The woman glanced back over at me, peering up through heavy-lidded eyes, drugged in an oxytocin fug. Her blissful state as she gently rocked her tightly-swaddled newborn back and forth in her lap was at odds with the searing words rolling off her tongue, burning into my skin like acid.

Sure, she was smiling – one of those aloof, close-lipped grins reserved for those who know more than their recipient as they impart words of wisdom. Smug.

She could have left it at that. The inference was clear: as a Non-Mum, I hadn’t reached the hallowed gates of True Love Heaven. Yet she continued.

I was still reeling from the bullet of the first statement, which had hit me full-on in the face, square between the eyes, when she reloaded her verbal semi-automatic and took aim for a second time. To put me out of my misery, presumably – which would probably have been kinder in the long run, I think now with hindsight.

I forced myself out of the depths of my mind, which was currently replaying my friend’s last statement on repeat, taunting me like a broken record, and back into the room as I became aware of the sound of her voice starting up again: a continuous, low-level drone, like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. The indecipherable sounds slowly swam back into focus until they became sharp, clear as a bell:

“…as a parent, the world just…I dunno Sam…it just looks different.”

Was there an audible thud in the room as those words tore through my body? I looked around, expecting to see an exit wound, thick red blood spattered up the magnolia walls of my sitting room. Nothing. There’d clearly been no sound, the gunshots must’ve ricocheted off the squishy sofa cushions, I figured, because she continued, oblivious, and the baby never even stirred.

“I mean, people told me how amazing motherhood would be – how life-changing – but I had no idea until this little angel appeared in my life. It’s as though I’ve been blessed, you know? As if my entire life has been building up to this moment. It’s like we’ve known one another forever.”

I’d heard her say that last sentence before, years ago, about a boy she’d been dating for five minutes. I’d laughed it off with an accompanying eyeball roll. She’d ghosted me for a while, to pursue their ‘relationship.’ I’d done the same to her on occasion, to be fair. But this was different. I knew I’d lost her for good this time. I mumbled something incoherent, but it didn’t matter because she wasn’t listening anyway.

“It’s like my life has meaning now. I’ve got a purpose. I know what I’m for.”

She obviously hadn’t gauged my wide-eyed look of horror, recoiling in shock as I slumped back against the soft furnishings, the innocuous surroundings of my home disguising the fact that I felt like I was under siege by this, this stranger sat before me wearing my old mate’s clothes.

I wanted to leap up, turn off the telly (which incidentally was playing some inane daytime show aimed at other women, different women, who, unlike me, also had a “purpose”), and bellow at her: “Do you actually know what you’re doing to me right now?!” Can’t you see the wounds to my heart that your machine-gun volley of verbal shots is causing?!”

But of course, I didn’t. I smiled and drank my tea and made all the acceptable congratulatory noises, rather than the wild-animal wail I wanted to release from deep down in my soul. She was my friend. I wanted her to be happy. I was happy for her. I decided to let her have her moment. But it wasn’t easy. Because ‘her moment’ would last a lifetime.

And mine would never come.

September 10th – 16th is World Childless Week. To find out more go to www.worldchildlessweek.net. This article has been featured here in the Parents section of the Huffington Post UK. 

Sam x

The post You Never Know True Love Until You Have A Child appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

This year has been a rollercoaster for me. As an Aries, I thrive on excitement and adrenaline…but somehow the rush got a little too intense, even for a hyper Type A like me. I realised that I love challenges and change…but that you cannot underestimate the importance of those comforting constants in your life too. You need to feel grounded sometimes.

Being a childless divorcee can feel like a weightless state: on the one hand there’s a sense of freedom and lightness that come from knowing you only have yourself to look after day-to-day. I can live spontaneously, moment-to-moment. If I want to pack a bag and disappear at the drop of a hat, I will. I can (and do!) stay out dancing all night long, without having to pre-plan months in advance – or even make a phone call to say I’ll be late. Whatever!

However, when you don’t have a family you can also feel disconnected, unworthy, insignificant; shut out from a society that values parenting above any other role. Consequently, you’re like a balloon floating on the breeze…and sometimes you get caught on the branch of a tree. You realise you’re not invincible after all; balloons are fragile things.

Recently, I’ve had a series of challenges. It can be easy to think: “What are the chances of this (good thing) happening?” “Surely I won’t win this competition/get picked for this opportunity?” Why bother? What’s the point? Throughout my life, I’ve often defied the odds…but not always in a good way! What are the chances of being infertile? 1 in 7. I am an infertile woman. I defied the odds. What are the chances of IVF working? Well, only 25% on average per cycle…but after 3 cycles 75% of women have succeeded. I had 3 cycles. I did not succeed. Again, I defied the odds. I am now one of the 1.5 women in 10 who don’t have children. What percentage of women experience premature menopause? One in 100. Guess what? It was me. I was the one in 100.

So then I started thinking: “What were the chances of all those statistics going against me?” “How come I fell out of the Unlucky Tree and hit every branch on the way down?” But then I also said to myself: “Hang on. If the odds can go against you in a bad way, surely they can work in your favour too?” What if I start going about my life by trying to do things that I would not have thought possible before?

I started to put myself out there a bit more. Someone nominated me for a blog award, so I filled in the application. I was selected as a finalist…one of a handful of over 4000 entrants. (The awards are next month – wish me luck! .) Then I applied for various opportunities…and have been chosen by brands for lots of partnerships and exciting projects. I’m defying the odds – in a good way!

The point I’m trying to make with this blog is this: life is a game of snakes and ladders. Sometimes you are climbing that ladder, feeling fearless…and then you’re suddenly knocked off course, sliding down the back of a huge snake. Your confidence takes a hit. But just when you think you’re destined to be writhing in the snake pit forever, suddenly you’ll see a chink of light and someone will chuck you a rope ladder. Don’t give up. There will be tons of snakes…but there are just as many ladders. You just have to hang in there and keep playing the game.

When I think to myself: “Why me?” I also think: “Why not me?” And that goes for good things as well as bad. Why shouldn’t I be selected? I used to hear the expression “Your number’s up” as a negative statement: you’ve had it, game over. Now I think of that phrase in terms of being chosen or winning something. (The lottery maybe? That’d be nice.) So maybe this year my number will be up: I might win something; I’ll get chosen; it might be my turn. I’ve defied the odds before, in so many ways.

Perhaps I’ll be in the 1% again.

But this time in a good way.

(As I was writing this it also occurred to me: today is my birthday. I was once a sperm who defied the odds to get to the egg. The chances of that sperm being me were about one in 300 million. If you’re reading this, you’ve already defied the odds. Now get out there and keeping defying them. You got this!)

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (lifeabirdseyeview)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Your Number’s Up! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

If you are a mum, I hope this Sunday brings you all the treats that you deserve, be that a lie-in (depending on the age of your children this may be possible…or as likely as a trip to the moon), flowers, chocolates, breakfast in bed – or maybe a Sunday lunch out with your family. Perhaps even all of the above, if you’re really lucky! It’s your day – make the most of it.

If you’re a childless woman who struggles through Mothers Day with a smile, all the while holding it together and praying the day passes by as quickly as possible, here are a few tips for getting through the day as painlessly as you can:

1. Focus on your own mum

If you’re lucky enough to have your mum around, cherish her. If she’s anything like my amazing mum (aka De Mama) then she probably deserves a medal. None of us know how long we have with our loved ones, but the fact is, we’re all on borrowed time. I’ve been fortunate enough to have two amazing holidays with my mum recently, and have written blogs about both our Costa Rica and Thailand trips. Make memories and capture them. They are far more valuable than buying ‘stuff’.

2. Be kind to yourself

If you don’t have children to buy you flowers on Mother’s Day, why not treat yourself to some? You don’t have to be a mum to be worthy of some beautiful blooms, like these ones from Prestige Flowers. They brighten up your home and your mood. Childless women can feel down in the run-up to occasions like Mother’s Day and Christmas, as well as the big days themselves, as it reminds us of what we don’t have. Allow yourself a short period of reflection, then remind yourself how strong you are and how far you’ve come and slay the day, girlfriend! You are a warrior woman! And warriors deserve treats.

3. Book a trip

It’s not Mother’s Day everywhere in the world! If you’re feeling overwhelmed by sadness at the prospect of Mother’s Day, book a trip to a place where it’s not Mother’s Day at all! Here’s the list of who celebrates when. I know people who have lost mothers or children who do this, and it helps to take their mind off the day’s celebrations back home. Ditto Christmas. Of course, Christmas is Christmas wherever you are, but if you’ve ever had December 25th somewhere hot when you’re from a cold climate or vice versa, you’ll know that it feels so unlike your traditional celebrations that it hardly seems like Christmas at all. I still can’t get over the feeling of spending Christmas Day on the beach in Sydney one year – weird, but fun!

4. Have a Non-Mother’s Day date

Get together with your childless/childfree mates (if you can find some – we’re a rare species) and have an alternative Non-Mother’s Day celebration. If you don’t have non-mum mates, join a group (like mine: The Non Mum Network) and find your tribe! Avoid traditional family eateries as they’ll be full of families and Mums Go Free! offers (ahem, what about us?!). Choose a swanky, family-unfriendly establishment and enjoy the chilled ambience and (uninterrupted!) chat.

5. Stay off social media

You know your newsfeed will be clogged up with proud mummies showing off their gifts and family snaps. In the name of self-preservation, stay away. It’s just one day. Tomorrow those same mums will be back to bemoaning bad behaviour and asking if it’s wine o’clock yet. Count your blessings

That’s it! Whether you’re a mum or a non-mum this Mother’s Day, I wish you a wonderful day filled with love and laughter.

I was lucky enough to be gifted these gorgeous treats from Prestige Flowers which I had sent to my mum for Mother’s Day (don’t worry, I got her my own gift too ). There’s a huge range of flowers available for every budget and preference on their website. Next day delivery is available if ordered before 9pm, there’s a £5 off voucher inside your order, and there’s even a free box of luxury chocolates thrown in at the moment too. Result! My mum was delighted with her early Mother’s Day treats – I’m sure yours will be too.

Oh, and non-mums – go on, treat yourselves!

Sam x

PS – Non-Mums, did you know that there’s a CNBC Magazine, and World Childless Week? I told you we count too!

An abridged version of this article has also appeared at Huffington Post UK here.

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (lifeabirdseyeview)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Celebrating Mums (And Non-Mums) On Mother’s Day appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

Walking Forward Inspirational Network is an informal group, supporting anyone who is an involuntarily childless entrepreneur or business owner, perhaps thinking: “What next?”

If this describes you, join the group here.

Read on for the full interview…

The post My Interview For ‘Walk In Our Shoes’ appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

….’free.’

I know, I know! How silly to let a lovely little fella like Free bother me, when he’s such a gentle little guy, who’s usually greeted warmly and ushered inside: “Oh look who’s here everyone – it’s Free!” Who wouldn’t welcome Free to a party? We all love Freddie Freebie….don’t we? Well, usually, I’d agree. I’m the first one to buy a magazine I have zero interest in because, well, there’s something free on the front….or to rush to join a crowd at the station on my way home from work because a company is dishing out ‘free stuff’ to careworn commuters.

But on this occasion the word ‘free’ was used after another one: child. I am a woman without children. So why would being described as ‘childfree’ bother me? Until now, it hasn’t, really. I preferred it to childless, because I felt that being described as ‘a childless woman’ made me sound like I was lacking; less than. It sounded sad, as though a life without children is a wasted opportunity, when we all know that isn’t the case. If anything, I’ve probably been able to do a lot of things that I wouldn’t have been able to, had I dedicated myself to family life: travel the world, go clubbing regularly (even to this day, in my forties – I know, disgraceful!), be spontaneous, take risks, spend money on frivolities, and so forth.

That’s not to say I didn’t want children, or try my damnedest to get them – quite the opposite, in fact: I was desperate to be a mother. Like any passionate clubber, I wanted to cross the red rope into the plush VIP lounge. But it turned out there was one members-only club I’d never gain access to: the Mum Club. Despite trying everything – including arduous fertility treatment – my name was never added to the guest list; I wasn’t welcome. The door was rudely slammed in my face on each occasion. Eventually I conceded defeat and started my own club, a Facebook group called The Non-Mum Network. It attracted women without children for a whole variety of reasons: some by choice, some by circumstance, some unable to, like myself.

Despite all having that one thing in common, there is one key word that separates us women without kids into two camps: choice. Generally, those that choose not to give birth refer to themselves as ‘childfree,’ whereas those who had their non-mum status thrust upon them without a choice see themselves as ‘childless.’ Some would say it’s a small detail, but nonetheless it’s an important one. Choice is everything. A situation of your own making, rather than one you’ve unwittingly found yourself in, dramatically alters your perception of it. It turns out that childfree and childless are poles apart. Chalk and cheese. Night and day. It’s the difference between choosing to stay in, and being grounded. Choice.

That’s not to say we don’t get along, or respect one another’s situation, because generally, and in my Non-Mum group, at least – we do. We have a lot in common, after all. Yet recently the divide was brought into sharp focus.

Last year I took part in a project with acclaimed British photographer, Denise Felkin. Entitled Mum’s Not The Word, she photographed childless (childfree?!) women, naked and in the foetal position, to highlight the stigma attached to not giving birth. Each woman, including myself here, bravely disrobed and curled up on her own duvet, brought from home and transported to Denise’s Brighton studio, to represent women without children everywhere – a section of society largely ignored and disregarded in a family-centric world. Each gave her reason for not being a mother, captioned alongside her photograph. Well, pregnant women are often photographed naked, I figured, so why not us? We deserve a voice too, and what better way to be represented honestly than naked – tastefully of course – in all our vulnerable glory? Parents or not, we’re all just human at the end of the day; mere mortals. Being naked illustrates that point perfectly. It is a powerful image which has seen Denise nominated for multiple awards, and which has divided public opinion: are the women childless, or childfree? Since Denise appeared on the BBC about her project last week, the light discussion has become a war of words…

Having largely overcome my sorrow around not being a mother and (I thought) fully accepted the situation, I’d shrugged off my childless chrysalis and started to view myself as a childfree butterfly. Yet the furious response from those childfree-by-choice to the Mum’s Not The Word project sometimes being described by the media as representing ‘childless women’ made me realise I’m not one of them. I’m actually not childfree at all. I never will be, not really. I didn’t choose this life, although I’m determined to make the most of it. Our outlooks are entirely different. I will always be a bit childless. And they will always be proudly waving the childfree banner. I can see how being described as ‘childless’ has negative connotations, yet to describe myself as childfree would be to deny the fact that I did actually want children. We are not the same. So what was originally one artist’s striking use of imagery around parenthood vs non-parenthood, has morphed into a fierce debate about whether women without children should be referred to as childless or childfree. And that is the beauty of thought-provoking art.

I take my hat (and the rest of my clothes) off to you, Denise. Job done.

Childless or Childfree? Denise herself says: “I am forty-eight and childfree. I do not want or have never wanted children. I have had a few pregnancy scares in my life. Each time I prayed to the universe it would not happen to me. Thankfully the result always came back negative. I am now too old to reproduce. The wish I made in my younger years is almost true. Occasionally I question myself if I made the right decision? Am I infertile? How would a child have changed my life? How would having a child have affected my career as an artist? Why would I want to bring a child into a world of uncertainty? Mum’s Not The Word is a photographic project which debates the social stigmatisation of women, whom by choice or for medical reasons, friction against the instinct of childbirth and maternal productivity. The project brings together images of the female form, positioned in the foetus position, in reverse. I choose foetus shaped bodies to connect the typologies and to represent divisions of women’s experience between the female reproductive system and menopause. I photograph women of an array of ages, skin tones, body shapes, to document the attitude towards the negative position of the foetus within society today.” 

Are you a woman without children? Are you childless or childfree? I’d love to hear your opinions on this. 

This article has also appeared on the front page of the Huffington Post UK here.

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post The Four-letter Word that Changes Everything appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

So not me, then: a straight, white, working-class, able-bodied woman?

If you see me walking down the street, dressed up to the nines to meet my friends for a night out, or on my way to work, you’d be forgiven for assuming I was the epitome of Western privilege, and in many ways I am: educated; employed; financially independent; a homeowner, albeit mortgaged – although otherwise debt-free.

Yet despite appearances, I am part of a minority group. Allow me to explain….

84% of the population reproduce
87% of women become mothers
1 in 8 couples have infertility issues
1/3 of those cases are male factor, 1/3 female, 1/3 unexplained
11% of women have fertility issues
Fewer than 3% of those require ivf
IVF has around a 25% success rate each cycle, meaning 75% of all IVF cycles fail
I had 3 failed IVF cycles
That puts me in the less than 1% of the general population who remain infertile and childless as a result of failed ivf.

So let me ask that again. Do you still think I’m not part of a minority, discriminated against accordingly?

Before you get the violins out to play the soundtrack to the world’s worst-attended pity party, the reason for this article is simply to raise awareness for the upcoming World Childless Week. Society is geared towards family life, since that is the accepted norm: the average British woman has 1.9 children. Those who do not fit this accepted status are often viewed with suspicion: seen as less nurturing and caring, more narcissistic. Selfish.

Sociologist Louis Wirth defined a minority group as: “a group of people who, because of their physical or cultural characteristics, are singled out from the others in the society in which they live for differential and unequal treatment, and who therefore regard themselves as objects of collective discrimination.”

I regularly experience discrimination, prejudice, lack of empathy and understanding, a “them and us” attitude from many parents, and general social ostracisation. This is despite the fact that, like many of those belonging to minorities, I attempted to conform. I longed to be Mrs Average; to fit in. I tried my hardest to join the 8 in 10 women who are mothers. I wanted to chat about buggy brands and breastfeeding with my besties, not sit squirming on the sidelines whilst everyone discusses potty training, or how to get their offspring to eat vegetables.

People are attracted to those they have something in common with, so it stands to reason that parents seek out other parents – not least for validation and reassurance. Attempts by childless women to contribute to conversations about child-rearing are generally met with dismissal and disdain (it’s understandable – what would I know about the reality of sleepless nights and toddler tantrums?). It’s inevitable that even the strongest and longest of friendships are altered forever when one party becomes a parent.

Later, the conversation shifts to schools, exam results, puberty and boyfriends. Their children are becoming adults. The next stage in this lifelong test will be my friends becoming proud grandparents, and the entire cycle of social exclusion will start again.

Of course, I’m fully aware that compared to those from other minorities, I could be considered one of the lucky ones. My minority group membership is invisible (initially at least, until I get asked those dreaded questions: “so, how old are yours then? Boys or girls?”). I won’t get called a “freak” or have racial abuse hurled at me in the street. But on the flip side, nor will I receive any concessions or allowances based on the fact I’m from a minority group, since it’s not obvious that I’m part of one. Contrary to appearances, I DO know how it feels to be excluded; to be eyed with suspicion, curiosity or disapproval; to be made to feel “less than.” We are not as different as you might think.

So next time you see me in the street, remember: there’s always more to any situation than meets the eye – even for a privileged white, middle-aged woman like me…

Are you a Non-Mum like myself? Would you like to join like-minded women to discuss everything Non-Mum-related? Join my club, The Non-Mum Network here. If you would prefer to chat privately, you can email me at sam@lifeabirdseyeview.com.

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Minority Report: Them and (a much smaller) ‘Us’ appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

And lo, thanks to the almighty combined superpowers of Messrs Hashtag and Keyword, those marvellously mystical Twitter algorithms brought us together. Ahhh. It was a match made in digital heaven: I welcomed her into my Non-Mum club and in return immediately signed up to feature in her project. Naked. <Gulp>.

Are you out of your tiny mind, I asked myself? (especially since the rest of me is not quite so tiny). Why would you want to do such a thing? Well, as a childless woman I feel we are underrepresented (and often misunderstood) by society, who regard us on the whole as witches, freaks or cold-hearted cat-ladies. I fully support any initiative that seeks to tell our stories, to push back against prejudice, smash stereotypes and simply depict us as we are: human; complex; flawed – with a back-story, just like anyone else.

Time flew by, as it has a habit of doing; before I knew it I was sitting in the passenger seat of Andy’s car as he whisked us to Brighton for the Sunday morning shoot – shaved, plucked and buffed to within an inch of my life, liberally marinated in self-tan; practising sucking in my tummy without looking like a constipated warthog in the wing mirror.

At the point of setting the date for the shoot I’d started an internal dialogue, attempting to convince my sceptical inner self that we’d be eating nothing but mung beans and courgetti spaghetti in the run-up – the outcome being that I’d regularly be mistaken for Elsa Hosk or some other sylph-like Victoria’s Secret model in the photos. No need to fret about my (Non) Mum Tum or dimpled thighs. Sorted.

Of course we both knew, my inner voice and I, that this game plan was more BS than VS. I was spinning a yarn in my head; I had zero intention of sweating it out at a spin class or sitting at home of an evening farting about spiralising veg. I’d rather gouge my own eyes out with the complimentary chopsticks than exist on vegan bento boxes. It was never gonna happen. Sure enough, the pre-naked-photoshoot “diet” consisted of my usual calorie-laden carbs washed down with prosecco…but on the morning of the shoot I skipped breakfast. Yep, that should do it.

Denise greeted us at the door to her studio in the hippy haven of Brighton and we set about prepping for the money shot. As the women in the sequence must all be photographed in the same way – curled in the reverse foetal position on a bed, shot from above – it was vital that everything was just so. Denise has been working on the series for two years now, gradually expanding her portfolio of images of childless women. I’m number 17 in the sequence, with her target being 66, so there’s a fair way to go. It’s a work in progress; already exhibited at Somerset House in London as well as in Cologne; nominated for a Sony World Photography Award amongst many others and has attracted tons of media attention. Denise, herself a childless woman aged 49, says: “Mum’s Not The Word brings together images of the female form, positioned in the foetal position, in reverse. The foetus is representational of an intimate and introspective metaphysical investigation. It is a posture that relates to the female as reproducer and acts as a metaphor for the seed within and the world without.”

To further personalise the piece, each woman involved brings her own duvet cover, something which I found comfortingly familiar as I disrobed and got into position on the bed. The camera clicked; Denise busied herself around me, arranging my hair, the mattress and the bedding, giving me directions as to the exact positioning of my hands and feet. Andy assisted with lighting; he enjoyed being involved in “creating art” as he put it. A few minor issues with annoying shadows and ugly creases (on the bedcovers, not me, fortunately)….and then we were done!

I got dressed and we gathered around excitedly to check out the photographs on Denise’s laptop. Sure, I had my rounded belly and the VS girls wouldn’t be out of a job anytime soon, but I felt empowered, elated. I was proud of myself; finally accepting of my body and forgiving it for the fact that I’ll never be a mother. I looked perfectly imperfect – refreshing in today’s world of photoshop, airbrushing and adding filters.

The figure in the picture is strong; real; vulnerable; at peace. The figure in the picture is me. Each image in the series is briefly captioned with the subject’s story in her own words. We represent a growing number of women who aren’t mothers for various reasons, but are still valid members of society with a lot to offer; we don’t want to remain invisible.

I may be a Non, but I’m not Anon.

If you’re a Non-Mum interested in taking part in Denise Felkin’s project Mum’s Not The Word or you know someone who may be, please share this blog post with them or contact Denise directly at denisefelkin@hotmail.com. You can also follow her on Twitter and join the Mum’s Not The Word Facebook group. 

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Mum’s Not The Word appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

G’Day Birds Eye Viewers!How are you all on this dull February morning?Now, those of you who know me personally and not just via the blog will already know that I’m something of a motormouth. I have a tendency towards being pretty full on: turbo-charged and as nutty as a tray of Ferrero’s at the Ambassador’s Reception. Some of you may remember my previous podcast recorded with Washington DC-based podcasters Sip And Shine.

Trying to get a word in edgeways when I’m on one is no mean feat…as Mike Douglas, creator of the mental health podcast Mike’s Open Journal, was about to find out, when he invited me onto his show to talk about my experiences with mental health issues, specifically in relation to infertility, IVF and marriage breakdown, as described in this blog post…

                              
Having had his own experience of mental health issues and also a marriage breakdown and no children, Mike and I have plenty in common. Unfortunately what we don’t have in common is the same calm and controlled style of speech, so listening to Mike’s even and lilting tone will be soothing and easy to listen to; my own hyper and breathless babbling…not so much.

I wonder which one’s me…? photo credit

So apologies for the frantic pace of my chatter – oh, and the fact that I sound like Pat Butcher from Eastenders…and say “yeah” a thousand times. Believe it or not, despite the mile-a-minute rambling, I actually don’t like the sound of my own voice that much. Let’s just say I make Bianca Jackson sound posh.

Anyway, thanks for listening! I hope I don’t send your blood pressure soaring and you can listen with a nice cuppa, and not require a vodka and a fistful of statins to get through the hour-long episode….

 To listen to the podcast click here




Listen to Mike’s other episodes 
Follow Mike’s Open Journal on Twitter

Who, me? I don’t know what you mean… photo credit

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post I’m a guest on Mike’s Open Journal Podcast appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

There are two halves to most women’s lives, clearly divided: BC (Before Children) and AD (After Delivery). As was the case with Jesus (should you be religiously inclined), welcoming a child into your life causes time to start all over again. Such is the significance. For most, as soon as that second faint blue line appears on the pregnancy test, there comes a complete mental shift in attitude, long before any physical changes are apparent. The carefree, party-til-dawn kinda girl is immediately replaced by a responsible vision of virtue, much like the revered Virgin Mary herself.

Whether the newly-discovered foetus in her womb was the result of a drunken quickie or carefully-planned conception, it makes little difference once the nurturing instinct kicks in. No sooner has the pee dried on the plastic stick than she’s tossing that half-empty bottle of Malbec in the wheelie bin and snapping up the Marlboro Lights in disgust. The devil’s horns of yesterday’s vices are discarded along with the duck liver pate in the fridge, cast aside with the blue cheese and the sushi. Out comes the halo and the wholesome holistic lifestyle. Mung-beans and muesli are on the mummy-to-be menu. For now she is about to enter Life: Part 2.
Shit’s about to get real.

Of course, she always knew this day would come. Usually, it’s a welcome relief. As much as she loved the clubbing circuit and hectic social scene, she was secretly growing a little tired of the accompanying hangovers, the wasted Sundays (in both senses of the word). Now she can decline the invites with a simple sage pat of the tum, without the insistence that “you simply MUST come!”

photo credit

But what about the 1 in 5 women for whom this joyous day never arrives? Those of us who went from dreading a positive test in our younger years, to positively yearning for one later on? Those of us who end up in all manner of awkward positions, mentally and physically, as a steady stream of health professionals peer, prod and poke our vulnerably exposed bodies, shaking their heads forlornly. As the realisation dawns after yet another failed fertility treatment that the day will now never come. What then?

Well, we smile and congratulate every friend, colleague and female relative as they make their announcements, beaming with happiness. We dutifully attend baby showers proffering gifts of baby clothes and toys (or hand over the ones we’d previously bought for ourselves, for our own future families). At this stage, we are still able to contribute to the constant baby-related babble; ironically, having been through years of fertility procedures and spent countless hours researching online, we know more about the subject that most actual mothers.

Later, we hold the gurgling new arrival in our arms, hoping that the mother doesn’t catch sight of the tears we’re fighting to quell. She never does; she’s in a drug-fuelled fug of love hormones, intoxicated by oxytocin.

me with my newborn nephew, baby Hayden

And that’s the tough part.Whilst all our friends are now knee-deep in nappies, busily planning play-dates and lunches with like-minded mummies, us Non-Mums are left smiling along, standing awkwardly on the sidelines of society, our existence barely acknowledged. It feels as though we’re driving the wrong way down the motorway of life.

Everywhere we look we’re reminded of the ease of procreation: in the creche-like coffee shops on our lunch breaks or the many Baby On Board badges on the morning commute, those lucky ladies cheerfully counting down the days until they can wave goodbye to the office politics and welcome their Mini-Me.

Even the single-cell amoebas posing as guests on The Jeremy Kyle Show are reproducing like rabbits. That’s Darwin’s Theory disproved right there. Maybe he meant survival of the fattest, not fittest.

Henceforth follows years of carefully deflecting the endless enquiries of well-meaning strangers:
“So, how many do you have?…..How old are your kids?” ….”Oh, did you not want any?”
Questions that are hard to answer without either choking up, getting into a full medical history or simply sounding rude.

Suddenly, around the late thirties mark, the interrogation mercifully stops, as people become aware they’re now in dangerous waters with those fishing questions. The relief is short-lived, however, as it becomes apparent that the inquisitive look in their eyes has been replaced by something far worse. Pity. Sometimes, other women hint at selfishness : a shallow personality explaining the lack of children. Okay, so I have my nails done and go on holiday from time to time….wanna swap?

It takes time to accept the life unexpected. To move on. Allow yourself to mourn the family you’ve lost; just because there’s no body doesn’t mean there’s no bereavement.

Life has given us lemons, so we’ve made lemonade…and then found ourselves with no-one to serve it to.

So we add ice and vodka.

And rejoin the party.

This post has also appeared on the front page of The Huffington Post UK and at IVF Babble. 

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Behind The Smile….by Anon (A Non-Mother, that is) appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

When the long-awaited day finally comes for you to stand before your beaming congregation of family and friends, feeling lighter than air, wearing the most expensive dress you’ll ever own and full of hope and optimism for the future, it’s easy to repeat those solemn vows. The hard part, as I was to discover, is keeping them.

As my new husband and I turned to each other, rings exchanged, smiling as the hot Ibizan sun dropped down behind the sprawling hills of Santa Eulalia, neither of us had even the slightest inkling of the fate that was about to befall us. Having been together for the previous seven years, we knew each other inside out – our strengths, weaknesses, similarities and glaring differences, and had decided that yes, this was my forever partner.

We weren’t perfect (who is?) but we were perfect for each other: a young working-class couple sharing a love of travel, clubbing and all things fun. Of course we’d faced challenges, such as the untimely passing of Liam’s father a few years previously, but had come through it closer than ever.

Little did we know as the cameras flashed, the champagne flowed and we danced into the early hours, that our vows would soon be tested to the limit…

Like most couples, we intended to follow that well-trodden path: love, house, engagement, marriage, children. It’s human nature to yearn for a partner, someone to share our lives with….then the irrepressible desire to reproduce kicks in and the rest is history….isn’t it?

After a few more years of working, holidaying and partying we looked up through the fog of our Sunday morning hangovers and realised that our friends were gradually dropping off the radar, having been struck down with that lifelong disease that is as yet incurable – parenthood.

A fate worse than death, since they are still standing in front of you but their eyes have glazed over zombie-like; sure, they look the same, they sound the same, but they are lost to this condition and one glimpse of them clutching the fruit of their loins in a loved-up fug of oxytocin and you know that your friend, and your friendship, will never be the same again.

It would be easier to accept in many ways if you never saw them again, such is the torment of seeing your buddy in this state – still present, but knowing that your relationship is changed forever. The first time this happened it took my breath away.

We trotted round to visit our fun-loving, clubbing mates, bottle of bubbly in hand, hoping they’d introduce us to their first little bundle of joy…then we could bundle it off to bed and have a party. Not so! Once a baby has been dispelled from the body, a large portion of that woman’s personality is lost with the placenta, chucked in the hospital incinerator with the afterbirth, never to be seen again. Did she have a baby or a lobotomy? I wondered.

As we made our way home, sober and sobered by the experience of our lost pals, I consoled myself with the knowledge that soon I too would have a personality bypass as I passed a sproglet.

Only it never happened.

Baby after bouncing baby claimed the fun-loving friends I’d shared so much with, until there were more babies than bird-mates left. It was an epidemic. Except I seemed to be immune from catching this particular contagion. It was like being the only remaining survivor after the apocalypse. I could empathise with Will Smith in I Am Legend.

Years passed and soon I was the only female left on the face of the Earth not pushing a pram and discussing breastfeeding versus bottle or little Johnny’s sleeping patterns. Or so it felt. Friends dropped like flies, and I hung around the sidelines, hoping their abundance of hormones would somehow perk up my progesterone, awaken my barren womb.

Reluctantly we surrendered and called in the big guns. The St Barts fertility doctors performed every humiliatingly invasive procedure they could think of (plus a few more seemingly thrown in just for their own amusement), before 3 agonising rounds of IVF. Eventually they gave up on my flat-lining embryos with a sigh, visibly frustrated as they downed tools that my faulty Fallopians had messed up their 25% live birth rate success stats

The decision to stop was far, far harder than the decision to start. Starting something, whilst scary as you step into the unknown, is accompanied by optimism, excitement, anticipation. Stopping is an admission of failure. It’s final.

Henceforth followed the demise of my marriage – two painful years of gradual decline into the irretrievable abyss. Sadness, resentment, despair are not emotions conducive to a happy marriage, it turned out.


“For better, for worse, in sickness and health, ’til death us do part….”

The words echoed around our empty big house until they became deafening and the walls began closing in. Tears flowing, we divided up the accumulated belongings of our 15 year union….and said goodbye.

The following year was the worst of my life. I’d never lived alone before and suddenly here I was, 37 years old, single, sad, alone. My friends and family were very supportive, but everyone ultimately has their own busy lives to take care of and, like a baby (ironically), I had to learn to self-soothe.

Somehow I’d been performing really well at work throughout and had recently been promoted to regional manager, responsible for running 18 London shops. Inside, though, I was dying. I recalled something I’d read, that ‘suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem’ and tried to tell myself that ‘this too shall pass.’

Miraculously, after a tumultuous year of reckless self-wrecking, it did.

I took the decision to resign from my draining management role and fled to Thailand for a month of reflection. The intention to sit navel-gazing in the sunshine, taking yoga lessons and finding inner peace didn’t quite materialise, however, as I soon reverted to type and hit the Full Moon Party (Full Moon, Half Moon, Black Moon, I wasn’t fussy) but slowly, once the aftermath of the Sangsom buckets had worn off, I started to feel better..

Little by little, with each gradual change in the colour of my skin came a subtle change on the inside too. It was like the sun was warming my soul as well as my bones.

Without wanting to sound too hippy-dippy, I would say I experienced an epiphany, alone on those beaches sipping cocktails and seeing the most breathtaking scenery. I became aware of both my tiny insignificance in the great scheme of things as well as the enormity of the importance of my outlook.

Gradually, my bitterness faded, my great sense of loss and injustice subtly being replaced with….well, gratitude I guess.

I started to see my situation differently. Before, when well-meaning mates had pointed out all the good things in my life in a vain attempt to make me realise how lucky I was, I would angrily shut them down. It dawned on my that only when you are ready to start to open up and see the world through grateful eyes can you truly start to move on.

I re-watched The Secret, which if you don’t already know, is a self-help film (and book) which works on the law of attraction, the theory being that positive thinking can create life-changing improvements in health, wealth and happiness.

I started to actually believe that things would be ok. And they were.

Today I have finally moved on.

To quote Elsa from THAT Disney movie, I’ve ‘Let It Go.’
(One perk of not having kids is that I’ve never had to sit through that bloody film, for a start!)

And there are lots of other perks, it turns out. I can go out on a bender on a whim, buy whatever I like without even the most fleeting feeling of guilt, and the house that once felt eerily silent is now a peaceful haven that I share with my partner, Andy – a fun-loving fella who I jokingly refer to as ‘the child I never had.’

So if life is getting you down and you feel like there’s no way out of a particular situation, I’m here to tell you that whilst the situation may not change (infertility for example, is pretty permanent), your attitude to it can.

There’s nothing worse than someone else preaching about positivity if you’re feeling down so I won’t prattle on any further, but keep in mind that when you’re ready the world will tilt on its axis and your entire perception of it will change. Then you will truly know that you can find peace and be happy.

Let It Go.

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Let It Go appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.