(Picture: Virgin Miri/ Metro.co.uk)

Why I didn’t have children is unimportant here (although this #FertilityMonth piece will fill you in). No, what’s important right now is The Next Bit.

What’s deceptive about The Next Bit is how natural it sounds. There’s this bit – and then there’s the next bit. Simple, yeah? Organic, right? Just happens, yes?

No. I have to tell you, The Next Bit has kept me consumed with grief for almost a decade and full of sertraline for almost two years.

I’ve seen my parents die, been around alcoholism and violence, held and wept over my brilliant uncle as he died last year, and have had untold misery from many ‘not for your eyes’ sources (as my friend Gemma said: ‘Well done on having a life so shit you made money out of it’) but this – not having a baby – is easily the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Easily.




Because it is so fucking hard to bear and move on from.

It’s not just – ‘just’ – the visceral pain of not having had a child (I feel that physical/soul/heart ache every day, and dream about babies – holding their warm, chubby bodies – almost every night) but everything else that that loss means.

It means you have no lineage (no Little Bibi – which, actually, was my name because Mum was Bibi too) and no place in society. It seems.

In the world of #AsAMother and ‘hardworking families’, you mean fuck all.

Bibi says not having a baby is ‘easily’ the worst thing that has ever happened to her (Picture: Bibi Lynch)

Ask our Minister of State at the Department of Energy and Climate Change, Ms Andrea Leadsom.

According to Loathsome (not my joke), I don’t have a ‘tangible stake in the future’ because I don’t have kids.

And, according to a Daily Mail comment man, ‘You can’t put “woman” on your passport if you haven’t given birth.’ Ironic he’s talking about c*nts, isn’t it?

In 2018, the world is still worshipping at the altar of parenthood – and this pronatalism is devastating for women and men like me.

Here’s Beyoncé being terribly helpful… ‘[It was] the most beautiful experience of my life. It was amazing. I felt like God was giving me a chance to assist in a miracle. You’re playing a part in a much bigger show. And that’s what life is. It’s the greatest show on Earth,’ she said.

Getting over not having had kids when you wanted to have kids is tough. Unimaginably painful and tough. But is it do-able?

As very much a (piece of) work in progress, I’m going to say: ‘Yes, with all my shattered heart I HOPE you can get over not having children.’ Because what’s the alternative? A ‘life’ surviving grief?

Jody Day, a world thought leader on female involuntary childlessness; founder of Gateway Women, the global friendship and support network for childless women; and author of Living the Life Unexpected: 12 Weeks to Your Plan B for a Meaningful and Fulfilling Future Without Children (2016: Bluebird/PanMacmillan) is certain life isn’t over for the unhappily childless. (No, I’m never going to describe myself as ‘childfree’.)



The inspirational Jody tells us: ‘It is absolutely possible to get over not having children when you wanted them. It’s not easy, but it is possible.

‘However, when you are in the throes of grieving this loss – and yes, it is a form of grief akin to bereavement – even thinking this or having it suggested to you can feel like a form of betrayal. It’s a bit like saying to someone who’s lost their mother: “Don’t worry. You’ll get over it!”

‘I guess you never completely “get over it” – it’s not the flu – but you can heal your heart around that loss and live a full life again. For me, my childlessness is a scar on my heart – one that can still be touched by a poignant moment between parents and children, or hurt by a parent’s assumption that I have no empathy or understanding for children because I’m not a mother.

‘Or that I have no voice or stake in the future of our world. My childlessness is a lifelong emotional, social and identity loss that will always be with me – the triggers don’t go away, but thankfully they get easier to cope with.

‘For a long time I was incapable of believing I would ever recover fully from the devastation of childlessness. I thought the best I could hope for was to be one of the “walking wounded”. In fact, so much did I believe this that as I began to come out the other end of my grieving process, I didn’t trust it. I kept thinking: “Maybe this is just a good patch”.


‘But as the “good patch” continued and my recovery deepened, and I began to take joy in my present and have hopes for the future again, something strange happened: I felt guilty; I felt like a fraud. I thought: “Maybe I didn’t really want children if I’ve been able to recover from this…”

‘I came to understand that this is perhaps the childless version of “survivors’ grief”. And also that letting go of the last part of my grief came with its own bittersweet sadness, too – because that grief was a tangible and poignant connection to the love I had for the children I never met.

‘Being a grieving childless woman had become my whole identity and I wasn’t sure who this new version of me was. It wasn’t easy to step into my happy childless future; I didn’t trust it or understand it at first.’

So how did Jody do it? How did Jody move on, move forward, just move?

Jody: ‘There’s only one way to recover from devastating and irrevocable loss – and that’s to grieve it. As a society, we’re grief-phobic and grief-illiterate – and fear it as if it were death itself. Yet grief is the wise and patient human emotion that actually enables us to process loss and come to terms with it.

‘Childlessness is a form of “disenfranchised grief” – a grief that is not socially acceptable or understood.

‘Childlessness is a form of “disenfranchised grief” – a grief that is not socially acceptable or understood.

‘This grief is particularly difficult to experience because grief is a social emotion: it can only do its profound work of healing the human heart in dialogue with others who “get it”.


‘And that’s why it’s absolutely essential for grieving childless women to find their tribe – those other conscious “childless not by choice” women who will allow them the space to have their thoughts and feelings without closing them down with a “miracle baby” story, or telling them not to give up hope, or suggesting adoption. Again. It’s vital to give each other space and support to hurt without shame.

‘Grief is an astonishing emotion that is created by love – and only loving support works to support it. The things that helped me most were finding my tribe and understanding the life-altering pain I was experiencing was grief.’

Can I add my own advice to any women and men drowning in the crushing waves of sadness and identity loss? Please note what my oldest friend Helen once said to me: ‘I wish you knew your own beautiful worth.’

When I think of this, it helps.

For more help and support, visit gateway-women.com

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