Translator: Carolina Zanelli Reviewer: Rhonda Jacobs
I remember the conversation well.
I was 42, and I was sitting at the dining room table
with my new husband,
and I had finally decided not to have children.
"Well, of course," you might say.
The biological clock had finally wound down,
stopped ticking, so to speak, so of course, naturally.
But that would be an oversimplification of a much more complicated process.
And it's a process I think some of you might be familiar with.
We live in a time when science and technology
allow us to expand far beyond our biological limitations.
We have options like in vitro, fertility drugs, egg and embryo donation,
egg freezing, not to mention surrogacy or adoption.
It's a world of choices.
And in that world, this world, I chose to remain childless.
But before I tell you more about my own story,
let me give you a little context.
I'm in very good company.
Never before have more women remained childless to the end of their fertility,
or waited longer before having their first child.
Nearly half of us,
nearly 50% of North American women are making this choice.
Yet we are still perceived as the exception rather than the norm.
We're choosing to remain childless.
So let me start here with this term, "childless."
I have to admit I have a problem with it even though I'm using it in this talk.
It implies that there's something missing.
It implies that there's somehow a deficit
in those of us that choose not to have children.
And this is interesting because we're all born childless.
And it's not like being born without a limb or with a missing vital organ.
But the term implies that there's something missing.
A "lessness" that must somehow be addressed or fulfilled.
And even more interesting,
this is a term that is applied almost exclusively to women.
We don't hear a lot about men being childless.
In fact, my husband tells me he is rarely if ever asked if he has children.
I am asked all the time, and usually it goes something like this:
"Do you have children?" "No." "Oh."
(Laughter)
As though there's something missing.
As though I'm to be pitied for this choice.
As though we assume that it is the biological destiny of women,
all women, to bear children.
And I'm going to propose that our destinies are our own business.
A powerful choice we make to be fulfilled on our own terms.
And those terms might include children and they might not.
So don't get me wrong here.
I love children, in fact I am a world-class cool auntie.
(Laughter)
But loving children doesn't mean bearing them.
In 1976, when I had my first serious boyfriend,
and you all know what I mean by serious,
(Laughter)
everyone was afraid I would get pregnant.
And that concern went on through my late teens and my 20s
until my 30s when suddenly everyone was afraid I wouldn't get pregnant.
(Laughter)
Right?
My womb was so interesting to people.
(Laughter)
So, I didn't get pregnant.
And over those years I went back and forth,
exploring options, undecided.
Until that day at the dining room table when I knew
that what I wanted, more than children, was a fulfilled life, a life of meaning.
In coaching, we say that having a fulfilled life is a radical act.
And choosing to have a fulfilled life in an unconventional way,
well, that's just even more radical.
But it's a deeply personal choice.
So I'm going to take you back in time, further back than the 1970s,
and introduce you to a famous woman who might be familiar to you,
who made a personal choice in a radical act for her time:
Queen Elizabeth the First, a virgin queen,
which we know, based on historical fact, is not true.
(Laughter)
She was a queen.
(Laughter)
Which brings us to sex.
Particularly if you were a married woman, choosing not to have children,
it implies that you might just be having sex for pleasure.
Another radical notion.
(Laughter)
But, meanwhile, back in the 1500s, Queen Elizabeth is the reigning monarch,
the Virgin Queen, excellent PR for a childless woman of her time,
and despite the fact that she's the monarch
and she herself is an unmarried, childless woman,
women's choices are severely limited.
Women cannot go to school.
They can be educated at home but they can't go to school.
Nor can they enter professions such as politics, law, or medicine.
Women can go into marriage, motherhood, domestic service, or the sex trade.
Or, if you wanted a life of the mind, free of domesticity,
you could become a nun.
Basically, those were your choices.
So Elizabeth wasn't stupid, she understood the culture she was in,
and she chose powerfully her own destiny.
Her reign is known as the Golden Age.
It brought us new frontiers in art, music, and literature,
and a renaissance in thinking that influences us to this day.
But no heirs.
Still, a legacy.
[#untrending]
Elizabeth chose to untrend.
She chose personal and professional satisfaction over childbearing,
and it was a radical act.
And I'm here to say it still is.
We're still stigmatized for making this choice
even though we live in a very different time.
Oops. Sorry.
There we are.
We are doctors, we are teachers, we are lawyers.
We are archbishops, we are judges.
We have the kind of choice
that an Elizabethan woman couldn't even have dreamed of.
We are the rulers of our own destinies.
We have the right, the political, economic, and social rights and freedoms
that our feminist grandmothers, aunties, godmothers, and mothers fought for.
So given that, may we also not consider another choice?
May we choose not to have children
and consider instead the notion of "otherhood."
Now, wish I could lay claim to this term, I can't.
It comes from Melanie Notkin's 2014 book of the same title, but I love it.
So, what is otherhood?
Well, I'm entering the third act of my particular story.
I'm nearly 60 years old, and the plot is getting tricky.
I'm asking myself questions like "Has all this mattered?"
And in my recent book, Untrending,
I ask about things like legacy and leave-behind.
These are big questions.
And there's a way that having children begins to answer these questions for us.
Having children is a fulfilling and creative act.
Motherhood gives our lives purpose, for sure.
But what about otherhood?
Otherhood is another place
where we find purpose, wholeness, meaning, and satisfaction,
It's where we trust
that a life of creative purpose is not exclusive to procreation
and that our legacies are not just biological.
It includes loving, mentoring and nurturing
the other humans that cross our path.
Fighting for the rights of the world's children,
making poetry, art, or music, or forging a path in entrepreneurship or science,
or simply getting up every day
and living a life that is true to your own deep choosing.
Does this mean a life that is free of longing?
No.
Does this mean that I don't wonder
what my life would've been like if I'd had children?
Of course I do.
And I wonder about that the same way I wonder
what would my life would have been like if I'd become an archaeologist,
or moved to Paris in my 20s when the notion struck me,
or not married my first husband.
But our longings make us who we are.
Our longings make our lives richer.
Our longings lead us to new dreams and desires.
And living with longing, making peace with longing,
that is spiritual warriorship.
That is fulfillment.
That is powerful choice-making.
And there's also this:
trust.
Trust that what life serves you is a magnificent unfolding,
and that the spiritual warrior in you chose this path and put you on it
because it leads to your fulfillment
and the world's.
And finally, let me ask you, together,
can we give ourselves permission to live radical lives of fulfillment
and embrace a woman's right to choose her own destiny?
Thank you.
(Applause) (Cheers)