“Ten years from now, make sure you can say that you chose your life, you didn’t settle for it.” 

― Mandy Hale 
The Single Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass

Think about your life in the future. Imagine that everything has gone as well as it possibly could. You have worked hard and succeeded at accomplishing all of your life goals. Think of this as the realization of all of your life dreams.  Now, write about what you imagined.

Psychology professor Laura King gave those directions to undergraduate research subjects, and asked them to write for 20 minutes a day for four consecutive days. These students, writing about their best possible selves, experienced an increase in well-being several weeks later. Months later the intervention appeared to still be working, as they were healthier than the control group.  

When I was first introduced to this exercise, I described a simple scene. Waking up to a small child tangled in bed between Ben and me. Walking to the park, exploring in the woods, picking up groceries for dinner. I wrote, "My days are spent discovering the world again, seeing it through my child's eyes." For 20 minutes, I described this future self, and future family. And when time was called, I very quickly crashed back to earth. This future may never be a reality. My dream - of a biological child - may never come true. It isn't in my control. Working hard isn't enough. It may never be meant to be. 

Later I spoke with one of the instructors of my course, asking her how this exercise could work if my biggest dream was not realistic. Imagining that future made my heart ache - how can this be helpful? She encouraged me to continue the exercise the next few days, with grounded optimism. Optimism that I could achieve a future where I would be the best version of myself, grounded in the reality of the things I can - and cannot - change. Could I focus the next day's writing on one part of the future? My marriage, friendships, experiences, career, the heart and soul of my future self? 

The next day, I imagined my future yet again, but this time, I focused on my marriage. Whether or not children are part of our future, I thought about what I'd like my marriage to look like, how I'd like to feel about my husband after another 10 or 20 years together. The following day, I wrote about the kind of friend, mentor, co-worker this future self will be. On the fourth day, I wrote about my work and passions. Something shifted over those four days, and continued to open up in the weeks and months that followed. Now, almost a year later, I realize that this exercise laid the foundation for where we are today.

And where is that exactly? I completed my vision quest - what now? 

When we lost our second child and received the diminished ovarian reserve diagnosis, most of the choices we had in front of us felt devastating. I wanted a biological child, who I carried for 9 months, who was conceived naturally. I didn't want to pursue expensive IVF treatment that was unlikely to work for us, due to my diagnosis. I didn't want and couldn't afford to pay another woman to donate her eggs, so that only my husband would have a biological connection to our child. I didn't want to foster or adopt, which felt like a whole other journey, one we were not being called to do. I certainly didn't want to remain childfree.  

The choices didn't feel like choices. I felt backed into a corner, and was being told we had to choose immediately, at least if we wanted to pursue IVF with my eggs, because every day, month, year that we wait, the slimmer our already slim chances of success would get. The agony of the forced choice ached, even after returning from my vision quest. I felt more at peace with my diagnosis, my losses became a smaller grief to carry, but the answer was still not clear. Should we borrow money to try IVF just once, knowing that it probably won't work, but just to say that we tried it? Save up for a future series of IVF cycles, that we do later, when we can afford it, even if the chances of success are much smaller a few years from now? Try naturally and hope for a miracle? We talked in circles. Until one choice began to rise to the top. Gradually it bobbed upward as if dancing with us, allowing us to taste it before fully committing.

We chose not to choose. The time constraints were being put onto us by doctors, and my diagnosis. We didn't feel ready for IVF, and may never feel like that is a path we are willing to go down, gambling for a living thing (knowing that the house almost always wins). We didn't feel called to adoption. We felt financially and emotionally constrained by the urgency - so we removed the constraints. Choosing none of those options that didn't feel right to us WAS a choice. By choosing to simply accept where we are, and remain childfree, we were taking back control. We were making a choice. And this choice is not bound by time. If we decide in a few years that we do want kids through any means, we'll be in a better financial place, and we can start saving for IVF either with my eggs or donor eggs, or we could adopt at that time. Knowing that we had decided, and that this didn't have to be a permanent decision, we could breathe, and simply live our lives as a family of two.

At first, this choice felt like a temporary one. I continued seeing an acupuncturist who specialized in fertility treatments. We maxed out the annual limit in my health savings account. But soon it became clear that I was really ready to be done. I hated tracking my cycles again, so my acupuncturist could see my progress. I remembered how I had felt on my vision quest, and wanted to reclaim that sense of peace. I started listening to childfree podcasts, found childfree blogs and Instagram accounts. Reading and listening to people who are in our same situation, or some who are childfree by choice, I began to appreciate our childfree life, to feel gratitude for what we have, and acknowledge that some of the favorite parts of our lives would be harder, or disappear entirely, if we had a child. Sleeping in on the weekends, taking two hour hikes that feel peaceful and restorative, a quiet house, time for self care and introspection, the ability to decide at 5:30 that we'd like to go to a nice restaurant for dinner, and be seated and eating by 6. We dream of taking a sabbatical to New Zealand, spending weeks backpacking and exploring the wilderness. Traveling is a delight, rewarding and on our time alone. We adore our niece and nephews, and are able to spend time with them, fully present and experiencing their awe, wonder, and delight. We are working on paying down debt, and can envision a debt-free life in our future. We have time together, to nurture our relationship and continue to grow as individuals and as a couple. We have begun to look forward to this new version of a future together, one that may never include a child.

While having a biological child is not impossible, it is unlikely to work out for us. Accepting this reality has allowed us to make peace with it, and focus not on what we don't have in this life, but what we do. By choosing childfree, we are choosing our relationship, the present rather than an uncertain future. We have taken control back from infertility. We aren't settling for this, we are choosing it.

So what now? We live life as a childfree couple, together. We lean in to our marriage, into our careers, into our passions and interests and the wonders of this world.

What now? On Labor Day, I am embarking on the next road trip, another adventure. This time, I will be joined by my mom, and later my husband. A trip possible only because of where I am in life.

What now? I will continue to use this blog to write - about journeys, grief, acceptance, and our lives as a childfree couple.

What now?

The sky is the limit. And the future is bright.