Revenge of the Atrophied Uterus

Anyone who has spent any time on Facebook or Twitter will know how quickly a conversation, a joke, an issue can explode into open hostilities. Social media is not for the faint hearted, as Brisbane Instagram model Essena O'Neill learned the hard way. Apparently it's too difficult to maintain the myth of perfection for hundreds of thousands of adoring followers.

I inhabit a different online world, where school friends, former co-workers and buddies from thirty-odd years of working, and various other friends and members of my extended family rub along fairly well together. They tolerate my predictable political and social outbursts, and I accept stories of their bizarre dietary preferences, endless photos of kids and pets and hobbies, and whatever else is important to them. I like most of these people, and I'm interested in their lives.

I've only ever blocked two people on Facebook. One is my ex; the other is a former school friend who went way too far in her public criticism of me. I took it personally because it was personal. The public spat came on the heels of months of bizarre and increasingly hurtful behaviour from her,including her unwelcome commentary on why my relationship had failed. I made a reasoned decision that her brand of toxic "friendship" was no longer welcome in my life. I don't regret the decision, although I wish it hadn't been necessary.

Yesterday, someone else, a complete stranger to me, was having her own social media crisis. The ABC had picked up on some research conducted in Perth,  about how childless and child free women are treated in a society which expects women to reproduce.

The ABC posted the question on their Facebook page, and being child-free and 50, I posted a listicle of things that have been said to me, or about me, as a result of being nullipara.

This is my reality, and the reality of many childless women.

Here are few things I've learned about myself, a childless woman, aged 50. 

1. I don't WANT children? There must be something wrong with me. Emotionally. ALL women want children.

2. I must be barren. Physically.

3. I'm probably gay.

4. I'm not a real woman. 

5. I have failed God by not having children.

6. I couldn't possibly understand how a mother feels.

7. I know nothing about anything to do with anyone under the age of 16. I never will.

8. I have no right to hold or express an opinion on anything to do with anyone under 16. These topics about which I may not hold an opinion include education, vaccination, baby massage, toys, after school care, the Family Budget, children's entertainment, the park, the pool, pets, normal Australian families on Struggle Street, stranger danger, food additives, nappy rash, Disney bandaids, tantrums and the universe.

9. I'll be lonely. I should've realised that.

10. I'll be sorry.

11. I have no patience.

12. I have no right to be tired.

13. I have no right to complain about anything. Ever.

14. I may not take leave from work during school holidays; those dates are reserved for parents who need the time off.

15. I'll have "women's problems" later on because my body hasn't been allowed to do what it was designed to do.

16. I suck.

Amidst a reasonable number of likes and comments and additions to my list, a stranger named Jessica added her two cents worth. Jessica is a mother of three, and her brief list of what she has learned makes for dull reading.

Was I supposed to laugh? Offer practical advice? Commiserate? Sympathise? 

Social media is about engagement, so I engaged. No sympathy here, though. I responded with neutral acknowledgment. I agreed that she needed a shower, and told her that I hadn't been to Europe either.

But Jessica thought my brief response was lacking.

In a sea of heartfelt agreement and good-hearted banter, Jessica unknowingly proved my point. Apparently her confession about Europe and personal hygiene were deeply important to her. My shallow quest for a cheap laugh had undermined her inner conflict. I was the living embodiment of ignorance and insensitivity. I am proof that people without children don't understand the important issues. We are just too smug with our sophisticated, smudge-free lives to care about her wretched existence. 

A rare moment of social media sanity erupted as I chose not to tell this Mother Superior to get some professional help - cleaner, babysitter, parenting expert, psychologist - or to check if she'd lost her sense of perspective in the toy box. I left it alone, and pondered the likelihood that the gulf between parents and non-parents might be too wide to cross after all.

Jessica had shared something of herself with me in telling me that she longed for a shower, and when I failed to respond appropriately, she labelled me as a tired stereotype, sarcastic and unaware. 

And while I've had enough of this special brand of discrimination, I resisted posting a caustic retort. The no-mans-land between motherhood and unfulfilled maternal potential doesn't need any more social media grenades.

Here's the response I didn't post on Facebook.

And this, Jessica, is exactly what most of us in this discussion are talking about: this assumed superiority that because you have a child or children, you are in a morally superior position to those who don't have children. You have assumed a divine right to put me down in public because you think I'm not a parent and therefore could not understand your malodorous torment.

By the way, if you don't think that childless women - and men - are hurt every time we are admonished or belittled or dismissed for failing to achieve our biological purpose, you need to reassess your people skills.

I wasn't planning on playing this stupid little game of "Who is worse off", but as you've waded in, I'll share some of my truth...because the list of common insults I posted above isn't enough. (You might want to put the children to bed and sit down with a glass of wine.)

My gut reaction to your comment is this: Don't you dare lecture me or anyone else on how tough your life is because you have children. Don't you dare even suggest that your self image, your relationship with your gender, is shattered because you need a shower. Unless you sincerely regret having children, and wish they were gone, just don't go there. 

Because the truth is that you *can* have a shower. In fact, you did. If you're ever that desperate again, you can call on friends or family or your partner or neighbours (yes, even the ignorant lesser beings without kids) to watch your little ones while you spend ten minutes alone in the bathroom.

But you see, I won't have a child. Ever. And while I've never wanted to be a mother, part of me wonders if you're right. I know that you've experienced things I can never experience, profound, emotional personal motherhood stuff that will never know. Maybe those experiences make you the 'real woman' I will never be. 

But none of that gives you the right to preach at me, or lecture me, or pity me or try to undermine my life.

And in any case, my grown-up life is none of your damned business. 

As for Europe, if that's really the pinnacle of your dreams, I feel sorry for your children. Do they factor in anywhere, or are they just small, inconvenient barriers that keep you from your  raison d'être.  I look forward to you telling your children how complete, how sated with life you feel, now that you've basked in the warmth of a Tuscan summer and and shivered within the solid bank of mist laying over a Scottish Loch. Will you embrace the Eiffel Tower when you get to Paris?

But don't mind me. I'll just be over here, sitting on the naughty step, wondering what gives you the right to make me feel like I failed at life.

Enjoy Europe, won't you, dear?