When I found out I was infertile

In March 2015, Meghan Daum published a book called “Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed,” a book sarcastically titled for those women who find themselves perceived in these ways for their “nonproductive” choice. Thinking about the politics of this title as well as the prevalence of straightforward, mainstream, repetitive articles (like this one from Mic) about non-bearing women’s reasoning made me think that maybe it’s not the inspiration for not having children that’s hard to understand.

The reasons for that choice are simple and (more and more) common. What’s harder to deal with are the repercussions for that choice: the way these labels – selfish, shallow, self-absorbed, unfeminine, manly, impotent, damaged, troubled, unfruitful, etc, etc, – influence women’s opportunities and relationships.

To talk specifically about the relationship between womanhood and childbearing, I reached out to a friend whose recent realization of her own infertility has sparked a lot of interesting personal conversation about gender expectation and fulfillment.

Ann Bryan is a Columbia junior from Virginia. She lives in New York and studies Creative Writing. In her spare time, Annie enjoys sorority life, writing projects, and goofing with her friends and girlfriend.

Find her much-appreciated words below.

What’s hard about the idea of not having kids?

In some ways, I was disappointed. I see myself as a motherly person. I always assumed I would have kids. When I got to college and started accepting my bisexuality, I realized that I had only suppressed my attraction to women because I wanted to have the ideal “successful” life as it is depicted in my Virginia hometown: where most people are wealthy, white, in a heterosexual and traditional marriage, with similarly able children. I do not see that lifestyle as being wrong in any way, and it was the exact lifestyle that allowed me to have a very happy childhood – but coming out helped me re-evaluate which parts of that lifestyle were fit for me. I assumed I would still have children, but likely would want to adopt if I ended up with a female life partner.

When I found out I was infertile, I was undoubtedly sad. I just felt that I was way too young to be processing any of these factors that may never even become wholly relevant in my life path.

How do you feel about your own prospects of motherhood?

The fact of the matter is that I still don’t have any good answers to these questions. I have spoken with friends and family about my thought processes and options over and over again. As of right now, I assume that I will either have no children or will adopt a child because I like the concept of providing a loving home to someone who has already been given as a gift to this planet (and who might not otherwise have the same resources I can provide them).

Annie and her mom

How do you experience the intersection of motherhood with your other identities?

My perception of my role as a likely future wife and mother changed when I came out, but changed much more when I was confronted with the news of my infertility.

Annie and her girlfriend

How does this play out in the way people treat you?

I’ve gotten into conversations with very traditionally religious cab drivers who told me my infertility was God’s punishment for my queerness, that the blessing of fertility shouldn’t be wasted on gay women anyway. I’ve had strange men (who knew of my bisexuality but not my infertility) follow me to work, saying they’ll “fuck me until I like dick” and “rape me straight”.

What is the “typical” reaction when you talk to people about these things?

It seems to me like most people that I tell about my infertility pity me. Which I definitely appreciate since i know comes from good intentions and sincere empathy, and sometimes that reaction is a direct result of the way I tell people – usually I can’t hide that it was a disappointment at the time and still is something I’m not wholly mentally at peace with. I don’t blame people for reacting with pity at first, I would too – but I think it’s telling that there’s an association between having kids and being a successful adult woman. People say they’re sorry for me because they know that must be a disappointment, missing out on some essential part of womanhood.

The experience Annie shares relating her experience of gender and the expectation of mothering show that people who expect women to fill the motherly, wifely role perpetrate not only unreasonable expectation but also cruelty and disparagement.

Personally, I’m not sure I want to have kids for nearly all the reasons listed in the M article above. With that expectation comes guilt, fear that there’s something wrong with me psychologically, fear that I will be undesirable to future partners because of “coldness” or the incompatibility of my idea of family and love with their own.

Decoupling the expectation surrounding “adult woman” and “mother” opens complex avenues of agency and identity for women, and might make things easier for people like Ann whose lives have been altered so by nature.

The expectation that women will be biological mothers and inherently mothering creatures reduces womanhood to an infinitely limited social and familial role. Unexpected variables that prevent motherhood make life complicated, unique, challenging, difficult and sometimes rewarding – be they chosen or, as in Annie’s case, biologically determined. Those who do have the choice of motherhood should be afforded the right to keep it just that–a choice – and be recognized for what they are as women: so much more than child-bearers.