Therapy with a childfree dog lady
I’ve been enjoying the discourse about “childless cat ladies” lately. It’s exposed more extreme beliefs: like those of us (who have uteruses) without kids somehow don’t have a stake in our country or that people still yearn for so-called “traditional” gender roles. (Believing in traditional gender roles may not qualify as extreme, though I see it as such. Not to mention completely backward.) This childless cat lady rhetoric also highlights the pronatalist perspective that underlies so many of our assumptions about folks, especially those with uteruses.
The terms defining those of us without kids
I’m a proud childfree dog lady. I say “childfree” rather than “childless” because “childless” implies that I wanted a child or children but wasn’t able to have any. Or that I haven’t had any, whether because I haven’t gotten around to it yet or because I haven’t yet decided whether I want them. “Childfree” is often the term used to describe people who voluntarily choose not to have children; and I have known since a very young age that I neither wanted to give birth to nor raise children.
The term “childfree” still isn’t entirely accurate because—as some of the literature points out, including Emma Palmer’s 2019 article, “The ‘empty womb in the therapy room? The taboo and potency of the other than mother/childfree body”—I’m not actually childfree. I don’t live in a world absent of children. I have nieces and nephews. Some friends consider me an auntie to their kids. I’m around children, and my interactions with folks who have children is considerate of the kids’ needs.
When you have a child, whether born to you or not, you’re a parent. But those of us without children—well, it’s more complicated. Sometimes, we’re without kids because our bodies can’t (or couldn’t) have them. Sometimes, we’re without kids because we chose not to have them due to circumstances like prioritizing other parts of our lives (such as career) or needing to be financially stable only to find that when we’re ready to have kids, we’re too old. Sometimes, we’re without kids because we simply didn’t want them. And, in our pronatalist culture, that can still be hard to fathom. For example, I recall reading an allegedly feminist book about women and work in one of my gender studies classes in college, but the underlying assumption was of course women want kids. I objected to this premise immediately, as I’ve been fortunate enough to know clearly and from a young age I did not want a human child. (To speak further to our culture’s assumption that women want kids, I can’t tell you how many people told me I’d change my mind or how many doctors wouldn’t allow me to make medical decisions because they thought I was too young for such permanence.)
What does being childfree mean for therapy?
As a therapist whose website identifies me as cisgendered and straight, one of the questions about my identity I’m frequently asked is whether I’m a parent. While I do believe one parents rather than “owns” a dog, I am not the parent of any human.
Much of the time, folks ask me whether I’m a parent because they want to know if I have experiences similar to theirs or if I’ve encountered issues like theirs. Sometimes, finding a therapist with an identity like yours can be beneficial. And, I don’t believe anyone will ever find a therapist who is like them in every way. Identities mean different things to different people, and people with the same identity usually have a range of experiences. Growing up in the midwest means different things to different people; growing up Catholic means different things to different people. Not all white people have the same experience, just as not all folks of any other race or ethnicity have the same experience. Not even siblings who share DNA and grew up in the same home have the same experiences. We each have a range of identities and experiences that shape both how we interact with the world and how the world (or others in it) interprets us.
If every person seeking therapy wanted their therapist to have experienced everything they did, it’d be wildly difficult to find a therapist. Similarly, if a therapist had to have every experience of every person with whom they worked, chances are no one would trust that therapist to work with them. (Can you imagine a therapist being a conglomeration of every aspect, experience, and identity of everyone with whom they worked? Given the folks with whom I’ve worked over the course of my career, I’d have many mental health diagnoses. I’d have been addicted to every drug imaginable. I would have served time in jail. I would have been houseless. I would have been divorced multiple times. I would have attempted suicide using a range of means. I’d also have a PhD, MD, MBA, MSW, MPH, MPA, etc.)
Finding a therapist who shares all of your life experiences will never be possible. And if your therapist is too like you, they may even be struggling with the same issues for which you’re seeking therapy. You likely want a therapist with different perspectives from you. Someone who’s had their own life experiences can listen to you without judging you or automatically thinking you should have done x instead of y. You may want someone with specialized training, but–even then–none of us get trained in everything nor can all therapists anticipate every circumstance. That’s why we (therapists) have consultation groups, seek supervision, and engage in on-going learning. We strive to help those with whom we work; we acknowledge novel situations and circumstances and needs will always arrive. We try to model personal growth and willingness to change. None of us see 40 clients a week because part of our work is helping a range of folks with a range of experiences through a range of situations, which requires learning.
How I, a childfree dog lady, can help
As a childfree dog lady, where might my identity be particularly helpful? I won’t have biases about particular parenting styles. I won’t judge you if you’re struggling with raising your kiddo or teenager. Instead, I’ll listen to how you’re doing and where you need help. I’ll dig into your challenges with you; I’ll offer new perspectives or new ideas. I’ll use the knowledge I have about growth and development to help you understand what might be happening and why.
You also don’t need to worry about offending me if you’re trying to decide if you want kids; I won’t approach that conversation with a bias. I’ll help you identify complexities in the decision; I’ll encourage you to be honest with yourself. I’ll ask you not only “why don’t you want kids?” (a question I’ve been asked countless times) but also “why do you want kids?” Your answers aren’t for me to judge; they’re to help you reflect.
If you have kids and are finding it’s not what you dreamt or imagined, you can freely share that. If you have kids but are finding you don’t get to spend as much time as you want with them, I’ll help you figure out how to prioritize that.
And, as someone who was raised by parents, I may help you remember what it’s like to be a kid or an adult child who’s trying to make sense of this world.