Author Nicole Louie on Taking Ownership of Our Stories

Mid-November last year, I took off on a two-day trip to London – without telling anyone. I started planning this getaway on a whim, when one of my favorite artists announced a week-long residency in Hackney, and the preparations as well as the actual journey – both literal and metaphorical – turned into one of my highlights of 2024. I didn’t quite understand why keeping the whole thing all to myself was so crucial to the entire experience until I was sitting at Stansted airport at 6AM, waiting for my plane back home. After a quick, dizzying video chat with the daughter, I was about to resume my caretaker role by sending a message to someone else I have assumed it for – then stopped myself short. No. I was still on my time. I took a deep breath, put the phone back in my pocket, and started flipping through all the new books bursting out of my tote bag and threatening my Ryanair allowance. Determined to embrace the sense of lightness and relief, and leaving the guilt somewhere with the unclaimed baggage. It wasn’t until three days later, during my long-awaited conversation with writer and translator, Nicole Louie, that I started making sense of just how healing this clandestine express trip had been.

Nicole Louie, the author of Others Like Me: The Lives of Women Without Children, is a walking encyclopedia of books – particularly those written by women without children, a “niche” she has dedicated her Instagram account to. More than an encyclopedia though, Nicole is a literary apothecary. She’ll go through her extensive file of written remedies to find just the right cure for you, based on whatever currently ails you or whatever may be complimentary to the current happenings in your life. When I give her a little lowdown of my London calling, my return to sick animals, to mothering and caregiving, and confide in the fact that, my call with her is on the tail end of my weekly therapy session, off she goes – like Disney’s Belle on her rolling ladder, knowing just the writer for me.

“If you can, read Claire Keegan’s books. There’s this thread that runs through her stories where all her women are somehow facing multigenerational baggage and she turns them into strong-willed characters. Not in a way that feels like a gimmick of feminist empowerment, but as a way to say that there are more ways to be a woman in this world. And more ways to tell their stories. They are eccentric, hermit, adulterous, rebellious, and worn-out heroines, and she spins them differently. Often, a daughter carries all the responsibility for the parents and siblings. I think it’s her own story that keeps coming up. She’s very private; one can find only a few interviews with Claire Keegan, and I think that’s by design. But after reading all her books more than once, the thread is very clear.”

Her passion for literature and Keegan – whom she refers to as the “queen of my heart” – is palpable. It’s something that shines through the works she shares on her Instagram account too, the way Nicole connects with stories, the words chosen to weave them, and, most importantly, the women who tell them. “Keegan shows that, sometimes, part of adapting to the world is saying, “I won’t become that person for you. Not fully. If you get hit by a car and you can’t walk, I’ll be there for you. But if you’re just getting up every day and telling yourself you won’t change and that because I’m a woman, I’ll be the one doing everything for you, that’s a no. Or, at least, there are consequences. Women in her stories – whether staying or leaving or just doing something so subtle to show their rebellion, indicate that this way of thinking and acting has to stop. And I love how she does it. Sometimes, it’s just a gesture at the table symbolizing the start of a big shift in that household; other times, it is more cataclysmic than that, happening in front of an entire village, and you gasp as you read the scene. Her characters tell us: Don’t be an enabler. Don’t always be the carer. Not if you don’t have to. Your life is your own. She’s been my go-to author these last few years because the biggest story of my life recently has been learning how to be there for my family without being there all the time or always jumping first when they need help, and that is often not reciprocated.”

There are parallels in our personal stories and family relationships, and the way we navigate them, and we both believe that art can be the catalyst to change existing structures and belief systems. “I think we’re doing the work. You have a kid, and I don’t, but we are doing the work ourselves. As friends, as partners, but also as women, individually. I believe it could make a difference if we all do the work and put better thoughts into the world through the stories we tell in our writing or other art forms. I firmly believe in the power of disseminating ideas, however small the contributions are. And the work we produce –  if it shows self-reflection and determination to live an authentic life, whatever that looks like to each person – will help those who see our work see other possibilities. Maybe someone will change and give it a go at sixty, so what? That’s still better than not changing or not walking this earth as a woman the way one truly wishes to.  So, I’m proud of us!” she laughs. “It’s not an easy job; I think it’s much easier to say I’m a piece of wood and I can’t change. Well done for going to your concert, for letting go of those who are not your responsibility or things that are not solely your responsibility and allowing yourself moments like that. It’s important.”

Nicole and I have only spoken once before and yet, somehow, it feels like we chat on a regular basis. We’ve exchanged emails here and there over the past year, and each one I’ve received from her has been nothing but warm, compassionate and encouraging. This might sound like a strange description for someone I’ve practically just met, but the feeling is genuine. When she wrote right around the time my daughter had – a light but scary case of – pneumonia, she showed great concern and offered kind and comforting words. She sent me her literary remedies and pictures of her Dublin homebase in the fall – images of a season and feeling she knew I missed. When I sat with how our exchanges made me feel for a moment, and what words I might use to describe her, the term nurturing came to mind. It saddened me to think back to some of the relationships she describes in her book, how they would often change on the basis of her friends choosing to have children when she chose not to. To some, her choice signified that she would no longer be interested in their lives, let alone champion their decision to have children, so they cut her off. Likewise, those who did involve Nicole in their motherhood journey, were surprised to find that she is loving and caring of, and above all, interested in their children. “The assumptions are so broad. And again, it’s about nuance: there are women who have kids, who are not nurturing. There are women who don’t have kids who are nurturing. Not every woman is born with maternal instinct, even though we are led to believe that we are. We are made to feel that nurturing others as a main occupation is the only way to be a woman.”

It is exactly these nuances and the stories of the women who are navigating them Nicole set out to explore in her book – herself included. She felt from an early age that becoming a mother was not something she desired, yet the question as to why she struggled with the decision and how it would affect her future was a heavy one to carry. Though it was one only she could finally put down and to rest, it impacted her relationship(s) and, ultimately, her body. Others Like Me is an honest account of what she went through as a young woman who already knew what she wanted but was, like so many others, led to question her instincts – simply because it did not fit into the societal ideal she was raised on. Where both her mother and her grandmother never allowed themselves to question whether they wanted the life they lived but simply lived it because that’s what was expected of them. Through conversations with other women from all over the world and all types of backgrounds, Nicole learned she was far from alone in her feelings. Being let in on other personal, geographical and circumstantial considerations just reiterated what she already knew: women know best what’s right for their body, their life, their happiness. And yet, we live in a world that constantly wants to strip us of our rights and diminish our experiences.

For me, it turns out, becoming a mother was absolutely the best thing. But it also made me realize that no one can ever prepare you for what it really means, for all that motherhood entails. In Spanish, childbirth is referred to as de parto, the literal translation being “to part with” – not just with the child you’re carrying, but so much of yourself. And because we’ve grown up in a gendered society and, as women, were raised to believe that having children is a part of who we are and what we are supposed to do, trying to understand the impact on all areas of our life and person, can be – well, downright overwhelming. For every woman who feels motherhood somehow completed her, there are just as many women who feel the opposite. Who feel they lost more than they gained. This, of course, is something no one likes to talk about, which makes Others Like Me, all the more important. I look back at that time, when I was fully immersed in the dance around and into motherhood, and feel I would have benefited from having access to stories of women who, like me, didn’t necessarily see it as an obvious route – for whatever reason. And there are many. Some of the considerations offered by the women Nicole interviewed for the book – other than simply not wanting to have children – included the environmental impact, (hereditary) illness, asexuality and, frankly, circumstance.

Another valid contemplation comes down to how we, ourselves grew up and the relationships we have with our family, another aspect Nicole delves into in her book, and one I find very interesting from a writer’s perspective. “I think that was the hardest thing about writing this book. If I were just talking about me, there would be a different sense of responsibility. But I knew that I was carrying my family into the book and for the longest time, my way to deal with it was – well, I think there were phases. The first phase was definitely repression. I would feel it, I would want to write it down, wouldn’t allow myself to, and then move on. But then I would always get stuck – because what I really needed to say or wanted to say were the scenes I chose. Whenever I tried not to take you into the room with me and explain, for example, a sentence my mom said, I would feel that there was something missing. Sometimes I would also be called out by my mentor, Molly Peacock, who would say – ‘hey, no, no, you don’t get to shut the door on us now! I need you to put me at the table with you; I need to hear the words’.”

The way Nicole finally found her way in sharing all that was necessary to give the reader a clear, emotional understanding of what was happening at the time, was by releasing herself from responsibility towards those involved in her personal story and focusing on what only she knew to be true: her own experience. “One of the things that kept causing me to freeze was – what if I’m getting this wrong? What if I’m coming from a perspective that is not theirs? And that’s when Molly reminded me – ‘it’s not theirs, it’s yours; you’re the one writing the book. And if each of you would write about that same scene, it would never be the same scene on the page. Does that make you all wrong? Did that thing not happen? All you’re saying is: this story is being told from my point of view’ – and that permitted me to move forward. In the book, I never assume how somebody else feels. I’m only observing physical reactions: she put the drink down, he slammed the door, she hung up. It was almost like reverse engineering. I would write a scene and then remove anything that was me trying to tell you what they were doing beyond what I could observe and that gave me more control of the story, but also a feeling of – maybe just maybe, I’m not messing this up too much. Because if tomorrow my mom reads a chapter and says, what the heck? I can say well this is what happened or this is how I remember. And that is my truth.”

Learning how to break free from the responsibilities that have been imposed on us by others – especially family members, in a broader sense, the system – is one of the key takeaways we’re likely to get from therapy. It also happens to be the hardest to put into practice, whether this is in daily life or in our art. Nicole cites various writers who have struggled to stay true to their story mainly due to the inability to part from their role of caretaker. Jeanette Winterson didn’t feel ready to tell the full story in Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, because her mother was still around to read it. But after she died, she finally did in Why Be Happy When You Can Be Normal. Alison Bechdel dealt with an initially positive reaction upon sharing her book, Are You My Mother? with her mother. But later on, in a more recent book, she hints that things have gone sour with her mother because of that book. Examples like this made Nicole wary of what she was sharing about her family and partners, but “By the time I got to the editing stage of Others Like Me, things were resolved in my head,” she says of her writing journey. “My therapy years were behind me and I could finally write it from a place of reflection and calmness – not in the throes of it all. When I told my mother she was in the book and some scenes were not the most flattering, she understood that and said, ‘if that’s what you need to tell your story, that’s fine.’ Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if, once she finally reads it all, it knocks her out of her chair and she’ll need time, but again – I can’t control what others feel. I can only control my intentions and my actions. When I read Bechdel’s book about her relationship with her mother, it all felt very similar to the one I have with mine – always trying to please, to be the good daughter, to be around at all costs, until there’s that breaking point when you realize how one-sided the relationship is, and you decide to stop scaffolding it alone. Suddenly, your mother doesn’t know what to do with herself because that’s the way she’s used to having you, that is, controlling you. Making sure you feel that you need to please her at all times is a control mechanism and she needs to make sure you keep playing that role. It’s important to break out of it – as an individual and a writer.”

The writing of Others Like Me was an exercise in taking ownership of her story and allowing the women she interviewed to do the same. There are people who have expressed their frustration with Nicole having grappled for so long, not understanding why she couldn't just stand by her choice to be childfree and be happy with it. A lot of these insecurities are brought on by the lack of agency women who choose not to have kids are given – they are always questioned, pushed to doubt their choices. Which is why women tend to become quite protective of their choice and are almost forced to sound confident about it. "And maybe some are, maybe they’ve known since they were born they didn’t want to have kids and never wavered – but that is not my story. I knew the risk of sharing this in the book. I fought hard to show the fluidity and complexity of those stories. I was making a point there – yes, you are like me because you don’t have kids, but you’re also not like me because A, B, C, D, E – because there are all these other parts of us too. And because not all of us are a hundred percent certain all the time. These are just fourteen stories; I could have spent the rest of my life doing this and still wouldn't have captured all the reasons people have not to have children and all the ways to feel about it.”

In our current social(media) and cultural climate, where we are pushed toward extremes in all of our choices, Nicole’s focus is on reconciling differences. “We can want different things in life and still be supportive of each other. We should focus less on differences and more on how we feel in relation to the differences. How are we treating each other as human beings? This is where the dialogue starts. These are the stories I’m interested in. To me, this is what sisterhood is about. In the media but also in personal relationships, the story often stops at: “and then she had a kid and I didn’t”. So what? To me, this is the beginning of the story, this is where it gets interesting and where you can show your humanity,” she explains. This is precisely the story Others like Me tells, and in keeping with the idea that literature is curative, it achieves just that: by giving us insight into the lives of childfree women, their lives and their choices, it initiates the opening of a dialogue and the changing of an old narrative into a norm met with acceptance and compassion. Exactly as it should be. No, it shouldn’t be our responsibility as women to educate, but it is our right to take control of our stories, and Nicole offers a beautiful example of how it can be done.