that is strong enough.
This is particularly true for those of us with the double handicap of surviving a harsh childhood AND fighting chronic emotional illness.
Your success in raising healthy children is not proof that everyone else can. Your children are lucky that they can feel protected. So many kids don’t know that feeling. It’s a profound lifelong deficit.
This is a really beautiful piece of writing; I feel really lucky to have read it and the comments which followed. Thankyou, Anna, and everyone.
Thank you for writing this. I don’t think I could (literally) bear children because the thought of going off medication long enough to safely do so terrifies me, but my partner is also a woman so I wouldn’t necessarily have to take that role. My worry is less about whether I can parent and more about whether the good parts of my genetic material would outweigh the possibility of a child who would also suffer from bipolar disorder.
When we were still talking about adoption, my mother told me she wished she weren’t post-menopausal because she’d be willing to carry a biological child for me. Yeah, I cried.
I’m about to cry right NOW just reading that. Which has been my default position the entire time I’ve been reading the essay and comments. (In a good way. I don’t want kids and don’t know if I ever will, but just, emotions everywhere. Also, I’m bipolar II as well, extensive history in the family, etc. This was all beautiful, even when it was sad, and I’m so glad you seem to have such wonderful people in your life.)
I’m a man in a similar situation. Not the “must go off meds during pregnancy”, obviously, but the rest of it.
When we started discussing having kids, and having me be the primary caregiver, since I do well with children, my wife has never had interest in being a stay-at-home mother, and she has a much, much better career than I do, she told me that we weren’t even going to start until I could maintain the house to a level that would be consistent to having kids.
And I wasn’t able to. I’ve worked on it for years, never managed to get my bipolar II under control enough to give a reasonable shot of raising kids. And I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that it’s just not going to happen. We’re both over forty now. In the plan I had in my head growing up, I’d have had kids in high school by now, an older one looking at college. And that will never happen.
Thank you so much for sharing this.
This is so bravely and beautifully written. Adding to the chorus of thank yous.
Also, thanks Toast community for being the exception to “never read the comments,” because the support for this post is also great.
Hi Anna-
Thank you for writing this- some of it definitely hit home for me. Pardon me if I’m overstepping, but if you’re still reading this, and if you’ve never been evaluated for Lyme Disease, it’s something you might want to check out? Your symptoms sound an awful lot like what I went through in the almost three years it took me to get diagnosed– the trick is to only go to what’s called an “LLMD” (Lyme-literate MD) since about 50% of doctors don’t even think it’s a real thing, and will only do one kind of test that can be really inaccurate, or treat it with only a month of antibiotics (I’m *finally* almost better after being on them for 18 months!). If you want to talk to one, you can email the fine folks at the TBD Alliance at http://tbdalliance.org/diagnosing-tbds/find-a-med… to get a referral in your area.
Again, apologies if I’m overstepping, but I understand how miserable chronic pain is, so just thought I’d throw it out there.
Oh my, thank you so much for writing this and to the Toast for publishing it. No kidding, before I read this I felt very alone. I only suffer from mild depression, but I grew up with a mother with extreme bipolar and anxiety, and my sister also has it but refuses to admit it and take medication. It’s been difficult for me to nagivate their mental illness and not feel like I’m the same as them, but I’m not.
I’m right smack in the middle of my 30’s, where it really is time to make a decision about having kids or not. I lean no, because I worry that I will pass on the genes that run on my side of the family but also because my husband is type II bipolar. He is a great man and has so much to offer to a little human, but I also worry about how he would really deal with all the stress and work that comes with a child. It’s all speculation and guesses as to how everything would really go, I know. But for now we’re both in the “no kids for us” category. And our friends and family don’t understand and are constantly questioning us about when it’s our turn to have some babies. It’s a personal choice and I choose not to explain to them the many reasons behind it. But it gets tiring and it’s been very lonely thinking we’re the only one’s in this situation.
You’re not alone. ::hugs::
Change a few details & you could have been relating my history & situation, including the fantastic-with-kids DH with type II bipolar. (Except, thank goodness, we didn’t get a lot of flack about our failure to spawn. I don’t think anyone was surprised, actually.) I’m 54 now, he’s 52, & we still think wistfully about kids sometimes & we are SURE we made the right decision in not having/adopting any. Just wanted you to know that it will be OK if you don’t either–not perfect, but still good & satisfying & certainly busy enough! 😉
I am so, so glad I could make you feel less lonely. I’m so amazed that sharing my story has actually done things for people. Humbled and awestruck.
You’re absolutely not alone. My husband is 39, I am 36, we are in a very similar situation. It’s really tough, especially when friends are dropping like flies trying / having them etc. But we have made the right decision for us, although it’s something I remind myself of every day.
My partner’s family has such a high incidence of autoimmune disorders (specifically lupus & rheumatoid arthritis) that someone is doing their PhD on them. My family has severe mental illness on both sides (mostly bipolar and major depression). I’m a cripple who uses crutches to walk & takes a cocktail of pain meds every day for a mystery condition. I have a uterus, but it’s possible that it’s trying to kill me (currently under investigation)/completely hostile & I’m on medications which I cannot live without but that could kill any child I tried to have. We’re also a pair of trans/genderqueer lesbians in a state which doesn’t allow same sex couples to adopt, in a country where adoption in general is very rare & tightly controlled (especially if you rule out international adoption, which I have). We both want kids so badly that we cry about it sometimes – we’ve picked out names, we know where we want to go on holidays, we bought a house with room for kids! But the chances of it actually happening? Are very very slim. And even if we found a way to acquire a child (surrogacy via a friend is really our only option, and even that is very tightly controlled here), what if we can’t look after it? What if we try really really hard & someone else decides they don’t think we can look after it & takes it away? Either of those things is terrifyingly possible.
I get very stressed by the parental To Be Or Not To Be debate that rages ever more fervently every year (or so it seems. Is it just because I’m getting older?). I have many friends who are angry at societal pressure to have children (and rightly so! Some of them have been denied medical care becuase of the assumption that they’re going to want kids later), a few friends who think kids are scary & some who just think they’re gross and while I love all these friends dearly & will fight like hell for their right not to have kids, I still feel an awful little flare of anger & jealousy every time I see a “childless by choice” sticker or a “my fur baby ate your honour kid’s homework” tee. Because I don’t have a choice. And because babies are awesome.
I know that flare and send thee empathy. (I’ve been trying to come up with a gesture for this, seriously: I’ll hold up my hand like a saint in an icon, just pushing out acknowledgment of pain I understand out into the world. I think we all need more of that.)
Also, I really hold your uterus doesn’t try to kill you. And I hope I didn’t offend by saying it was “mostly women” who deal with the kids/no kids debate. I always want to be considerate and inclusive, but I’m still very new at the subject of gender identity, and I’m sure I slip up sometimes.
Your article and the comment thread brought a lump of salty water into my throat. But in a way that’s like: oh, there are other people who have faced this, for whom the question of children is vastly more complicated than want/don’t want. It’s something I have been thinking about a lot recently. Thank you, so much.
This was wonderful and brave; thanks so much for sharing!
I’ve decided for a whole variety of reasons that I don’t want children. Most of them involve wanting to frame my life around a career, but I have known from the sixth grade onward that passing on my depression-soaked genetics, let alone whatever godawful, inconsistent and damaging parenting my brain would produce, would be cruel. These are hugely real and important issues for people living with mental illness, and your piece made me, as a 19-year-old wondering whether I’ll even make it to the ‘career’ part without running into trouble, feel less scared.
Borderline personality here. Generalized anxiety disorder. Major depressive disease. Aka Gina. 🙂
I lost 3 babies in an effort to have ‘one of my own.’ I had 3 adopted kids, and seriously didn’t think I could have kids. I had PID in my 20’s from a Copper 7 IUD and had been told I was fairly well scarred from it. Fast forward 20 years or so. Never used birth control, never got pregnant, so I guess they were right. 5 years after adoption, BAM. I’m pregnant. At the worst possible time of my life, a cheating husband, headed for jail for molesting my 3 adopted kids, his was the only source of income, I find myself on welfare with a baby on the way and 3 kids. When I’d see my MH counsellor, I’d never talk about any of it. Until the day he turned himself in. The dam burst. Med mixup time. I did about the same as you, except for lithium, and got extremely addicted to xanax (‘the new mommies little helpers’) ended up in rehab, kids go to foster care (no family in the area) I’m back Christmas Eve, at my cousin’s house opening gifts, and a crazy pizza boy hits my car head on, totaling it. Now I’m a single mom of 4, no car.
And on and on and on. I’m in my late 50’s now, my ‘baby’ is 18 and hates me. Can’t figure out if it’s normal ‘my mom is creepy’ or if she’s had it with my life. Fibro, PTSD, anxiety, depression, all of it.
Be glad you chose to not have kids. If I could go back, I would. And I’d be single living somewhere warm and tropical, Fiji perhaps. I really feel like my mental health issues messed up my kids as much as their father did. It makes me sad. And sick. Good luck.
Oh man, it feels like I wrote this post… write down to the Destiel! I’m 30 years old, have been struggling with depression since I was 12, and recently with daily debilitating headaches caused by intracranial hypertension. I struggle through every day, and it’s not helped by constantly having the child-free by choice discussion with well-meaning friends and family (and strangers, and doctors, and everyone). Nice to know I’m not alone in making this choice!
Thank you so much for writing this. The issue of mental illness and choosing to have children is something I agonize over on a regular basis – my boyfriend wants children so, so, badly, and so do I – my heart gets warm and mushy thinking about raising little versions of me and him. But he has severe bipolar disorder, and I have PTSD and a mood disorder as well. (Not severe enough to be considered full out bipolar, but certainly severe enough to require medication.) The odds of us spawning a child with depression or bipolar are fairly substantial. (up to 75%)
I frequently hear people saying the medication we have nowadays is so much better, that it’ll all work out somehow, that my kid may not inherit it, that if I really want to have a child I should do it no matter what. It’s rare that I get to hear anything from the other side of the fence – that it may not be responsible to give birth to someone when you know that they will suffer more than the average human being. That your illness may make you a less than fit mother. That the difficulties of caring for another mentally ill person while you yourself are mentally ill are not insignificant.
There’s no judgement here, not from me. It doesn’t make you less of a person to not have a child, and it doesn’t make you evil to consciously decide not procreate. I wish the internet had a way to let me send unlimited hugs your way. Thank you for letting me know that I’m not alone – and know that you’re not alone, either.
I know in the light of all you and everyone else have shared that this is extremely petty, but…
I just squealed with glee at the mention of Dealing with Dragons.
I loved that book so dearly that I had to delurk just so that I could compliment your exquisite taste in children’s literature. 🙂
AHHHH IT’S SO GOOD! Totally had a kitty middle-named Cimorene for a while. Wish more people were as obsessed with it as I am, it’s such a great strong-female-character kids’ book, which there still aren’t enough of.
Cimorene the cat! That is so, so perfect.
I know in the light of all you and everyone else have shared that this is extremely petty, but…
I just squealed with glee at the mention of Dealing with Dragons.
I loved that book so dearly that I had to delurk just so that I could compliment your exquisite taste in children's literature. 🙂
I'm the child of a mother with MS and untreated depression, and while my mother did get tired easily and to this day has troubles, I have never felt a lack of parenting ability. It taught me patience, and to be understanding.
I hope everything goes well in your future!
AHHHH IT'S SO GOOD! Totally had a kitty middle-named Cimorene for a while. Wish more people were as obsessed with it as I am, it's such a great strong-female-character kids' book, which there still aren't enough of.
Cimorene the cat! That is so, so perfect.
I am way, way late to this comment thread, but I just want to say: I hear this, and I have so much sympathy for you. I have an older sibling with serious disabilities, who cannot live independently. I've always known that someday I will be his legal guardian, if not his caretaker, and that has strongly affected my decision on whether to have kids (spoiler: no). I think that people who accuse child-free people who are *well aware* of ableism and how it affects the lives of PWD of being ableist are disingenuous to the extreme. Part of my experience with family members with disabilities–some congenital, some brought on by disease–is that I know my own limits and strengths as a caregiver.
Please don’t feel embarrassed about having fibromyalgia! It’s not your punishment for being white, it doesn’t make you uncool in some way, it’s just that you’re unlucky. That’s all. I’m sorry you’re sick.
Thank you, Anna – from another person with relatively recently diagnosed fibro. I can’t normally let myself hold my friends’ babies because part of me feels, viscerally, that I want children, and right now I feel like a child, myself, with the fatigue and the pain. (That, and I’m single, and haven’t even tried dating recently. Amusingly, I logged in to leave a comment here using my blog ID, and I haven’t even kept up with that.)
I feel totally incoherent now in trying to say anything more complex than: really, really, thanks – I needed to hear this story, and I wish you symptom control and mild flares, when they hit.
Thank you, Anna – from another person with relatively recently diagnosed fibro. I can't normally let myself hold my friends' babies because part of me feels, viscerally, that I want children, and right now I feel like a child, myself, with the fatigue and the pain. (That, and I'm single, and haven't even tried dating recently. Amusingly, I logged in to leave a comment here using my blog ID, and I haven't even kept up with that.)
I feel totally incoherent now in trying to say anything more complex than: really, really, thanks – I needed to hear this story, and I wish you symptom control and mild flares, when they hit.
Thank you so much for writing this. I know I’m way late to the discussion, but I just came across this today. I have a disability that would make carrying a pregnancy and caring for a child incredibly painful, dangerous, and difficult. My husband never really wanted children to begin with, so it’s not an issue for him. But it’s been very difficult for me to come to terms with. Especially because my parents are in total denial about it. Despite having to care for me after surgery, having to help me shower and dress when I was at my worst when I was in my early 20s and my peers were all living on their on and having adventures, they just can’t see it. They think because that part is mostly behind me, that I’m “better” and there have been times where they’ve really pushed me about having children. My dad has gone so far as to send random texts asking me where his grandchildren are, saying I have to pass on his DNA. Never mind that I have a hereditary disorder that I wouldn’t want to risk passing on. And it breaks my heart, because I wish I could give them a grandchild. I wish I could be a mom. My other childless friends are childless by choice, so they don’t understand how I feel. And my mom friends are unintentionally smug about their mommyhood. Just knowing there are other women out there going through a similar struggle helps me feel less alone.
Hi there, I’m a recent newcomer to the Toast and I wanted to delurk for this post. This very topic has been on my mind for quite awhile. Both my bf and I have depression and anxiety and I’ve been diagnosed with fibro. I’ve been wondering many of the same things that others have expressed here, and it’s very comforting that I’m not alone, even down to the ‘I’ll be a foster mom when I’m much older” idea.
I think it’s extremely important to know what your limitations and boundaries are. It’s not something that everyone masters, and it’s definitely something to be proud of.
Anna, thank you so much for posting this. I have sent the link to some very close friends ,who know what I struggle with, in an effort to explain what I am going through, not defend it, but simply explain. I’m 31, anorexic, bulimic, possibly bipolar type II, borderline, and the obvious depression & anxiety. I’ve been working on recovery for 14 years, and while I am better than I was back then, I’m just not at a place in my recovery/illness where I can knowingly bring a child into this world. People are shocked. I was a behavior therapist for children with autism for many years, and I have been a Nanny for few years. I love children and I wish I could freely explain why I can’t have my own. Any book recommendations would be appreciated.
Anna, thank you so much for posting this. I have sent the link to some very close friends ,who know what I struggle with, in an effort to explain what I am going through, not defend it, but simply explain. I'm 31, anorexic, bulimic, possibly bipolar type II, borderline, and the obvious depression & anxiety. I've been working on recovery for 14 years, and while I am better than I was back then, I'm just not at a place in my recovery/illness where I can knowingly bring a child into this world. People are shocked. I was a behavior therapist for children with autism for many years, and I have been a Nanny for few years. I love children and I wish I could freely explain why I can't have my own. Any book recommendations would be appreciated.
Thank you for this share. I’m in exactly the same position as you. Everyone around me is having children / trying / getting pregnant and it’s a very hard and lonely time. My husband doesn’t want them and honestly, if we could there is part of me that is just not sure…which makes it a little easier. But until I became (very) unwell I always dreamt of being a mother. It’s taking a while to adjust to a reality that I never envisaged.
Thanks so much for writing this. I’ve been doubtful about having kids for the past 15 years, and I’m 35 now. Have very debilitating rosacea and some other auto immune diseases. basically, it’s so freaky that I can’t spend more than a few hours away from a fan or I’ll be red as a tomatoe and in burning pain, and the other auto immune stuff wears me out so much that our lovely life (partner and me) consists of me sleeping 10 hours a night, working freelance as a writer and traveling a bit and doing some fun things when health allows it. I have been doubting pregnancy for ever, as it is a known worsening trigger for rosacea and mine is already treated by the top professors internationally and treatment has just hit a wall. I can control it to a manageable degree but it flares for all and no reasons whatsoever regardless. Am risking also the onset of lupus and some other illnesses of which the blood levels are already present but not the symptoms. Was told pregnancy is a tirgger for them.
Anyway, it’s been hard, we did try in my late 20’s and had 3 miscarriages very early on, so I’m really done with it. Partner is happy as things are, he is an artist and loves the time he has to achieve the things he wants in our life. I’m still feeling some sadness now and then over our decision. Reading up stories about people who chose to be childfree never really hit home. Because they are healthy usually and can make up for things by having a fab lifestyle. And people who were ‘anti breeding’ but then changed their mind later on and had kids anyway, never had to deal with the health consequences a pregnancy would mean for me. So it’s not an even comparison.
But your article made me feel there are others out there is similar predicaments. Thank you so much for sharing it and it sounds that you have a fabulous husband and such a quirky interesting mind yourself, that it gives me hope for myself actually that being childless is not going to be the end of the world. i especially loved your “I’d be an absent sickly mother from a Victorian novel, and I can’t do it”. I fully agree.
Best wishes Nat