Why I write about my life, in public

Or what it means to be 'seen'

I think this beauty wants to be ‘seen,’ to show off its feathery lightness and its pointy bits too.

Hello! It’s been a while. Quite a bit has been going on. I have been exploring, journeying, dancing (to actual Beyonce in concert! - where I also cried my eyes out), laughing ecstatically (that breathwork thing people talk about - well I did some of it and WOW!) and and feeling much joy.

And - I have also been feeling midlife-ish, I think. My skin has been sore, my back achy, and I have had to listen to my body and slow down (somewhat). Rather than be impatient to get ‘better,’ I am trying (still trying!) to understand, and, yes, be kind to myself.

Anyway, I have been missing writing to you. One I have been doing since I last posted here a couple of months ago is attempt to say ‘sorry’ less. ‘Sorry it’s taken me a while to reply,’ to your email/text etc is something I used to find myself saying often. But really there is mostly no need to apologise, and if you/I say ‘sorry’ A LOT, you’re kind of saying ‘sorry I exist.’

And, if I then make an excuse it sounds like whoever I’m replying to is at the bottom of the pile (sorry I’ve been busy = too busy for you). So this is rather a longwinded way of saying that I’m not going to say sorry for not writing to you for three months.

And so, notsorrys over, on to now, and what I have been pondering among the dancing and doing and physio, which is what it means to be ‘seen.’

Someone recently asked me why I choose to write about my life, and in particular my childfree/childless life, in public.

I started writing this newsletter, or blog, because I wanted to express myself. At the time I wrote my first post for The Honesty Box in July 2021, we had come out of the final Covid-19 lockdown in the UK and I had recently moved back to my flat after an extended stay at my mother’s home during the pandemic.

I was a journalist with a couple of personal pieces out in the world (like this one in the Guardian about why I stopped talking about my dating life*), but what I mainly wrote about was other people – their businesses, their lives, their work.

Then one day, I noticed a deep urge to write about myself, in a way that would scratch the itch of self-expression. Thinking about it further, I also hoped that by telling the stories of my life, I might help other people feel seen and understood. I know the feeling of relief that can come when someone else talks openly and / or courageously about their experiences, that sense of ‘It’s not just me!’ and that has helped me keep going.

I started off by writing about the difference between fitting in and belonging, then I did a post on the mini breakdown I had in the pandemic and after that came a piece about why we compare ourselves to others – and then feel despair.

And then, a few months in and just after my 44^th birthday, I felt ready to write about the fact that I don’t have children though I always I expected I would (expectations – that’s a whole other newsletter topic, don’t you think!)?

I had a sense that not reproducing was an experience to be considered and felt and thought about as much as reproducing is talked and written about. That the voices of people who choose not to have children, who find themselves trying to become pregnant and not succeeding, who fall in love with someone who doesn’t want children, or simply feel as if they didn’t have the chance to (me?) need to also be heard.

I’m doing a talk about not having children and why I share my ‘situation’ in public. It’s at York University on 2 September and if you’d like to come the details are here

There are many nuances to this conversation, and, if you are a parent, I acknowledge and honour your voice alongside mine and others. There are no binaries here.

When I put pen to paper with The Honesty Box about four years ago, I had a sense that I wanted my voice to be heard and that writing was a good way for me to do it. I often find it easier to articulate myself by putting words on the page than I do in casual spoken conversations - and I’ve realised that, while there is space for comments here (and I welcome them), I also like writing because I can’t be interrupted!

So: what does it mean to be ‘seen’?

At a recent workshop, six of us sat in a circle and we each had three minutes to say whatever was on our minds, to reflect, to talk about how we felt. The rest of the group simply listened, and at the end of the three minutes we closed our eyes to briefly, and silently, reflect on what that person had said. When it was my turn to speak, I felt exposed, with five pairs of eyes looking at me curiously and quietly.

Over a few days, I got used to speaking in this way, and I started to find it very powerful. To have my experiences, my thoughts and feelings silently acknowledged, was healing.

(If you feel the need to be seen or heard without other people offering comment or opinion, I really recommend finding this kind of group, or organising one yourself. I am definitely not an expert on this topic, but I do know that confidentiality is very important, as is finding the right kind of group for you, where you trust the facilitator and participants.

This article on women’s circles might be useful, and I have also heard of the men’s group facilitator Jerry Hyde, who has a newsletter,

Rock & Roll Therapy

. The workshop I attended was led by Jan Day, and was mixed gender.)

Talking about my life, and in particular how it is to not have children, is partly a kind of therapy for me. Like the lyrics of a song, no-one can change what I’ve put down on paper. How I feel is how I feel, and that is indisputable.

Next month, I am going to do a talk about this very topic - why I choose to talk in public about not having reproduced. It’s an experience I never thought I’d have: from expecting/wanting/assuming I’d have kids, to feeling shame when I didn’t, to accepting that I won’t, and now to actually being open and talking about the sometimes mixed feelings I have about that.

I’ll be one of the speakers at an event next month - The Politics of (Non)Reproduction: Choice, Challenges, and Change - and I’m still working out what to say. (It’s on 2 September, is free to attend, and you can come to the event if you like! Details here.)

If you have thoughts on how reading about me has helped you in any way, I would gratefully receive them! You can comment below, or send me a direct message by replying to this, or by clicking this link:

I know that writing down what’s going on for me has helped me feel less alone in my thoughts and feelings. And when people tell me that a particular line resonates with them, that they feel understood in reading about me, it also helps me feel understood and seen.

I write so people can see me, and I them. Or, to try to put it a little more poetically: I see the people, and the people see me.

I’ve borrowed from Joan Didion before: “I write to find out what I’m thinking,” and as I write these words, another, perhaps more accurate phrase comes to me: I write to find out who I am.

*Yes - I am aware of the irony of writing an article in a very public place about not talking about something publicly!