Emotions are so very strange – I realized I think I am at a point where I no longer want another child. If I could snap my fingers and magically be pregnant today, I don’t think I would do it.
I’m not sure it would be the best choice for our family. I’m not sure we could afford it. I’m not sure my mental health could take it. I’m not sure it would be the best thing for my son, or for my marriage… I don’t know that I could still have the energy to be the type of mother I want to be…the list could go on.
It’s strange to say, but struggling with infertility has allowed (or forced) me to have the opportunity to evaluate my needs, my family’s needs, and our available resources. And the more I am truly honest with myself about it, the more I am beginning to slowly wonder if having one child may be the best thing for our family…
But I’m still sad about it. Bitter and spiteful about it on my worst days… It still occasionally feels like a gut-punch when yet another friend announces they’re pregnant (which seems to keep happening constantly…)
I’m sad that I’ll never experience being pregnant again. I’m sad that my family won’t look like an idealized version of something I’ve seen on t.v. (even though having more kids wouldn’t have guaranteed that anyway…)
I’m frustrated that it seems like everyone else got to choose exactly the life they wanted and didn’t have to suffer through infertility like my family did (I KNOW this is not a true statement – but it feels like it is sometimes – especially if I hang out on social media for too long…)
There are days when I’m so happy with our sweet little family of three – and I find myself feeling overwhelmingly grateful. And yet there are still days when I’m sobbing about the loss of this hypothetical child I’ll never get to meet.
All that to say, it’s a LOT of feelings. Some of my feelings seem like they are in direct conflict of one another, which is a bit confusing. I’m happy, yet sad… grateful, yet bitter… I’m trying to find space to hold and honor ALL my emotions at once. But it’s exhausting.
The first post I wrote about trying to get pregnant with a second child was back in 2019 – almost 5 years ago. I can’t believe I’ve been thinking about trying to conceive another child for that long. My son was only three years old at the time (*now he’s almost 8!)
At that point I hadn’t yet realized we were dealing with secondary infertility – that would be confirmed in early 2021.
We spent another year and a half vacillating between optimism and despair. It seemed like some treatments would potentially be promising, but then in January of 2023 our journey came to an abrupt end, and it was the beginning of really trying to process that we would probably never have another child.
2023 was a difficult year. I had been so afraid of starting the true process of grieving – I knew it would hurt a lot. And it did. I made the choice to start taking antidepressants again because I was struggling so much with everything.
I’ve done a lot of thinking and processing over the last year and a half through the feelings that have accompanied my infertility journey – and a few realizations recently came to the surface for me. Some of them are embarrassing realizations, but I don’t want to be ashamed of them – my feelings make me human, and it’s okay to admit my humanity. And Brené Brown says it’s good to be vulnerable and not live in shame (and she’s a smart lady!)
One major realization was that I found myself ready to start moving into a place of acceptance – I think I’m finally heading into that final stage of grief – which is wonderful, because it means healing has happened. It’s a very SLOW process, and I definitely have setbacks (aka. look up the term “grief burst”)… But I want to start focusing more on the positives of having an only child. I’ve heard a lot of the negatives, a LOT of the stigmas, but I hadn’t really researched the positives until recently.
Realizations About Myself, Secondary Infertility, and Having an Only Child
1. I was struggling with feelings of loneliness. The average number of children a family has differs depending on where you live in the world. Where I live in Texas, it’s much more common for families to have multiple kids, and I realized that I just truly didn’t know very many one-child families. Now if I lived in a place like New York or Seattle, according to Pew Research, my family of three would look more like the norm. Unfortunately, I have no plans to move to New York or Seattle, or other places where one-child families are becoming more and more common – so it can be pretty easy to feel like the odd one out.
“It can feel isolating if you’re the only one in your friend group who has an only child, especially if you are one and done, not by choice. You might feel left out when your friends discuss sibling relationships or baby/toddler stages (if your child is older). Feeling excluded by your friend group can be rough!”
excerpt from One & Done by Rebecca Greene (2023)
I wish I could say that I was more confident in being “different,” but I realized there is a huge part of me that just wants to fit in. It can be painful to not feel like anyone else shares your experience, or even desires it. And to be honest, I’m really tired of painful feelings.
2. My anxiety about being a “bad mom” was majorly triggered. When my son Calvin was about 3 or 4 years old, the “when are you going to have a baby brother or sister?” questions started. People would actually tell me that Calvin would be lonely as an only child. I began to feel like a bad mom because I couldn’t provide him with a sibling. I have a lot of insecurities and previous struggles regarding being a bad mother, so I’m pretty easily triggered when anyone insinuates that I’m not a good parent. Obviously, this is a personal thing that I need to work through (shout-out to my therapist!), and people’s uninformed comments and opinions do not have to make me feel lesser. But it’s hard to stand tall and proud when you are constantly being bombarded with ignorant comments from friends or family, or even random strangers!
3. I bought into a lot of the unfounded stigmas of only children without actually doing my research. When my husband and I first began talking about having children, having one wasn’t even an option because we didn’t want a “spoiled” child. I hate to admit that I bought into that stereotype so easily, but I did. Having siblings does not guarantee anything about how a child will turn out. I know some super down-to-earth only-child adults, and I know some pretty selfish adults who had siblings.
As far as the stereotype that onlies are lonely, that also does not have to be true. From the time Calvin was very young, he has been around many other kids at daycare, school, and church. I have tried to be more intentional lately to invite friends over to play at our house, and I think that has been a good thing for all of us. Calvin also has a more introverted personality, and honestly does not desire to be around tons of kids all the time. Each kid is different, and their relationship needs also differ.
Threads of Anxiety 