The convention center takes up a full city block near the waterfront and inside, the place is abuzz with activity. Thousands of women wearing lanyards carry clipboards, have WIB tote bags slung over their shoulders, sip coffee from paper cups, check signs and cross-reference their schedules with the available options.
I check in at the speakers’ desk, pick up my lanyard, badge and gift bag and make my way into Hall B. Eight sets of burgundy doors loom in front of me and I pull one set open and walk into the massive room. My breath catches and adrenaline pulses through my veins. I’ve never given a talk in a room this large before. I look around, walk to the stage, and wait as women file into the room, finding seats.
Once the room is full and settled, there are opening remarks followed by welcome speeches, and then the president of the Women in Business conference turns to me. “And now, I’d like to introduce you to a woman who really needs no introduction. With a massive social media following, a bestselling book, and a successful career inspiring women around the world to pursue their passion, stand up for what they believe in, be their best selves and make no apologies for who they are—particularly if it’s choosing a child-free life—please help me give a massive welcome to Kit Kidding.”
As applause fills the room, I walk up the three steps and curl my fingers into my palms to form tight fists. I can do this. I’m ready to do this. On stage, I take the podium and look out into the sea of faces. And then, the lights go out. The room is completely dark. But a moment later the lights flicker as the generator kicks in and they come back to life. But that moment was enough to throw the audience. Everyone comes to life, chattering about what just happened. And to throw me. Should I just stick to the original plan? Do what I’ve always done? Give the inspirational speech I’ve given a dozen times, the one everyone’s expecting from me?
The crowd quiets down and I look around the room. All eyes turn back to me. Ready. Waiting. So I begin.
“Many of you may have read my book, Kid-Free Forever. There’s a certain amount of defiance or, perhaps, ignorance, required to write a book on a topic that’s controversial. Say, choosing not to have children,” I say, and the crowd laughs. “But choosing to support someone who has written a book on a controversial subject is brave. It requires that you know who you are without shame. So to all of you who have supported me over the years, I want to thank you.” I take a deep breath, then exhale.
“I also want to tell you that I admire you, and that I wish I were more like you, so sure of who you are and what is important to you. I wish I knew who I was with confidence. But the truth is, I don’t.”
I look around the room, focusing on the walls, rather than faces, to keep my composure. If I see skepticism on anyone’s faces, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to stick to my plan, rather than to revert to my usual style of speech.
“If you’ve read my book, you’ll know that it’s an account of how I came to choose a child-free life. And while the book is non-fiction, there is a dramatic arc to the book, a storytelling aspect that works. It works for the reader, and it works for sales. Now don’t get me wrong; it’s all true. I did choose to be child-free. But I can’t say that it was a particularly difficult decision.” I bite my lip for a moment, then continue.
“My mom died when I was young, my sister never had children, so it felt pretty easy, pretty natural to shun the idea of having a family with children. And when I met Eric, my former partner, who also wanted a child-free life, it all just fell into place. I made being child-free my living. I was able to stand up without really having to fight. Even though I know that for many of you, the fight is very, very real.”
A door at the back creaks open and heads turn as a woman slinks to a nearby table. I wait till she is seated, then go on.
“For a long time, it was a life I loved. I had freedom—both of time and money—that most women with children don’t get to experience. I’ve met so many great women because of my beliefs. Each one of you has reminded me why it’s so important that we all have the opportunity to be free to live the life we want—free of judgment, or apology, or regret.”
I take a sip of water.
“So for as long as I could remember, I found myself living the life I thought I was meant to live. I was fulfilled. I was happy. And then, as many of you know, my long-term relationship ended—because my partner decided he wanted to have children after all. And I didn’t. They say a breakup is one of the most difficult times in a person’s life, but for me, it was a gift. I saw it as an opportunity to hammer home my message. Women shouldn’t be in a relationship solely to bear children. If you’re with someone who is only interested in being with you to help them have kids, you should rethink that relationship—stat.”
I curl my fingers around the edge of the podium.
“Like I did. In fact, I probably jumped a little too quickly at the chance to end things with this man. What I wasn’t admitting to myself was that there were many issues with our relationship that I’d been sweeping under the rug. But instead of considering them, or looking to get therapy to repair our relationship, I focused on the deal breaker and moved on. I saw my breakup as a career opportunity—which probably says something about how much, or how little, the relationship really meant to me.”
The entire room is quiet—all eyes are on me.
“Newly single, I channeled all my energy into my work. My career was at an all-time high and I was flying. I was me, only better. I had more fun, went out more often, and the brand partnerships skyrocketed. It was awesome. It didn’t feel like work at all. Sometimes I wondered if I would meet someone new and start a fresh, exciting relationship. But if I did, I was certain that it wouldn’t be with just anyone, and certainly not someone who might change their mind about kids somewhere along the line.” I take a minute to breathe, to slow down and make sure I don’t ramble off course.
“And then, I did meet someone. A few months ago. I didn’t think it would work out. In fact, I didn’t want it to work out. You see, he’s a dad. But despite my best efforts, I fell in love with him.” I pause. “And with his daughter.”
Someone coughs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman stand. A few heads turn, and then someone else stands. Two others follow suit, pushing through the heavy burgundy doors. This is not the talk they came to hear. I know this. They are rebelling—I am a hypocrite and they don’t want to hear the rest. But I need to be truthful. I grip the podium and continue.
“I didn’t admit any of this to anyone. I kept our relationship secret. I didn’t want to let my followers, my friends, my colleagues, you”—I motion to the audience—“down. But if I’d dug deeper, I would have seen that it was because I wasn’t ready to face what it all meant. I wasn’t ready to give up my brand, @KitwithoutKids, my No Kidding groups, being a guest speaker at events like this.”
I fan my arm out around the room, being careful not to hit the microphone.
“I wasn’t even being honest with myself. My entire life was tied to me being child-free. I couldn’t let myself feel what I was feeling, because I couldn’t upend my career, my persona, who I am, what I believe, everything.”
I know I’m carrying on, but I have to share my thoughts with these women. “We say people don’t change, that we are who we are who we are. This is especially true now, when we’re seeing the world through a square filter on social media. Everything we do, everything we say, every mistake we make, haunts us forever. Because it’s always there. But that’s the problem: We don’t let people change. We’re always reminding them of who they are, who they’re supposed to be, who we expect them to be. By constantly reminding others of who they said they once were, by always holding them up to impossible standards, we never allow them to change.”
Someone claps and I get a boost of confidence.
“How many times have you thought, ‘I’d like to try that.’ Or, ‘I wish I could do that.’ Only to worry that it won’t fit into your narrative? Won’t be ‘on brand’?” Someone else claps, and there’s a “Yes!”
“Even if you aren’t on social media, how many times have you thought, I’d like to do that but what if I’m not good at it? What if I fail? Or worse, what if I’m ridiculed? Or shunned?” I pause and look around the room. There are lots of heads nodding and mm-hmms of agreement.
“But what if we’re wrong? Maybe people can change. And grow. And evolve. Why can’t we try new things? Reimagine ourselves? I’m not trying to justify my actions. I know this is going to be the end of my work as a woman championing a child-free life. Even though I don’t have children and things didn’t work out with the man and his delightful daughter, it made me wonder what else I’ve been hiding, pushing down, or not exploring because they didn’t fit into my ‘brand.’ ”
I take a deep breath, looking around, which is when I see Feloise, standing at the back of the room. Our eyes meet. She does not look happy—at all. But I won’t let her shake me. I continue.
“We get one life. And it can be so hard to figure out who you are and who you want to be. Or maybe that’s just me and you guys have it all figured out.” There’s a bit of laughter, but I can feel the nervous energy, the what-other-bat-shit-crazy-stuff-is-about-to-happen vibe.
“What I’m saying is that I’m still figuring it out. But I know that there are things I want to do, directions I want to take, passion projects I want to pursue that don’t quite fit into that child-free, glamorous, Instagrammable life. What I want is choice. I don’t want to regret not living the life I want because I’m afraid of what others might think, that followers may unsubscribe, or that you may walk out. I know in saying this I’m no longer the person you thought I was. And I know that some of you may no longer want to support me. And that’s OK. Because it’s your choice. And I’ve always stood up for that. Choice.”
A few more people walk out of the room. But someone else claps a bit louder for me.
“And I guess, that’s what I’m doing now. I’m standing up and I’m making a choice and it’s big and it’s scary. I almost didn’t come tonight because I was worried about not being the person you expected me to be. But I needed to share this with you, I needed you to see me.” My hands are in fists, and I’m pumping my arms in a way that I’ve never done before, and yet which feels completely natural all the same.
“I’ve always tried to rally you to follow your own beliefs, to do what’s right for you, no apologies, no regrets. So this is me, right now, with no apologies or regrets. I was 100 percent sure that who I was, for years, was the person I was meant to be. And now, I’m 100 percent sure that I’ve changed, and grown, and I need to be 100 percent true to myself, and these feelings, no matter the consequences.”
I clasp my hands together, fingers intertwined. “So if you’ve ever felt the way I’ve been feeling, that you’re stuck in a role from which you want to break free, I want you to know that I’m right there with you. I want you to know that you’re not alone.”
I clutch the podium and look out to the women in front of me. And take a deep breath, then exhale. I have no idea what they can be thinking. Maybe they think I’m a flake. Or that I have no clue what I’m doing. Maybe a little of both. But several women are clapping. Some are even standing up—and not to leave. More clap and more stand and they’re cheering and slowly, I realize that almost everyone in the room is standing with me, regardless of their opinion of me. That I’m not alone.
My body feels so light, like I’m floating in air. I’m free.
A crowd of women immediately surrounds me as I leave the stage, and the questions start flying. Everyone wants to know about my career. Instagram. The No Kidding groups. What will happen with my book? Will I write another one? And of course, they want to know about the guy. I field as many questions as quickly as I can, and as the group thins, I make my way to the lineup at the table outside where I’m scheduled to sign copies of my book. I was sure the room was going to be empty by the time I finished speaking, and that no one would even want their copy of my book, let alone have me sign it. So this—seeing everyone being just as supportive as ever, or maybe more so, gives me a surge of confidence and I can’t help the huge smile that spreads across my face as I greet each new and old friend.
I knew I was making the right decision for me, but to see that being true to myself, being me, has resonated with others, reassures me that I’m on the right path.
After I finish signing copies, I head to the bar, spotting Feloise almost immediately. She’s chatting with a group of women, and I walk over to her. She ignores me but when there’s a pause in the conversation, I interrupt and pull her aside.
“Listen, I owe you an apology. I wasn’t being honest with you. It wasn’t fair to you and your business, when so much of it relies on me.” Someone bumps me on their way to the bar and I catch my drink before it spills.
Her face is blank, her eyes stony. “You know I’m still getting my commission on this, right?”
I nod. “And to be clear, you’re still fired. But I did want to say that I get why you’re so upset with me—beyond the unprofessionalism. You need me. Me being child-free by choice helped you to feel child-free by choice too. I get that and I didn’t mean to deceive you or betray you.”
My throat feels tight. I do feel badly about Feloise. She acts so tough, but I know that she is struggling. “I know you probably want nothing more to do with me,” I say, “but if I can offer you any advice, and I know you don’t want it, it’s that no one can save you from your own truth.” I take a deep breath. “You’re living in that big house, Feloise, and you can tell yourself and everyone else it’s so you can defy some sort of cliché, but if that’s not the reason, then do something about it. Change your story. You heard me up there. You only get one chance at each step of your life. Don’t…don’t fuck it up because you’re worried about what people will think or because you’re worried about getting hurt or whatever it is that’s stopping you.”
I study her, and for a split second, I think I’ve gotten through. I don’t expect her to throw her arms around me and thank me for my words of wisdom, and I’m not even sure I would want that because I’m still furious with her for her actions, but what I don’t expect is for her to just turn, without a word, and walk away. But that’s what she does. And I don’t stop her.
I take a sip of my drink and look around the crowded room, searching for a familiar face, then spot Xiu. She waves and comes up to me, grinning. “Well that was a bit of a surprise,” she says, shaking her head, then laughing. She leans in to hug me. “But I just wanted to say I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I say when we pull apart.
“I wish you would’ve told me you were going through all of this, though.” She looks genuinely sad and that makes me feel both sad and touched.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She grabs my hand in hers. “I know I’m not one to talk, because I’m so uptight about sharing, but that’s just me, and I’ve got issues. I know that. But you—you always tell us what’s going on. It’s something I always think about—and I always admire you for it.”
I nod.
“That time we were out, and we asked you if there was a guy. Why didn’t you just tell us?”
“I was afraid of what you would think.” Tears form and I try to blink them away. “That you wouldn’t want to be friends with me anymore.” Even now, I hate talking about it, knowing I might lose Xiu as a friend.
Xiu’s brow furrows. “We’re not just friends because we don’t have kids. At least I don’t think of you like that.”
“Really?” I feel relief—even hope.
She sighs. “Of course. We’re friends. Listen, a bunch of us from the No Kidding group are meeting for dinner, but…”
“No, go on.” I know what she’s thinking. That maybe there’s some universe in which I still go out with them, but I know there isn’t. Not now, anyway.
“We’ll talk, OK? I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I nod, but a sadness washes over me as she turns and heads out of the room. I look around, finish my drink, and head out of the bar, to head home.
Xiu calls the next day, just as she promised, to invite me out for dinner with friends. Not the entire No Kidding group, she warns, but I’m so touched, I don’t mind. At seven, I arrive at one of our favorite Mexican places on Queen to find Xiu, Gloria and Casey already at a table. There’s one empty chair. A pitcher of margarita sweats in the center of the table and Gloria pours me a glass immediately. I meet their eyes and take a deep breath. “Hi,” I say. “So, I’m sorry,” I start, but Gloria interrupts.
“Stop apologizing. We get it. We heard the damn speech. Now we want the real deets, so fill us the fuck in.” We all start laughing. And so I go back to the beginning, when I met Will—our night together, the contract, Addie, my apartment flooding, moving in with them. How I didn’t tell anyone, how I didn’t let it show on social media. And then, how we broke up. It’s the first time I’ve laid it all out, and hearing myself talk, it all sounds crazy. I’m ashamed of myself, that I would go to such great lengths to live so duplicitously—and to what end?
They listen and ask questions, but then instead of chastising me, Casey says: “OK, but how are you going to fix this?”
At first, I think she means Instagram. @KitwithoutKids. The No Kidding groups. “I’m not. It’s over. That life. I deleted my Instagram account. I guess…you guys can just continue with the groups, without me. I guess you’ll want to change the name…”
Gloria holds her hands up. “We’re not idiots. We know all that. She means Will. How are you going to get him back?”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. In all that’s happened and everything I’ve been focusing on, I haven’t figured out what, if anything, I can do about Will. I’ve just assumed that it’s over.
“You had a fight,” Gloria says. “Big deal.”
“But it’s not that. Every relationship that works has a story. It follows the rules, it’s romantic”—I stop talking, because all three women are staring at me, wide-eyed. But also because I’ve just heard myself tell the story—our story. And sure, my actions were crazy, but they were mine. And Will’s were his. And who cares what kind of rules romances are supposed to follow. Rules are made to be broken. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t need to worry about whether I’m following any rules, period.
“OK, a plan. Right,” I say. “I don’t have one. So far I’ve just been feeling sorry for myself, but I think maybe it’s time for a new plan.”
Xiu leans forward, resting her arms on the table. “You’re the one who’s always championing us, telling us to take control of our own lives. You helped me get through the whole birth control situation with Jed. You know how to fix broken relationships. You can do this. You’ve got to get him to meet you and then you’ve got to talk it out. It’s not about who’s right and who’s wrong. It’s not about winning. It’s about figuring out how to get through this situation, with all your real emotions, together. That’s what you told me. Now you have to take your own advice.”
“It’s not that easy,” I protest. “A relationship with Will means having a relationship with Addie. The only possible outcome to that is eventually becoming a stepmom. It’s like—the end is there, there’s no changing it, there’s no shaping my future the way you can when you date someone without kids. And let’s face it: being a stepmom to a little girl who doesn’t have a mom is basically being a mom.” And I don’t know how to be a mom, I don’t add. I think of my own mom, and how, if she were here, I could ask her how to be a mom. That she could help me, without laughing at me. Because who else do I have to turn to? I’ve let all my other friendships with mothers slip away, and the only moms I’ve recently met—Margot, Gillian—want nothing to do with me.
“It doesn’t have to be that at all. You can make your own rules. You can be as involved or uninvolved as you want. That’s your choice. You make your future.”
She’s right, of course. But is there any chance that Will would ever even consider trying again with me? And how can he—when I would never agree to having children of my own with him? And if I wouldn’t do that, why would he want that kind of woman as a role model to his only child?
Any way I look at it, it doesn’t work. And yet, the possibility that I’ll never see Will again, that Addie is actually out of my life, that it’s all truly over, feels so depressing that I know I have to do something.
We finally call it a night hours later, and as I head home, I feel inspired, happy, alive. I don’t have a plan, but I have hope. Not even Ivan the Grumpy Concierge, who’s on duty, can get me down.
“Boxes,” he says. “Ten boxes.” He disappears and returns with one large box. “You have to notify us if you’re going to be getting large shipments. We’re not equipped to store these large deliveries.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sorry,” I say, flustered. “I didn’t order anything.” I lean over, and open the box. My books. From Will. I feel sick—did I miss him while I was out with my friends, once again? Ivan has disappeared and now returns again, with the next box. I open it. More books. I look up at Ivan. “Did…was the guy who dropped them off tall with wavy brown hair? Really good-looking?”
“You’re asking what the UPS guy looked like?” Ivan calls from the tiny room behind the reception desk.
“Are you sure it was UPS?”
“Unless normal people have just started wearing the brown UPS uniforms and driving around in doorless trucks.” I go into the recycling area to get the trolley. “I know, I know, I didn’t book the service elevator.”
Ivan uses his key to call one of the elevators down to the lobby and then puts it on service. “I’m not saying anything this one time. But one time only.”
I load the boxes onto the trolley and into the elevator.