Child-Free by Choice

Why I’m Not Selfish

I know this concept has gradually become more socially acceptable over the last few decades but I feel it is still worthy of if you’.

I am a forty-something married woman and do not have any children of my own volition. Frankly, I am done justifying my decision, so that is not the point of writing this. Instead, I share this with the hope that if my story resonates with someone struggling with conflicting feelings about this dilemma, I can at least offer a unique perspective. (The therapeutic nature of writing this is just a bonus for me!)

In my case, there were several factors that went into my decision. Twenty, fifteen, even ten years ago, I would not have been able to specifically identify those individual factors or put my finger on why I felt the way I did. However, as I got older (and wiser?) it increasingly became clear to me. My good ol’ trusty gut had once again steered me through another one of life’s stormy situations and boy, am I glad I heeded it. Here’s why:

I have never felt the mothering instinct that seemingly comes natural to most women. Even as a kid I dreaded babysitting. It was not fun and I never looked forward to it.

The measly wages were not worth the anguish I endured trying to entertain a spoiled five-year-old for five or six hours while their miserable parents went out and got drunk.

It was always, “Oh, we’ll be home by ten at the latest,” and around midnight I’d be sitting on their couch in torment, telling myself I’d never do this again. And then, as a complete sucker for guilt trips, I usually gave in to future requests for my services, which made me even more resentful of the entire experience.

I have four older sisters who bore ten amazing nieces and nephews. Yet, I had absolutely no desire to watch them, take them places, or hang out with them… until they were older and I could actually relate to them. I wanted so badly to be the “cool aunt” but I was never willing to put in the time and effort to earn that sacred badge. I realize now that I missed out on some bonding opportunities and do feel a hint of regret in that respect.

There was a brief time after I married my first husband that I had that “feeling.” After all, I was in my late twenties, most of our friends were either having or on course to have children, and I think I just got sucked into the social pressure and hype. That quickly dissipated. My husband at the time and I tried to discuss our feelings about children every now and then, usually after a few drinks or in the company of others encouraging us to join them in selflessly producing offspring. Ultimately, we never made any attempt to conceive and actively prevented it, deciding that if it happened in spite of that, we would be happy, and if not, fine.

One thing I was acutely aware of was that I knew my ex-husband and I would have had very different parenting beliefs and styles. That made me uncomfortable because it was just one more thing we would disagree about. To me, parenting should be a deliberate partnership, and I just couldn’t picture that kind of cooperation ever happening for us. Years into the marriage, I think he wanted children, perhaps feeling pressure from and admiration for his friends who are dads. Communication was not a strong characteristic of our relationship, however, so it was just another one of a myriad of issues that we quietly swept under the rug with everything else.

Which brings me to my next reason: preservation of my mental and emotional health. I wouldn’t describe my mental health as fragile but it is certainly something I have struggled with from a young age — self-esteem and social anxiety in particular. I saw how parenting affected not only the lifestyles of my sisters and friends but also their relationships and personalities. I was discouraged by the stress it caused them and especially those around them. Honestly, and this will sound bad, it was just not worth it to me.

How could I possibly provide a stable and healthy life for another human being if I can barely keep my own shit together without children? It frightened me and I was not about to risk my own health just to appease those around me.

In the bigger picture, I considered that our planet is already overpopulated and resources are being spread dangerously thin. I contemplated about how societal discourse seems to have devolved with the age of social media and divisive politics. I was not prepared to navigate the current state of the world on behalf another person. The idea of creating another human being that would eventually evolve into a grown person fundamentally freaked me out.

My immediate family and close friends have always been extremely supportive and I never felt any pressure. Thankfully, my fairly fertile older sisters likely helped my cause. But extended family, friends, and even strangers made the annoying assumption that I would, of course, eventually want and have children. Or, my favorite question tended to come up, “Who is going to take care of you when you’re old?” As per the usual adage, I was frequently advised by others that I would change my mind and that I would never know what real love is if I didn’t give birth to or raise a child.

I kept waiting, even longing, for that day to come so that I could finally be a “normal” wife. It never happened.

My guilt was also clouded by the fact that some people so desperately want to have children but are not able to. Here I am, physically capable of bearing children (as far as I know) and I have chosen not to embrace this miraculous circle of life! In fact, I wholeheartedly fled from it.

There turned out to be a few sacrifices of my own as a result of my decision. I started losing touch with many of my parent-friends because I didn’t have children. They naturally congregated with each other at school events and activities because they had their children in common.

If I happened to be invited to a gathering, conversations always seemed to drift towards the drama of kids’ activities, how they’re doing in school, the latest birthday party, blah, blah, blah. I had nothing to contribute besides stories about my dogs, which were usually met with subtle half-smiles, “Aww”s, and polite nods.

When I tried to relate, I just felt like a pariah. I mean, how could I possibly comprehend and appreciate parents’ righteous duty that was parenthood? That feeling became more prevalent when I became single again, without any semblance of an ally, however superficial it had been. I’d made my choice and, in some people’s eyes, I had made it for someone else too.

The guilt of my decision swelled and subsided throughout my thirties, like sea surf constantly breaking against me. As I grew more comfortable and confident in my convictions, however, the crashing became less violent. Instead I learned to let the waves gently carry me out into the calm of the open sea until I was floating effortlessly on top of them.

Over time, those emotional waves became smaller and less extreme until those feelings were just quietly lapping at my feet — a welcome tranquil relief.

I don’t generally believe in fate or affiliate with faith of any kind. However, my current husband of four years does not have children either. Though his circumstances were different, it has made our connection stronger and healthier without the added “baggage” that seems to go along with co-parenting. For that, I am thankful to whatever/whomever brought us together and for whatever/whomever prevented children in my previous marriage. I always wanted my husband to be my best friend and now it is my reality every day.

The bottom line is that child rearing is not for everyone. We can make contributions to this world without raising children by simply being decent, empathetic human beings. And we still feel love and personal connection just as deeply as anyone else.