Childless. And finally happy
I was a teenager, 13 years old, lying on my bed with a thick book. Fascinated, I read the characteristics of my star sign, Cancer, in the book on astrology that I had stolen from my older sister: «The most maternal star sign of all. Fatefully, however, it is also the sign that has the fewest children of its own. It compensates for this by living out its maternal feelings in its environment and at work. Often chooses younger partners to mother.»
Horrified, I asked my mum: «Is that true?» She laughed and took me in her arms: «Certainly not. Unlike your sister, you were born to be a mum and will have at least five children!»
Forty years have passed since this prediction. Last December, my sister and I celebrated Christmas without my mother, who has long since passed away, but with her grown-up grandchildren, Catherine and Jean-Claude. They are the spitting image of me: tall, blonde, blue-eyed and freckled. They are the children of my dark-haired sister. I was accompanied that evening by my husband and our dogs Louis and Millie.
Missed opportunities
I am a childless woman. That sounds kind of sad, but it's nothing to complain about, even though I struggled with it for a long time. And my close circle never understood why Silvia, who looked after the children of the whole neighbourhood as a little girl, never had any herself.
The Silvia who did an internship in a children's home and simply took the little ones home with her when their parents didn't pick them up at the weekend. She chose a profession that had to do with kids: nursery school teacher. To be honest, she would have preferred to be a journalist, but her parents were convinced that being a nursery school teacher was the best preparation for her own family.
When I was 20 years old, my sister became a mum. An «accident». But we were all happy about Catherine, who was born on my birthday. Of course I became a godmother and Catherine became my life's purpose. I looked after her every spare minute and loved it when people said: «That little girl is the spitting image of her mum.» Of course, I never corrected her.
Catherine was my dress rehearsal, the premiere would soon follow, but the happy event was delayed. Five years later, my sister had her second child. This time also unplanned. She gave up her job as a bookseller and became a full-time mum. In the meantime, I had fulfilled my career dream and started a traineeship as a journalist. Children continued to play a big role in my life. I was only too happy to look after my friends' children when they went out.
The journalist would like to see more tolerance on all sides.
A little later, I fell in love with a much older man who was the father of a teenage daughter. Although she lived with her mum, she spent a lot of time with us. Naturally, I took Charlotte under my wing and when she said, «You're my surrogate mum», my heart almost burst with pride.
But being a surrogate mum wasn't enough for me. However, my boyfriend refused to become a father again. I was using an IUD at the time, but it had slipped out of place. The gynaecologist discovered this after I nearly died of stomach pains. So I hadn't got pregnant for months without contraception. A bad omen?
When I was 30, I split up with my boyfriend and fell in love with a work colleague who made it clear from the start that he never wanted to be a father. But when the butterflies are dancing in your stomach, you don't pay any attention to a comment like that.
He would change and, after all, I still had plenty of time. And things were going pretty well at work; I had one great job after another. Most of my friends now had their first child. When they talked to each other about their experiences, I often felt out of place. I wanted to be a part of it, a proud mum and not just a babysitter who was always on call.
My boyfriend didn't change his mind, but became even more stubborn every time I spoke to him about it. And he was annoyed that we regularly had godchildren and neighbours' children at home. «Why don't you open a home,» he said mockingly. We parted company. Today he is an enthusiastic father of three children.
As difficult as the child issue was, my job went just as smoothly. I made a career like few women in Swiss journalism. My parents were proud of me, but secretly couldn't believe that their «Silveli» was so successful. But this success also had its downside. I lost contact with many of my former friends who now had families - they were now living in a different world.
Some also envied my independent life. Sayings like: «If I hadn't had children, I could have had a career like yours.» Or: «You can't have everything, right!» I once overheard two colleagues, both part-time working mums, talking about childless women in the toilet: «What will they do when they're old and no longer have the reassurance of work? They die alone and lonely.»
Was that really my future? Dying alone without a family? I began to worry more and more. In the meantime, my family also commented on my childlessness from time to time.
I had to listen to all kinds of well-intentioned advice such as «I know an excellent specialist. He has already helped many women» to curious questions such as «Do you even have a boyfriend?» to tactless remarks such as «She would have such a fertile pelvis». Others asked bluntly: «Are you actually infertile?»
The most annoying thing, however, was those who argued that childless women do nothing for the economy. No woman gets pregnant in order to do something for the state or society, but childless women should justify the fact that they are not giving the state a child.
Then I met the love of my life. However, the man for life was not a man for children. He had become a father at a very young age; his grown-up son had grown up with his mother and my beloved had no contact with him. The subject of children was definitely over for him.
My heart was broken once again. Should I give him up? Time was pressing, I was now 40 years old. «You can still have children for a long time,» I told myself. My mum had become a mother for the second time at the age of 46, I certainly had her good genes. And maybe I would be able to soften him up. He showed me his love in a hundred ways, a child wasn't one of them.
Today, I sometimes ask myself why I didn't simply assert my wishes. But I was as reluctant then as I am now to put a partner under pressure. The logical solution would have been to leave him. But do you do that with the love of your life?
I have to justify why I don't give the state a child.
We got ourselves a dog, Jil, a podenco, a former street dog from Portugal. Jil won our hearts faster than we thought and I became a dog mum. When she died years later, my partner suffered even more than I did. For me, this was a sign that he would have made a great father to a two-legged friend.
But I didn't just live out my motherly feelings with Jil, I also looked after my friends and was a point of contact for their worries and needs. And as a boss, I encouraged younger colleagues and stood by their side.
A mother's new self-image
In December 2004, not only did the tsunami sweep through Asia, I also felt an inner tsunami. I was pregnant! And I was almost 45 years old! After the initial joy, I was overcome by pure panic and asked myself incessantly: Would I even manage to be a good mum at my age?
My personal situation was also difficult. I had split up with my long-term partner after falling in love with a much younger man. However, my new boyfriend was overwhelmed by fatherhood, even though he had expressly wanted me to have a child.
I lost the child at the beginning of the fourth month. Due to a genetic defect, it would never have been able to survive. I vacillated between grief and relief. It was also an incisive experience that being pregnant was not synonymous with being happy.
My self-image of myself as a mother was suddenly different. And my inner struggle had come to an end: I loved my life, with or without a child. The abortion finally ended my relationship with the younger man and I got back together with my long-term partner. Incidentally, we are still a couple today.
Typical, she's a bit weird. She's just never had children.
I don't struggle with my fate. I live out my maternal feelings through many activities. I am a friend to my godchildren, who are now grown up. Sometimes I babysit neighbours' children or go shopping with my friends' kids. For a long time I thought about taking in a foster child, but my irregular working hours made this impossible.
And I try to be a good boss. Time and again, a young trainee captures my heart when I see how hard-working and enthusiastic she is. Sometimes I'm also glad to have remained childless when I enjoy togetherness with my partner or simply see a mother with a screaming toddler on the verge of a nervous breakdown in a café on a Saturday morning.
After the death of our first dog, my husband and I took in two stray dogs from animal shelters. Sometimes I find myself referring to myself as their «mum» when I'm out and about with them. A fact that my environment acknowledges with an indulgent smile.
I'm convinced they then think: «Typical, she's just a bit weird, she's just never had children.» No, I don't have children. But I have a lot of other things that enrich my life and nourish my feelings of motherhood. And for me, none of this is a half-hearted substitute, but a full-fledged joy. And it would be nice if there was a little more tolerance between the childless, who are considered selfish, and the parents who are always on the go.
