Finding Acceptance and Peace Through the Ceremony of Writing

As a chronically indecisive person, I have a hard time choosing what to order at a restaurant, let alone which restaurant to go to. I get lost in an endless cycle of pros and cons, no matter the decision. So, the really big ones—like whether or not to have a child—can be agonizing.

I’d always thought I would someday, maybe, be a parent. That was easy: I enjoyed and found meaning in my life, and I could also imagine I might one day enjoy and find meaning in my life as a mother. I just kept not being ready. For a while, circumstances—divorce, moves, job changes…the basics—deferred the decision-making process. But as I approached the age when a pregnancy would officially be deemed “geriatric,” it was time to deal with this decision once and for all. I was in a stable marriage, in a lovely home, with a husband who could match me hem for haw in every discussion about bringing a child (it would be his second) into this venture.

After years of consideration, I ultimately had to realize not being ready to say “yes” to parenting meant I was saying “no.” This “no” was particularly daunting as it carried with it so many “nevers.” I’ll never know what it’s like to give life to another. I’ll never know if I’m dooming myself to a slightly less fulfilling existence of my own. My husband is a parent, and I’ll never know what that feels like.

In order to be at peace with this huge and final decision, I needed to do something. As I’ve moved through this world, I’ve realized how helpful it can be to honor life’s significant happenings with some amount of ceremony, whether one of mourning or celebration. Sometimes the ceremony is just one of serious meditation and recognition of what we’re choosing and what we’re sacrificing.

The ceremony that would help me accept my choice to opt out of motherhood was writing Letters to the Daughter I’ll Never Have. The year-long process of writing to my imaginary daughter allowed me to acknowledge and honor what I’m giving up. Simultaneously, it helped me to embrace what I am choosing to have and be: a woman who loves her life and husband, and feels her motherly instincts engage around the beloved dog and cats in her home—and any other animals in need—more so than with human babies.

I thoroughly enjoyed writing these letters. I would often think of something I wanted to “talk” to my daughter about throughout my daily activities. When I would sit down to begin a letter, I’d lose myself in it for hours at a time. There was something incredibly comforting about writing with nobody but my child in mind. Through my “conversations” with her, I was able to find peace with what will never be. I didn’t necessarily know they would become a book. But…

The writing process also led to lovely conversations with friends and family. I learned more about my parents’ childhoods and my in-laws’ experience of raising three boys. My mom and I talked candidly about the best and worst of pregnancy and parenting. Together, we revel in relief at all the complications I’m not inviting into my life while simultaneously grieving as we wonder what to do with the baby clothes she saved for my little girl. I appreciate that together we can settle into that gray area where relief and grief meet.

I wrote the letters in part to express the values I’ll never share with or pass along to a child, but in doing so I had this wonderful surprise of sharing and discussing those values with my family that’s here now. My conversations about the letters with my husband also brought us closer. We commiserate as we find ourselves looking at each other wistfully when an adorable, gentle little girl asks to pet our dog on a walk, and in the same day, looking at each with grateful smiles as we witness a toddler screaming in the grocery store while his mother tries not to lose her mind.

While I have been awfully lucky not be subject to external pressures to have children, I know others have not been so lucky. Women often receive messages that they are somehow not complete until they bear a child. We often accuse others or ourselves of being “selfish” for deciding we want to fulfill our purpose and passions in ways that don’t include parenting.

I’d love for us all to drop this line of thinking. Perhaps a woman can take comfort in the belief that it’s not selfish to make a (sometimes very difficult) personal choice about what will allow her to live her best life. Perhaps this is actually thoughtful.

And so, as the idea of these letters sparked all these conversations, I decided they ought to become a book, because I hope they continue to inspire dialogue. I hope other women and men who are working to make, or have made, the decision to be or not to be a parent feel at peace with whatever their decision is. I hope we can all acknowledge the wonder about what we’re missing, or what could have been, and also celebrate all of the love, care, and nurturing we have to give the life that exists all around us, parent or not.

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ASHLEY BROWN is a lifelong educator, freelance writer, and editor. Originally from Houston, she and her husband, author Nathan Brown, live in Wimberley, Texas with their cattle dog and two cats. She is a professor for the University of Oklahoma, teaching distance-learning courses. For more information, visit www.ashleyauthor.com and follow the author on Facebook @ashley.stanberry.brown and Instgram @ashsbrown.

About LETTERS TO THE DAUGHTER I´LL NEVER HAVE

Letters to the Daughter I’ll Never Have navigates the gut-wrenching territory of a couple’s ultimate decision to opt out of parenthood. More and more women, and men, are choosing not to have children, but that choice is seldom a simple or easy one to make.

In this book of letters to her imaginary daughter, Ashley Brown delves into the grief over what she’ll be missing out on–feeling a mother’s unconditional love; sharing stories and advice; and experiencing the fulfillment of creating a family with her husband of eight years, author and poet Nathan Brown.

She also explains to her daughter the reasons for her decision and the fears and doubts about raising a child in today’s world. She even acknowledges the relief of certain challenges she’ll never have to face and sacrifices she won’t have to make.

Sometimes brutally candid, sometimes funny and heartwarming, Brown’s letters take readers with her on the journey of arriving at this almost impossible decision all while celebrating love and family.

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing