How Many *s Do You Have To Give?

If my capacity to care was like light waves right now, it would not be a laser beam, utterly focussed on one goal. It would not be a spotlight, panning across the salient and important issues of life. It would be like a morose rainbow, refracted across a spectrum of crippling angst about the Climate Crisis, fear for our survival as individuals and as a collective, face-palming about the stupidity of the world’s superpowers, on top of the normal worries and cares of life - will people like my posts? I’m going to be late! Am I actually good at my job, or are they just saying that, and what even is the meaning of life? 

It is in this vast spectrum of dissipated cares and scattered sorrows that we find ourselves depleted, unable to plan for the future, or imagine much past a month from now. I am aware that Beirut has just imploded, and that the US is on the brink of collapse, that there is a refugee crisis from Syria to Venezuela to Sudan. As much as I might want to help, I cannot help others until I help myself. Our uncertainty about our future here rings like a siren in my ears, much like the literal siren that has been going outside our building for the ENTIRE.WEEKEND.SO.FAR, and its shrill unrelenting whining drowns out thoughts or cares for anything else. 

I feel utterly disempowered by the bigness of the world’s problems, and my comparative smallness. 

For me, the knee-jerk response to that is sinking into a slough of ambivalence, a dearth of caring.

How many times a day right now are you catching yourself saying ‘I simply don’t care’? 

I don’t care about the homeless people that my heart used to bleed for. I don’t care about the politicking of politics, I just want functional leaders that can competently do the job. I don’t care about a virus ruining the world, I just want to live my life. I don’t care about where I’ll be in 10 years or 10 months, I’m looking at 10 days and thinking ‘How do I cope with another lockdown?’

Sound familiar? 

There must be a way to build the capacity to care. It’s a tall ask at such a time, but I have to believe that we can overcome our current circumstances.

 

How can we flex our muscle of intention, should we so choose? 

How else can we describe intention? Give a damn. Give a fuck. Give a care. Give a hoot. Give a toss. Give a shit. Give a rat's ass. Whatever it is - you are giving something. By the very vernacular that we use to describe it, it is not a passive act; it requires something from you. I think that might get to the heart of why it is so very difficult to do.  

 

For those who are disinclined towards certain language, I will use a * in place of whatever noun it is that you choose to describe what you are giving. 

I woke up at 6am this morning, a Saturday morning, and since then I’ve argued with my father about the reliability of various sources in regard to find out information about COVID-19, I’ve read through an article about systemic racism in the US - twice, because it had lots of statistical analysis and big words and hurt my brain, and I’ve listen to this drivel of a podcast about ‘Rapid onset gender dysphoria’ and how it’s ‘stealing’ a whole generation of American girls. 

It’s 11am on what was supposed to be a lazy Saturday and I have used up all my limited *s that I had to give today, and none of them were on anything to do with me. 

I do not have COVID, I don’t believe there’s a government conspiracy to try and inject you with something when/if they find a vaccine for it. I am not a US citizen, nor a BIPOC, nor any flavour of LGBTQI+, nor a teen, nor a parent, and frankly none of these remotely personally affect me. 

I’m all for caring about other people’s causes, and each of those need allies and advocates, and for people to understand. But at what cost?

5 hours of substantial research and what have I to show for it, other than now wondering how many teens in the US are *really* transgender, and who is profiting from them being so? 

Is this the very best use of my time? My intention? My *s? Is this the very best use of me?

Have any of my opinions changed? Uh, perhaps I’m slightly more open to the possibility of there being a cure for COVID through a drug cocktail concocted by a New Jersey doctor with some dubious clinical techniques, and maybe slightly less open than I was to the possibility that the fleeting notion of a teen wanting to change gender should be unequivocally given the green light without letting them know the fullness of that decision.

The mental gymnastics required to try and navigate our current world and be politically correct is just exhausting. No wonder people stop trying. 

I did not set points of intention for today, except for doing some yoga to help my sore neck and finish reading the 17 page academic study so I can have an informed conversation and not sound like a luddite when next I see a particular friend, (and also to ‘win’ an ongoing argument with a Facebook friend from high school. No one ever really wins in online debates though, right?) 

Because I had little in the way of agenda for today, my day was easy to hijack by other people’s cares, agendas and intentions. 

The old truism of teachers everywhere rings through my mind as I review my day so far: 

Those who fail to plan

Plan to fail.

Perhaps failure is a bit of a harsh assessment of my day so far. Learning surely is never a failure. However, sacrificing my agenda, my wants and my desires for others’ causes ad infinitum is certainly not being true to myself. 

Should I give a * about rainbow rights, about structural racism, and about whether or not there’s a cure for a disease? Yes. Ostensibly these are things that do need to be cared about, they do need to be researched, funded and discussed. 

But is this the very best use of the limited *s I have to give today? 

I’m not convinced. 

When we spend all our available *s on other people’s causes - however noble - there are very few left for ourselves. 

This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is just a thing. 

When thinking about how scarce *s are, I marvel/despair at people who can wantonly give them to things like obsessively hand wringing over sport, arranging cushions, dog grooming, reading gossip magazines, or even fighting with people on the internet to try and prove a point, when one knows it will only lead to bad blood and people doubling down. (Yes, I get frustrated with myself…) 

I think that excessive cleaning is a waste of time and *s. That counting calories is a waste of time and *s. Shopping for shit you don’t need is a waste of money, time and *s. 

I expend more *s than I would like to mention on analysing how many *s other people waste. Obviously not a great use of my *s.

There is an austerity of *s, generally. People have a very finite amount of *s to give and everyone, from every platform is screaming and clamouring to get hold of some of your *s.

There are so very many issues in the world at large, that I would rather spend my very limited amount of *s on such things are solving global poverty, working towards a circular economy, and saving the environment for future generations.

But right now, I don’t feel like I have spare *s for these big picture things. My *s are wasted on minutia such as ‘Do I have a mask with me today?’, ‘Did I remember hand sanitizer?’, ‘Can you catch Covid-19 through particles landing in your eyes?’, ‘Is it safe to take the kids to x place right now?’. I detest this perceived waste of *s, but also in order to not get sick and eventually have the luxury of caring about big picture things again, one needs to care about petty minutia right now. 

So many of our *s are stolen from us during inane daily activities. I must expend fucks on things like checking whether the rubbish is empty, if my pits are shaved, if there’s still toilet paper in the house, how much money is in the account attached to the card I currently am carrying with me, what is my employer REALLY thinking of me at this time, did I remember to water the plants? Is there enough food in the house for dinner tonight or do I need to attempt to reserve enough *s to go out of my way to procure more food on the way home? Do I even need to eat tonight?

Our *s are stolen by that advertisement on the bus, the *s we spend on road rage from the wankers who hold us up in our commute, the slowness and tedium of the work day, and the *s we must give about the perceptions of colleagues, employers and customers.

Not to mention the *s that all consuming dread takes hold when one strays into thinking about things like what happens when we die? Why am I really here? What does my life actually mean? Do I, in fact, actually matter, or am I just a meat popsicle with complicated feelings?

When you look at all the various phenomena that the human mind has to try and juggle in a day in order to stay alive today, and to try and make tomorrow an even more enjoyable day, then it really is amazing we get anything much accomplished. 

In the same way we budget our money, I think there must be a way we can budget our *s so that we save them for the things that we deem the most important, and not have them sucked into the vacuum of useless crap along the way. 

I would like to offer 5 key suggestions for giving a * when it is really really hard to care.

Limit what you say yes to

 

There are myriad things demanding our time, *s, and attention. You can’t care about everything all at once forever. Find points of intention, and focus on those for now. Choose carefully what you will say yes to. Write them down. Set time aside to give a * about these things. Find friends who also give a * about it. Perhaps, join a group or a club.

Knowing what you stand for limits what you will fall for. Knowing what you’re about means other people’s agendas can’t railroad yours.

Plan ahead

 

It requires less cognitive effort to enact a plan that is already made, than it does to try and make it up on the spot. Sit down the night before and write your ‘musts’ and ‘mights’ on two separate lists. If you get to the mights tomorrow, bravo, go you.  

Set reminders on your phone, or plaster your walls with post -it notes if that’s more your jam.

When you plan how to spend your *s, you are more likely to spend them where you want to spend them, rather than simply wherever the day takes you. In my mind, not planning for the day is like the difference between trying to canoe down a river with or without a paddle. It might be a wild ride without, and it might work out - but it is good luck rather than good management. Steer your day, as you would paddling a canoe down a river. Going with the flow might very well lead you over a waterfall or down some dicey rapids.

Yoga classes start and end with the idea of ‘set an intention’ for this practice or for this day. To whatever degree you are comfortable with, set an intention for a day. I have learned that I am unlikely to get done more than a post-it note’s worth of things in a day. If it can’t fit on one post it note, it’s too big for today. 

Spend some of your *s on something bigger than yourself

 

Obviously looking after yourself is important, and you need to spend a fair amount of your *s on yourself, but balance that with bigger picture *s as well. I try to work on a strategy of ruthless self care: looking after myself so that I can look after others. 

Spending all of your *s on yourself, your vanity, your wants, your desires, your interests is a surefire way to end up with a really insular, small life. 

People function best when they have a crusade, a cause to fight for, a purpose so much bigger than them. What’s yours? This world is far from perfect. Pick a thing and get passionate.

Give yourself permission to run out of *s for certain things

 

Not giving a * about some things leaves you more *s for other things that you value. Just because someone you care about wants you to give a *, doesn’t mean it is a good use of your *s. 

If you are empathetic and prone to giving a * about ALL.THE.THINGS, there will still be a Give a * hierarchy in your head. Have a think about the most important things, and maybe make a list of 3-5 things that are super important to you at the moment. 

It is only Facebook that gives you infinite ‘care’ capacity. Spend your cares wisely. 

 

Spend some *s on growing your *s budget over time

 

Think of it like a muscle. The more *s you put into building your capacity for *s, the more capacity you will have to build your capacity of *s. When you create the habit of caring, setting an intention, giving a *, then it becomes second nature. 

If you default to ‘I just don’t care’, and that is the language you use around exercise, diet, sleep, job options, where you holiday, where you spend your money, then it is very easy to just not really give a * about anything much. Try spending just a few *s on each of those things, and you’ll find it easier and easier to continue to level up. 

Ideally, giving a * will become part of your new normal, and no longer a conscious, effortful task.

(This might be lies, I’m still at the I just don’t care phase about quite a few of those.)

The More *s You Give, The Better You’ll Get at Giving a *

When we give *s in order to grow our capacity to care, our capacity to give a *, then we can afford to be more particular in the future with our *s. 

I love the adage ‘think global, act local’. We are all interconnected, and each of our decisions to use plastic, or to drive a car, or have a child, or go on holiday, or wear a mask does impact on others to some degree. 

Something I really admire about my friends, particularly my North American friends, is their capacity for caring about what I would consider minutia. They’ve looked at all the restaurants, and know which ones they want to go to. They have a handle on which bars are the best in town. They know exactly where they want to go on holiday. There is so much research, planning and intention that goes into their daily lives, it astonishes me. 

I used to think that ‘The devil is in the detail’ meant that you should stay as far away as possible from caring about details as you can. I consider myself a bigger picture thinker, but much like a tapestry, the bigger picture is created from thousands of individual stitches, so too are the tapestries of our lives woven from individuals decisions, and whether or not we choose to give a * about a particular thing.

What patterns are you weaving in the tapestry of your life? Where are you spending your *s?

Keep flexing that muscle of intention, that muscle of giving a *, and watch it grow.

 

Quarantine Diary #8

I thought I would do a quick update on the latest with us. 

I am happily back at work, where I have been enjoying spending entire unrushed days with my three little lovelies, basking in all the summer glory that Ireland has to offer (though not so much with the summer part). This is all about to come to an end as school starts back in a couple of weeks, and so it'll be back to rushing them everywhere and dealing with loads of traffic from everyone else also rushing everyone everywhere. 

Jared has nearly clocked Red Dead Redemption, as he's been between jobs since late June (97% and counting ;) ). Though he's had several interviews and verbal offers of jobs, the actual part where you sign on the dotted line has not yet materialised. There are promising leads in the pipeline for two jobs, but neither have come to fruition at this stage. We're hoping to hear back in the next week or so, but then that's what recruiters have been saying for the last couple of weeks. 

He did have a job lined up, but the start date got postponed, as banks aren't funding anything and everything willy-nilly like once they were. The contract was to be for a QS role on an apartment building construction site, which Dublin sorely needs more of, so it's not like there's not going to be a market for them when they're complete. 

(Perhaps if more people like us are considering returning to their country of origin the housing crisis here will abate some?)

We've taken advantage of the time off to explore the country a little more, heading up to Donegal and doing the majority of the coast line in that county. I'll do another post outlining exactly where we went in more detail.

Ireland saw 174 cases this Saturday just gone, as there's been outbreaks in Direct Provision facilities (where they house refugees and asylum seekers) and also in meat processing plants in the counties that surround Dublin. Thankfully, with the 3 affected counties in lockdown, the spread seems to have slowed, but it is certainly not eliminated, and cases continue to trickle in by the day... another 40 cases Wednesday, 91 cases yesterday. So, we're well on our way to a second wave. 

Having said that, we've been thoroughly enjoying the freedom that has come with being out of lockdown, and been availing ourselves of some great eateries, including bottomless brunch last weekend, and our Canadian friend Sarah and I went to Howth for a stunning Saturday in the sun. I was lured into the water by the balmy temperature, only to discover that the water temperature was 'bloody Baltic' as the Irish would say. 

'Refreshing' I believe is the correct parlance here. I think I need to invest in a 7mm wetsuit to fully enjoy next summer. These Irish are harder than me! 

Book is sitting just shy of 50 000 words. Hopefully some/most of them are worth keeping, but time will tell with that. I'm working on a new blog, which is why I've not been posting here much, with exciting details to come.

We now find ourselves in the awkward place between treading water and creating wealth, with enough to keep afloat, but without 2 steady incomes, the question becomes how long can we continue this? We have indulged in rich-people activities recently such as going to the dentist, buying a computer, and actually taking a holiday, but these may turn out to have been an overindulgence and I'm back to stalling on when I buy my next set of goggles so I can go swimming and see, or avoiding buying new underwear because current set... well the holes aren't really that big, right?. 

Where is the line where we say enough is enough, and run away home? Thankfully, Jared qualifies for the Covid Payment here, otherwise we'd already be heading home. My wage barely pays the rent. 

I have just made it to a year in my current job, although of that year, I've only worked 9.5 months. The family I work for have been so kind and generous throughout the year and especially throughout Covid, so I'm really grateful to have employment still, and employment with such lovely people. 

This immigrant life is fun, exciting and adventurous, but it is also nerve-wracking, precarious, lonely, and can mean forever feeling like an outsider, or caught between two worlds. There's no guarantee that even if we went back to NZ now, that we would be able to easily pick up jobs, so our position might get worse before it gets any better. 

I'm not sure I'm willing to give up on our European dream just yet, if we still have a choice in the matter. I'm just hoping it doesn't become a European nightmare. Ireland is taking pretty good care of us so far. 

Long may this continue. 

Kids: Who'd have 'em?

I have a dirty little secret: if I found out I couldn't have kids, I'd be elated. 

"You know you don't have to have kids, right?" My friend turned to me as we flicked through photos of her darlings. She regaled me with the devilish things they'd been doing recently like drawing on the walls, pooping in the shower and flinging their siblings' toys out the car window.

"But you have beautiful kids, and I'm sure you love them loads - even if it's only when they're asleep!"

"Yea...sure...They're hard work though. I love them, but right now I'm really not sure they're worth the constant stress. If I had my time over..." She stared out the hotel window, dreaming of a child-free parallel universe. "My husband promised that we could still travel even after we've had kids, but there's been sweet fuck all of that."

"Well, he gets to swan off and travel around the world for his job! That's hardly a fair or reasonable promise to make pre-kids. Also - you happen to be here in with me right now - there's some travel happening!" 

"You have no idea... even a trip to the shops or the park is like preparing for an Antarctic expedition but with way more arguments, tears, and missing shoes."

I gave her a side hug as we finished doing our make up ready for a night out on the town. 

"Seriously, not having kids is a completely valid option. Just think about it."

My counsellor asked me when I was 19, naive, and idealistic, to imagine that I was sitting on my porch when I'm 80, looking back on my life, and thinking about what I would regret not doing with my life, if I had not done it by then.

My answer: Living abroad, travelling, having kids. 

Three beautiful kids, probably all boys knowing my luck. (...Or would all girls be worse???)

That was my plan. It’s the done thing, expected, but it seemed like a pretty winning formula to me. I’ve always been way more comfortable in the company of kids than adults - there’s less bs; they just tell it like it is. Their honesty is refreshing, and one is not left guessing what they really mean.

“You know that pasta thing you made for us last week, Lauren? Yea, I didn’t really like that.”

“The macaroni cheese? Oh. Right. Cool.”

“I like the pasta just like mummy makes it - just plain, with loads of butter.” This is a 4 year old who knows what she wants. You want me to expend even less effort in order to satisfy your whims? That is fine. 

Remember that rhyme from childhood? First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in the baby carriage. Most of us were created in a similar formula, probably precipitated by a couple kissing in a tree as well. That is the expected pattern, the done thing.

Peter and I spent hours of our childhood imagining out a future, carefully drawing the floor plans for the houses that we would live in, what quirks they would have, who we would marry, how many kids we would have, what their names would be, what kind of jobs we'd have. I was going to be an architect, and Peter oscillated between engineer, computer technician and philosopher - whichever resulted in the least amount of actual work having to be done.

Sure, I have a house now, but it doesn't have a dedicated trampoline room, or a waterslide connecting the top and bottom floors. Sure, I have an amazing husband now, but Peter is no longer around to buy the house next door. I'm not an architect, or an interior designer...or a teacher. I am a person. I am just me. Employed, but certainly not defined by my profession, as the English language encourages. (Although I'm very quick to point out that I am a teacher, but I work as a nanny at the moment when asked what I do - we can go down that rabbit hole another time.) 

Love - check.

Marriage - check.

‘So, when are you guys planning to have kids?’

In fairness to the faceless masses that enquire after my womb, it is usually phrased as ‘Are you guys planning to have kids?’

It seems to be the next natural step on the classic life trajectory, even in our modern era. 

In fact, a lot of people assume that you only get married because you want to have (legitimate?) kids. And so as autumn follows summer, people ask, and though it's really none of their business what I choose to do with my vagina, I do feel like I need to have an answer one way or the other. 1% for them, but 99% for myself. 

"But all they do is poop, cry and sleep! Why would you want that?" decried Jared as I gently broached the subject of kids.

"It's not like they stay like that all the time, that's only a couple of years..."

"And think of the sleep deprivation - I can barely recover from one late night, let alone years of them." Jared is amazingly decrepit after sleep loss. This is a valid concern. 

"I just don't want kids" asserts Husband, "I thought you didn't either?"

OK, he may have gotten that impression from me spending the first 3 years of our relationship hyperventilating whenever the subject of children surfaced. As if a near panic attack reaction was a concrete answer...

Do I actually not want kids? Children are a significant part of my life, and have been for nearly a decade.

I've spent the last 5 years occasionally trying to feel that cluckiness that many assured me would come in my thirties, and much like trying to successfully imagine a massage in your mind palace whilst having your wisdom teeth removed, it has not been a relaxing time. 

I think I used up all my cluckiness when I was a kid, fussing over other people's babies at church, and mothering my brothers. 

Part of the problem is I know too much. Most parents imagine this delightful life they'll have with their kids. I'm confronted by the brutal rowdy reality too often. A child coughed in my face yesterday - covering me in a shower of their spittle. Smile for a photo guys - this is obviously an ideal time to throw stones at me. 'Lauren, what shall we do today?' Well, you've besmirched the 5 plans I've offered so far, so how bout you tell me, buddy? And that's from the well-behaved kids...

(Disclaimer: I do love my job. This week, I have been paid to play board games, go to the beach, eat ice cream, make pancakes, make blanket forts and paint with shaving foam paint. I have to answer the same question 50 million times, act as a human shield between sibling rivalry, be hated on for making them read, repeat myself 10 000 times to get things packed up etc etc etc...)

I like kids, for the first 5 hours, and after that I spend my time counting down until I get to give them back again. I know exactly how whiny they are, how incessant their questioning is, how messy they are, how difficult it is to try and get them excited about anything that is good for them like broccoli, reading, or learning about refugee camps… 

The only good thing about working in a creche last year, was that I got to work with babies for a little bit, and realised that actually, as long as you're taking care of them, they're pretty chill most of the time, and not just the screaming crying pooping messes I imagined - though that's definitely part of the mix. 

If our joint decision making is equal on this issue, I thought Jared sat about 30% of his 50% decision making allocation as opposed to children, like sure they're annoying, but if you really want to, then we could try. 

5 years in, and after a lot more digging, he sits at about 49% of his 50% decision-making allocation. His decision: opposed to kids. There is very little room for my convincing sales pitch when he is that decided. 

Because he is so decided, I feel I need to play devil’s advocate. I've been trying to convince him that it is a good idea - I love playing the antagonist. Kids are cute, and you get to teach them things, they're lovely and wonderful, and you get to experience the world renewed...and most compellingly: Idiocracy. We should have kids cos we're smart and privileged and otherwise it'll just be the 'idiots' that reproduce...Society needs more smarties.

But where do I sit with my 50% of the decision? 

Then I stopped and imagined myself with 100% of the decision making power for this decision (which, let's be real, is actually probably a bit closer to the truth) and realised: it wasn't Jared I had to convince. It was myself. 

There are 10 main arguments against in my view.

1. Too Vulnerable

See, much like Mal in Inception, an idea was planted in my mind when I was 14, that I've never successfully shifted: Motherhood makes you too vulnerable; children are a liability.  

When my parents' marriage imploded, my heart made a pact that I would never put myself in a situation where I was that vulnerable to betrayal and wholly dependent on someone else for financial, social, and practical life support. 

I stopped watching chick flicks, I stopped waiting for a man to complete me. I made a vow to have a career, be financially independent, and emotionally independent. I would create my own life and I would certainly not be a martyr for my family, a doormat for my husband or children to walk all over. No one would blindside me like that. (I'm quite sure I'll get blindsided by something else, don't you worry.)

The birthplace of militant feminists is when male is conflated with asshole. Unfortunately assholes come in both genders, so I have just set out to avoid assholes, and try and avoid becoming one myself. 

As I was massaging out the scar tissue from that blow and starting to regain faith in the world and myself, my brother takes his own life, which leads me to my next reason.

2. Ill-Favoured Genetic Lottery 

How do I explain that to myself, other than something has gone very wrong in 

a) society at large

b) him, naturally; genetically - with whom I share a lot of DNA

c) him, nurturly; environmentally - we were nurtured in the same environment

d) it was just a freak one off accidental thing that's not related to anything else

e) him and him alone, and I shouldn't freak out about it, because I'm a completely different other separate human

In reality, it's all of those. 

What if I go to all the effort of raising this wonderful human, and then they die - most gallingly, by choice? I’d be devastated - all over again. What if I spend so much of said child's life scared that they'll be depressed and suicidal that by those very thoughts I inadvertently make them depressed and suicidal?! 

I don't know if that's a risk I'm willing to take. I'm not convinced the reward would outweigh the risk. I would spend every single minute of their entire lives second guessing myself, wondering if this particular thing would be the thing that would make them depressed, fuck them up for life, or want to take their own lives. 

What if I carry the 'suicidal/clinical depression gene'? What if the words I speak and the way I do life creates an environment where someone doesn't feel good enough, feels like they're a failure, doesn't know how to climb out of the pit of depression, sees no hope or purpose in living? With knowledge, comes responsibility. My parents couldn’t have guessed that there was such a possibility of my brother committing suicide. They didn’t know that the remaining 3 of us would then take turns having clinical depression, suicidal ideations, anxiety, and PTSD. 

If you could prevent that pain for someone else, wouldn’t you?

Even if by some miracle, I was able to entirely unlearn the low self-esteem, self-doubting, perfectionistic scripts that I've learned, would I be able to learn fast enough what to fill that gap with? Could I love them enough to outweigh the genetic and environmental risk? Could I teach them to love themselves enough? Could I counteract the difficulties in the world and make them strong enough to want to live and thrive?

I don’t have a confident yes to any of those.

Normally, I like to think that I'm not afraid of anything. I'd like to think that I do not make major life decisions based on whether or not I'm scared. I'm very much a ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ kind of woman, and I'm all about ‘lean into the discomfort’. 

However, on this particular subject, I have discovered this is not as true as I would like it to be. 

I usually assess risk based on the percentage likelihood of an event happening. Usually, I'm very willing to take risks, even if the odds are not in my favour, buoyed by boundless optimism and hopefulness. But in my mind, the risks are too great here. 

I'm terrified of this. 

Am I seriously not even going to try to have kids because of the maybe 50/50 chance of my kid being clinically depressed? 

I don't have any impetus to take risks about this. At all. The stakes are too high. My risks don't impact only me, but also Jared, and mostly some currently-perfect apparition of a human who has not yet been sullied by the world, genetics, me or random chance and accident. Is it strange that I would be willing to spare my unconceived child because I believe the chance of suffering to be high? 

Is that lunacy or altruism? 

Depression is one thing, but then one needs to consider Jared's part in this equation - his adult son is on the autism spectrum and his life isn't easy. Autism can have it’s advantages, and there are loads of amazing people who are on the spectrum, but there’s no way to predict the severity of how it might manifest. It's highly possible that I speak of what I do not know here, and that this fear is misplaced, but there it is. 

3. Fear of Physical Pain

Then there's the pregnancy/birth part. I have, since I was a teen, had vivid nightmares about giving birth and breastfeeding that I wake up from, shaking, sweating, sobbing. This is compounded by people telling me their birth stories, and the constant portrayal in TV shows and movies. Please. Just stop. Nothing about this is selling the experience. 

I’ve never understood why a sane person would inflict that upon themselves.

I have basically no hips, and my mother had 3 out of 4 difficult births, so the likelihood of intervention being required is high.

Some people glow during pregnancy, I'm pretty sure I would just billow. I am barely accepting of my pre-pregnancy body, and it's not like there's a large track record of people's bodies improving postpartum. 

4. I’m Only Just Keeping My Head Above Water Now

Then you have the socio-emotional aspect. I feel like I have spent the majority of my adult life managing the emotional trauma that has happened to me, increasing self-awareness, managing self-care, getting counselling, parenting myself to top up the years my parents were emotionally absent, creating self-esteem out of thin air, unlearning, relearning, figuring out who I am and what I'm about. 

There is a lot of 'Well I sing, because I know it releases chemicals in my brain and it makes me happy. It's a form of therapy, and I love it' 

Or 'I eat because I'm hungry, but also because it's a coping strategy', 

'I exercise so I can justify the eating, and to lift my mood.' 

When I get anxious and panicked, my mantra is 'Swim until it feels better.' Endorphins are my drug of choice (and coffeeeee). I write because I love it, but it is a coping strategy, a therapy; it detangles my knotted thoughts. Truth be told, it is therapy first, enjoyment second. 

I'm an amazing person, yes, carefully held together by a vast web of coping strategies. 

(Maybe that is just everyone.)

There must, at some point, be a shift between managing trauma, and moving towards joy. A transition between surviving and thriving, just coping and hoping, to where you are living and giving, but I do not feel like I'm finished with that journey. 

Are you ever finished? 

Life should be more than just a series of coping strategies, implemented for fear of regression. Besides which, I don't know that my web of coping strategies is strong enough to handle the pressures of a child. What if the stress is more than the coping mechanisms can actually cope with, and you end up messing them up in the same way you were? Or even worse, more insidious toxic ways?

5. The Best Case Scenario Seems Grim

What is the best case scenario to come out of this circumstance? We create a child who is so self-aware, educated and loved, that should suicidal ideation come along, they know that it’s just a siren call from their brain to give up on the struggle that is life? A child who knows how to start from below zero everyday, to build themselves up to keep going on? 

If by some miracle they dodge the dyslexia, ADHD, autism, depression, anxiety, bipolar, autoimmune disease, flat feet, dodgy eyes, obesity, and other plethora of things that are likely to go wrong, there’s still the financial implications of the decision. 

Currently, it takes one of our incomes to pay the rent where we live. Even in NZ, with paid maternity leave, things would be tight. We would be living eternally in that tension that I’m sure is all too familiar to many parents of wanting to give our child the best life possible and simply not being able to afford it, despite between us earning two professional wages.

6. Environment: Our Planet Doesn’t Need More People

There is a ticking bomb that is our environment, in a world that some argue is already overpopulated. How can I justify bringing another life into this world - particularly if I'm not super-keen on having kids to start with?

I listened to a really interesting podcast about Birthstrikers, a movement where women are choosing not to have children because of the effect it will have on our planet and how it will add to the problem of climate change, because one more entitled mouth to feed is not what our society or the planet need right now. Each person born into Western society uses an average of 13 tons of carbon per year over their lifetime, whereas the average person living in China only uses 4 tons per year. The single biggest thing you can do to reduce your carbon footprint is not have kids, followed by not have a car, or fly.

Maybe the answer is go and raise my kids in China?

Obviously, the middle ground is have kids, but do it in an environmentally friendly way, but increasingly, environmentally friendly options are the purview of the wealthy, and the rest are left to grab cheap disposable things or archaic technology, because they don't have the capital saved to invest in things like electric vehicles, or they don't have the luxury of having a parent stay at home and raise the kids and washing the cloth diapers, or the spare time to learn about another whole way of doing life, or simply the spare fucks to give about such things.

We currently are in the privileged category of being able to invest in environmentally friendly options - €12 for alternative toothpaste, €9 for deodorant from health shops, cleaning products that are twice the price. 

If we had to then fund a child, income would decrease for awhile at least, and also costs would rise putting us from ‘well-to-do professionals’ to ‘working poor’ category. 

7. I’m Simply Not Excited About It

I would typify myself as a realistic optimist. The likelihood of us creating amazing functional accomplished humans probably is in our favour, and we probably are well equipped to deal with any of those eventualities, but it seems like the chances of it going wrong are too higher than most. 

I want to Marie Kondo this idea of children out of my life, because there is nothing about it that brings me joy. If I found out today that I was pregnant, I would despair, not celebrate. The overwhelming emotion would be fear, not excitement. I would be filled with dread about the genetic lottery that this kid is up against, let alone the world that they are coming into. 

I guess that’s what the 40 weeks are for. I suppose one is never ‘ready’ for children.

If not, then is your journey basically paused while you have kids, and you're left to parent them with this half-baked life strategy that is dependent upon some coping mechanisms that may or may not withstand children? 

What if you think you’re all good, and you’ve got a sound life strategy, and you’ve got a leash on your demons, but then they rear their ugly heads and actually, it turns out you were just happily deluded, and now there’s another whole human in the mix that has to deal with your demons too?

I thought that moving to Laos was the first step on this amazing international career that would take me all around the world, but I had unfinished business at home that needed to be attended to. It turns out I was just mostly running away from that. I left New Zealand because I wanted to be anywhere but there, creating a new better story. I thought I was going towards this glorious future. However, I discovered that I needed to be in New Zealand. My previous story wasn't finished yet. 

A decade on, I live in Ireland, and this time I feel like I am going towards a future, rather than running away from my past. 

So if in Ireland, I'm moving towards joy, and looking at a future, not through the fog of trauma, or the lens of fear, or a web of coping strategies. Instead, moving towards things I value, things I want, finding purpose, then I still don't know if parenthood is something I want to work towards. 

When would I write all the books and blog posts floating around in my head?

8. Whose Wants Win?

Even if I did want kids, whose wants win? 

If Jared is 49% out of his 50% decided that he's opposed to having kids because he's already ‘too old’ and he would then be forced to continue working until at least age 65, probably more like 70, in order to support them, then do I want children badly enough to ask that of him? (My editor assures me my husband will stick around, no matter what.) 

Would I want it badly enough to be a sole parent, if it came to it? 

Obviously, I’d do it. We’d do it. Well. To the best of our abilities. If that was what we chose. 

If children were thrust upon us, I think we'd be quite good parents. But having to consciously make the choice whether or not to have them? I don't think I can choose actively, affirmatively, joyously to bring another life into the world. 

At the moment, the choice is a resounding ‘No!’. 

9. I Cannot Find A Why

If we're simply looking at wants, the want is not there. Only the hollow knocking of social obligation, which reverberates strongly in my eldest child mind. 

I have racked my brain to try and come up with a compelling narrative as to why I ‘should’, and why the ‘should’ should outweigh the fear. If you are having a child because you ‘should’, I do not think that is fair on the child, or yourself.

The best I’ve got is FOMO - it might be better than I think - marriage is, after all.

That is quickly countered by a deluge of doubts and fear. I cannot fathom a moment where the regret of not would outweigh the paralysing fear of proceeding.

I do not think ‘should’ or ‘FOMO’ are enough of a reason to create a new life.

10. Not Wanting Should Be Enough.

So for the sake of my marriage, for the planet, and for the sake my would-be child, I don't think that we are good candidates for parents. That's the rational, logical decision. And my heart breathes a sigh of relief with coming to it.

I did an extensive pros and cons list, and my pros seemed very superficial and feeble in comparison to the cons, featuring things like 'can shop guilt-free in maternity section', 'finally, an excuse to be fat', 'get to watch kids movies', 'they'll make good guinea pigs for teaching ideas'. These are certainly not compelling enough to overcome any fears or reasons for hesitation.

If, dear reader, there is a compelling argument for children, by all means present me with it. I haven’t found one yet.

For contrast - the 'cons' list totalled 219. 

The conclusion is basically this: Jared doesn’t want children. I don't want children, badly enough. 

We don’t want children. 

That should be enough, in and of itself. 

And yet I still dread having to answer the question.

Extra Reading:

Entire series of articles about the Childfree choices, and reasons why.

Guardian article about how addict is not having kids so as to not pass on genes.

This craziness that happens in your house/life with kids

Study finding that having children actually makes men happier, and women less happy, and people who never had children are happier overall.

Ted Talk about someone who knew from a really young age she didn't want kids