40, child-free, and unattached

Today I spent the day in a cafe pondering my worth. With the rain falling outside and a warm cup of soy chai warming my insides, I sat, and wrote, and thought. There is one niggling thing that keeps nagging at me. A little thought there. A small tug there. For the last two nights, its even interrupted my sleep by familiar characters crying for me in my dreams. The issue of not having a child. In one dream, my distraught niece was crying for me - “you should have a child, it isn’t fair.” I woke up feeling awful and for the past couple of days, a little emotional.

The truth is my child-free status isn’t out of choice. Whilst I embrace people’s decisions to not have kids or to choose to have kids, missing from the conversation is any talk about wanting kids yet not finding the right partner to have them with or not wishing to go at it alone and try to get pregnant through insemination.

I’ve had many people assume I don’t want kids, as by my age I ‘should’ have them. That I could’ve had them but chose not to, with all the agency that entails. The fact that I want something that I do not have seems too sad for them to consider. They prefer to think it is of choice, especially my younger girlfriends, too terrified to admit that it might happen to them too. 

Truthfully, there was a previous partner that perhaps I could have had them with. I mean we were both in our late 30′s and wanting to settle down. But that was a terrible relationship. I never felt safe. Or that my needs were a priority. Or that we could healthily work through issues, though I felt like I tried. Looking back perhaps I could have done things differently. Tried harder. Done more. But at the time, I felt I did all that, and nevertheless, the relationship failed at my hand; ending the union to my own misery.

A more recent relationship ended at the 3-month mark when my paramour realised that all those too early promises he made about the future were actually expected to be carried out; he cut and ran so fast steam rose up to the skies in his wake.

Yes, I have considered insemination, and even had my eggs frozen; but the idea of going at it alone fills me with dread, not hope and excitement. And at this stage, is not something I wish to undertake.

Which leaves me in my current state; 40, child-free, and unattached. Which I am not ashamed about. Nor am I miserable about most of the time. But what bothers me most is the feeling that in societies eyes I have no value; unfortunately, I am internalising this thought, and it is making darker thoughts appear out of nowhere as heavy clouds on the horizon. 

Perhaps it is my own conditioning that is making me feel this way. But when people realise my age and my status I feel their pity. In awkward glances. Lowered eyed. Bubbling diversions in conversions. 

Despite the fact that many people are in truly miserable relationships. Are lonely. Are unloved. Are unhappy. Misery isn’t just the domain of the single; there is more than enough of it to go around. But somehow there is a certain worthlessness reserved for smart, sassy, single women of a certain age. It is because they chose their careers, they murmur. Too fussy, they say. Too smart. Too independent. Too manly. Too soft. Too nice. Too...

The alternative story is much harder to swallow. This smart, sassy, single woman is just like you. She went on the same dates with the same people. Went to same universities. Had the same jobs. Went to the same parties. Laughed at the same jokes. Smiled with the same twinkle in her eyes. She just didn’t find what worked for her. 

She may have left bad relationships, where she was made to feel small, belittled, or that her needs were unimportant. She may have moved to Sydney when the person she should have met was in Melbourne. She may have got on the wrong train. Or taken the right job at the wrong time. Or turned left not right. Went this way instead of that. That’s all. 

Her worth is not less than yours. Her heart no less deserving of love. Her loins not less in need of service. Her womb not less aching to give life. 

So I’ve been thinking. Yes, that. When you start to question everything. Usually due to too much time on your hands, procrastination or not enough real problems to focus on, or an awkward combination of all three. Often for me, it comes when I do something out of my comfort zone, which causes me to firstly feel elated at how brave I was, then a little vulnerable, then a little bothered that something didn’t go the way I thought, then deflated and onto depressed, which leads me back to questioning. It is exhausting!

So last week I went to a Shabbat dinner. For those that don’t know, a Shabbat dinner takes place on a Friday night when observant Jews welcome in the Sabbath. Most non-observant Jews still celebrate these dinners in some capacity - whether with family, friends or as was the case last week, 30 of my closest strangers - with a couple mates thrown in the mix for comfort. Held at a hip young rabbi’s house, we all squeezed around a large table to eat, drink and be merry. An awkward introduction round - where we all spoke a little about ourselves - turned into a 4-hour affair as we followed tangents, dived into rabbit holes, and existential-ised about our existence. A fun evening was had by all.

Whilst I was invited under the auspices that this was just a communal Shabbat dinner, it was, in fact, a singles evening for 95% of the people in attendance. I suppose they don’t say it blatantly or people wouldn’t come. I felt slightly bad for my married friend who attended without his wife and was a bit out of place but also within the ravenous grasp of 20 women around the table. Also in attendance was someone I had been on an uneventful date with after going to a similar, much smaller event last year. My then date had at the time looked like he might have a nervous breakdown when I touched his arm flirtatiously and sent me a text a few days later to the effect of, “It was nice to meet you. All the best.” A kiss-off indeed.

In any case, there was only one other guy I found remotely attractive and managed to have a 3-minute chat with but felt our conversation was cut short. Post-event I chatted to the rabbi and after asking me if there was anyone I was interested in, mentioned my momentary crush was a bit alright. Then yes, I got him to be the go-between and my number was passed on but the guy never called.

Now, I am an adult and I have been doing this dating thing a long time. But it still sucks when you put yourself out there only to hear crickets chirping in return. I know it doesn’t matter in the scheme of things but still, that little, sensitive girl, with a very wounded ego still lurks, frightened by her own shadow. And I hate that she still squirms when she feels threatened and starts to question what is the point of it all. It is ridiculous. 

Tonight I went to a matchmaker. That’s right, at 10pm on a Thursday night I stopped by the suburban house to find my matchmaker using a blower to clear his garage from some errant leaves that had somehow slipped inside. A warm smile calmed my nerves and I was welcomed into my matchmaker’s home via his man cave whilst helping him bring in his family’s groceries bought in bulk at Cosco. 

Greeted by a puppy masquerading as a teddy bear, I was ushered into the office to chat about what I am looking for. With minimum requirements of non-autistic, non-narcissistic, and preferably not on meds we got to work. Well, firstly we, er, he enamored me with a discussion, er, a one-sided political argument about a small, little Israeli-Palestinian conflict and local affairs; finding ourselves at opposite ends of the spectrum, and after a brief interruption from his wife and daughter, we got to work.

My matchmaker opened his files to make a short list of potentials. His filing system an analog card plastic box filled with clients, notes, and photos, some making clear the unkindness of first impressions. Only shown those with promise and a few that could never be sold, there were none I felt were suitable spouses or worth the time of date. In any case, I was found 4 men that I was left to my devices to stalk post-appointment. 

The consultation was lengthy and by 11.20pm it was time to leave, much giggling and some brutal honesty later. After my matchmaker told me earnestly to give him a chance, I decided it was only fair and set off home, a little the bolder.

Some internet perusing later I was slightly disappointed by my matches; all at least a decade beyond my years. The matchmaker’s wife was 9 years younger he confided. So with this in mind, I re-considered my choices. There was one who seemed too old and someone I would never in a million years choose to date - a very successful businessman. However, I feel it only fair to give it a go and see where a suburban set-up can take me.

Why? I hear you shout. Well, at 40 years of age, with life well and truly lived, it is time. Not to be unhappy with my lot, because I am not. Not a miserable single. Not an undateable. Unintelligent. Unmotivated. Uninteresting. But because I am loveable, I am worthwhile, I am smart, I am funny, I am adventurous and I am curious. And I want to share my life with someone worth spending my life with. I was always too scared to say what I want because I was afraid I wouldn’t get it, and I didn’t. So I am trying a different track. One that involved radical honesty, real vulnerability, and a fair deal of risk of getting hurt, which is terrifying. But it is not a reason not to be real. So here it is:

I want a life partner. That will love and support me. Trust me. Believe in me. And see all that I can be, and I would hope I could do the same in return. I want 2 kids, a boy, and a girl, but who are most importantly healthy, and normal. Yes, normal. I want a nice house. Not fancy, not overly big, not too small. One that is on the ground with wood floors and lots of natural light. With a garden with soft grass, a couple of fruit trees, and a veggie patch. And studio where I can write, paint and create until my heart is content. To live in peace yet be fulfilled and surrounded by love.