The Whole of the Iceberg

After University, I stayed part of a loose group of friends who, in later years, have roughly divided into two groups: The Queers and The Mums. The Mums are all women. The Queers, apart from me (genderqueer and assigned female at birth), are all men. I desperately wanted to be a Mum/parent and I worked at it very hard in many different ways, all of them painfully unsuccessful.  

And so, now, I am a member of The Queers and not The Mums. I am delighted to be in that group, I love being Queer and it’s a joyful and important part of my identity. But I still long to be part of The Mums. [1]  

I love my Mum friends, we’re still close. But it’s been hard for us all. I’m the only female bodied person in the group without a child and they’ve all been able to see my longing and the hard work I’ve done to try to get to where they are.  

But there are some things they haven’t seen, haven’t been able to see. They can’t see their Mum Privilege, the extra rights and care they get because they’ve got children. They can’t see the existential crises of the non-parent – why are we here, how can we make an impact/leave a legacy? Or the practical ones – who will do for me what I do for my parents when I get old?  

Sometimes they harm us with the things they say (‘I thought you’d be over this by now.’ ‘You didn’t help me enough when my daughter was a baby.’ ‘I don’t think you like my child.’) and sometimes by the things they don’t say (‘How are you doing?’ ‘How are things going now?’ ‘This must still be really hard for you.’ ‘What can I do to help?’) They often don’t see the part of the iceberg of feeling beneath the surface and they don’t often enquire about what might be hiding there in the cold and dark. 

I think everyone has an iceberg. And I invite all of us to start letting it rise from the dark and be seen. I’d like to sit down with my friends with children and say, ‘Let’s talk and listen, let’s dare to be seen, let’s share what hurts and what heals, let us show our authentic selves.’ But I would ask my friends with children to start with me. For mine is the disenfranchised grief, I am part of a group whose story society rarely tells, I carry unseen truths and I know these truths may be hard and painful to hear. But I long to share them. I long for them to be understood. I long for my friends to enquire after me, to not forget the things I have experienced and will experience. It doesn’t keep me stuck in my grief. I know it will help to free me from it.  

I have hidden my hurts because there isn’t always space for what disrupts the ‘normal’ narrative and so they will be harder to reveal, may need more help. I may need more help. But I want to hear from them too.  

After all, we are not that different, beneath the surface. And if we can share what is currently hidden, say the things we feel we cannot say, then who knows what the gifts the whole of the iceberg may bring? I want to find out. I invite you all to share.  

Originally published as part of World Childless Week 2024

[1]And of course, it is possible to be a Mum/parent and to be Queer. I am not childless because I’m part of the LGBTQIA+ community.