Marie von den Benken: "An Unfulfilled Desire for Children Makes You Lonely"
Fertility
Marie von den Benken talks about years filled with hope, diagnosis, and silence: how the desire for a child changes relationships, daily life, and self-image when it remains unfulfilled. Her personal account reveals what many carry in silence – and why well-meaning phrases can sometimes hurt deeper than any open word.
An Unfulfilled Desire for Children
What happens when your desire for children remains unfulfilled? Marie von den Benken had to wait eight years for her desired child – and offers insight into that vulnerable time. Her story shows how profound and emotional this journey can be, one that many couples experience without anyone noticing.
Eight Years of Eternity
Eight years of eternity – 96 months of euphoria, fear, hope, and despair. There are moments in life that change everything. They penetrate every phase of daily life like small, invisible arrows of melancholy. And I don’t mean that lifestyle melancholy we’ve borrowed from Hollywood blockbusters. No, I mean that insidious melancholy. The kind that suddenly appears, even when no one needs it. The realization that your desire for children might remain unfulfilled is one such moment. This moment of ruthless honesty impacts all aspects of your life. Your relationship. Your dreams. Your vision of the future. And yet, this topic is rarely discussed. An unfulfilled desire for children is not a loud topic. It doesn’t scream, it doesn’t plaster itself on billboards, it doesn’t march through the streets chanting, and it’s seldom discussed over brunch. It is quiet, it sneaks in – and it becomes a mortgage of eternal heaviness.
Caught Up by Reality
When Alex and I decided we wanted to become parents, we felt nothing but euphoria. We envisioned our children turning our apartment into a giant daycare and racing around with our cats. We imagined how beautiful, wild, and wonderful everything would be. I was 26, in the so-called “best age,” medically everything was normal. We didn’t give a thought that it might not work out. But then: nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Month after month, the flames of hope burned higher, only to be abruptly extinguished by reality. And we lay helpless in the ashes of our dreams. With every failure, our daily life transformed even more into a choreography of tests and obligations. We exchanged passion for probability calculations. We became a schedule-loving couple. Always with the conductor at our backs. In the form of apps, temperature measurements, and sex as a necessity for conception. There’s not much left of devotion and romance when breakfast turns into: “Baby, the LH test is positive, it’s time again today!”
The Silence Dilemma
I searched for explanations. I explored patterns in my body. I convinced myself it was communicating with me. Every tug in my belly I interpreted as a signal. And yet, each time it was just the next period. Suddenly, I began to feel as if my body was letting me down. And then it happened, as it had to, so naively were we: doubts crept in. Not suddenly. They didn’t knock on the door and introduce themselves. They came quietly, almost unnoticed, into this world we had thought perfect and that was only to be crowned by a child. I caught myself having thoughts I had never had before. Perhaps these years of disappointed hope were trying to tell me something? Perhaps Alex and I were not meant to be together after all? The silence made it difficult. No one casually mentions at a party: “We’ve been trying for years, but it’s not working.” So I kept a lot to myself as well. Silent acceptance amplifies isolation. Today, we know: About 10 to 15 percent of all couples in Germany are involuntarily childless. Sociologist Marcia Inhorn even speaks of a “culture of silence.” Success stories dominate, they are gladly multiplied. Failures and setbacks are brushed aside. They hardly exist in public discourse – yet this only intensifies the suffering.
The Happiness of Others
An unfulfilled desire for children changes not only you but also your surroundings. Friends became pregnant, the laughter of children stormed our daily lives. Just not the laughter of our own. I was genuinely happy. Without any seeds of envy lurking in the depths of my subconscious. The happiness of others was never the problem. And yet, at the same moment, I thought: “Why isn’t it working for us?” Not out of jealousy, not bitter. Just sad. And helpless. That became the real challenge: balancing the joy of others with your own emptiness. I noticed, for example, how I suddenly became afraid of baby showers. Afraid of the feeling of being left out. But I went – and experienced the exact opposite: affection instead of distance. No exclusion, but love. Other women lifted me up. Gave me strength. It felt good to feel together: Femininity is not solely defined by fertility. These experiences taught me that it’s important not to isolate yourself from sadness.
A Lesson in Humility
Today, in retrospect, I know: The desire for children has shaped me like hardly anything else. It forced me to confront loss, waiting, and powerlessness. It was a lesson in humility. It showed me that nothing is guaranteed, not every plan works out. I have become more realistic, tougher in handling things – but also more vulnerable. Because I learned how deep disappointment can go. And it prepared me to be a mother. Because when I finally became pregnant, the happiness was overwhelming – and immediately came the next fear: Is the pregnancy stable? Is the child healthy? Will our happy ending be intercepted on the home stretch? I had to learn: Worries don’t end with a positive pregnancy test. Ultimately, motherhood means learning to live with uncertainties. The journey to parenthood is a constant up and down that teaches us to be patient with ourselves and others.
Share Your Story
An unfulfilled desire for children changes personality, relationships, and the entire environment. It makes you lonely if you keep it a secret. But it can also connect you when you talk about it. That’s why I want to share my story with you. That’s why I wrote this book ("Life is Not a Wish Concert"). It’s a call to all who have had similar experiences: Talk about it! Share your feelings, your fears, and your hopes. Because only by doing so can we break the culture of silence and support each other. When we openly discuss our stories, we can not only heal ourselves but also help others who find themselves in a similar situation. Together, we can dispel loneliness and create a community that offers understanding and love.