A Child-Free Life

Reflections of a woman in her 20s

One of the best feelings is when my little nephew curls up on my lap and holds my hand. I love listening to his view of the world. He’s got a priceless imagination; a truly special kid.

I’ve always envisioned my future with a family of my own. One day, I would step into the wild territory of motherhood and find the real reason for living. My true purpose.

I’ve done my preparation: I spent years reading child psychology books, learning about different approaches to parenting, and drafting the list of values I’d transfer to my kids.

I want to think that I’ve considered all the implications of becoming a parent. The responsibility that comes with it and the impact I would have on these humans.

The decision, however, wouldn’t become effective at any cost. I had three conditions:

Being with the right partner, someone who would also make a great parent. I believe this is one of the most valuable, and often overlooked, gifts you can give to your children. Having a solid family that goes above and beyond to ensure they give them the best life possible. And despite what’s coming in my next point, no, this one isn’t about money. I’m talking emotional investment, care, and support.

Having the financial means for a good life. Some think money isn’t important, it doesn’t buy happiness after all. To me, it would buy my children’s freedom. The freedom to invest in their education and to access experiences that would broaden their horizons. The freedom to know that money is not a problem.

Being emotionally prepared. I would only have children if I felt sufficiently equipped to provide an environment for them to thrive. I never bought this idea that “nobody is ready to be a parent, you just have to go into it and figure it out”. I find it highly irresponsible. This is probably one of the most radical decisions you can make. You better be ready for it.

As I hit 26, I decided I didn’t want to take it.

These are my reasons:

Facing the fear of regret with the least disruptive choice

Women are often told that they’ll regret not having children. It’s our primal reason for being.

But what about the ones that had them and regret it?

Every decision we take confronts us with the fear of missing the alternative option. The fear is even larger when these choices are permanent.

I can’t say I will not regret my decision, but I believe that, when in doubt, the right thing to do is go for the least disruptive option.

Having children and regretting them is more disruptive than regretting the lack of them.

Trusting my ability to deal with my own regrets healthily is less disruptive than being a bitter parent to someone whom I chose to birth.

Fear of regret should never be a reason to have children.

If it’s not a hard yes, should be a hard no.

Self-awareness of my needs

As a mother, you are expected to put your child’s needs first. We’re told it all pays off.

I am a very introverted person. I need a good amount of solitude to thrive, and I am very sensitive to noise and chaos. It puts a lot of stress on me.

Neglecting my needs makes me a worse person.

I take a lot of pride in my self-awareness, and I think it’s probably one of the best traits you can have as a parent. The ability to reflect on how your actions affect those around you. Correcting your mistakes as you see the negative consequences they are having.

I am not sure giving yourself what you need is always possible when you don’t have full autonomy over your decisions. They are no longer yours.

What if I need to make life-changing choices to be a more balanced self?

Say quit a job, relocate to a different place, or embark on a project that requires my full attention.

Will it even be possible? If so, how will this affect my children?

The cost of a mentally ill parent

For a big chunk of my life, I’ve battled with anxiety and depression. It takes a good amount of effort for me to keep these under control and some seasons are more manageable than others.

Part of these efforts are self-care actions. Putting my needs first, so I can be the best version of myself to others.

Children are extremely vulnerable. The lack of a healthy environment and healthy caretakers can cause enormous harm to their development, often lasting for a lifetime. The fear of burdening their future with my own faults terrifies me.

Shouldn’t this be a bigger regret? Raising a child predisposed to experience mental illness feels utterly unjust.

The want for legacy

I read “A Man’s Search for Meaning” by Viktor Frankl. He explains the human psyche finds meaning essentially through three sources.

Completing work, experience, and bearing suffering.

The first one involves contentment from something we’ve worked on; that is the creation of an art piece, finding novel knowledge through research, or writing a book. Things we created that contribute to a greater reason.

Experience can be an act of volunteering, traveling to a breathtaking landscape, or, for what’s concerning here, another person. This can be the relationship with one’s child, but also a partner, a sibling, or a friend.

Bearing suffering connects us with a sense of usefulness. How our own existence or the aid we offer to another cause influences the betterment of this. It can take the form of caring for a sick relative or, as experienced by the author, going through the pain of Auschwitz and finding comfort in helping fellow prisoners or envisioning a future beyond the camp.

One can find purpose through any of these means. Some choose one. Some choose two or even three, which takes me to my next point.

You can’t have it all

A dangerous statement: You can have a successful career, be a fully present, exceptional parent, and take care of the other relationships in your life, including the one with yourself.

Maybe.

I’m more inclined to think you can choose to excel in one or few things or do a mediocre job at all of them.

I don’t want to juggle a million duties at once and carry the constant worry that I am not doing enough at any of them.

So the question popped into my mind: Would I be okay with giving up on something -say, my career- to pour into raising my children?

Asking myself this question made it crystal clear I don’t see being a caregiver as my main ambition. I might like some of the areas of motherhood (probably the shiny ones we all bite into), but the sacrifices don’t weigh enough for me.

Moreover, when making a decision, we often plan for an ideal scenario. We underestimate how much it will take from us or don’t account for things that are out of our control.

Am I willing to take unforeseen needs that might burden my ability to nourish other areas of my life?

Take the example of a sick child that requires more dedication or financial means than expected.

These thoughts bring me back to my first point: will I resent the conditions I am given?

Will I resent not being able to make other decisions I want for myself in the future?

Identity change

Once you become a mom, you’ll never be a sole individual again.

It doesn’t only change your priorities, it transforms you on a deeper level. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Your identity changes.

This is not good or bad, it’s just a fact.

Most parents would identify as parents first before any other role. It becomes the center of their universe and heavily conditions all the remaining areas.

As radical as it may sound, you have to be willing to give up on anything else.

At least if you want to be a good parent.

When something comes first, it means every other decision is dependent on this superior matter.

Any decision will only have a place if it aligns with the epicenter that holds the system in check.

The mere conception of this idea feels too risky to me.

I am okay with the outcomes of a more controlled approach.

A unique type of love

Every proud parent can assure you of this: the love you feel for your child is nothing to compare.

I truly believe this.

I, myself, think I would be obsessed with my children. They would probably bring out a need for protection I had never experienced before. This, however, doesn’t feel enough of a reason. Other types of love are enough for me; love from other people in my life and for my work.

In fact, not having enough time to dedicate to my passions would be very conflicting. I love writing and nothing brings me more contentment than finishing a long day typing on a blank page.

I get so much fulfillment that I would feel guilty compromising on it, just like I would feel selfish spending time on my passions rather than on my kids.

I once read: “those of us who have children, can’t live without them anymore. Those who don’t have them, don’t need them”.

Ending my bloodline

Can’t that be a good thing? There are plenty of problematic households out there.

Having children is not a right. We all know more than one example of people who shouldn’t have been parents. Every child deserves good parents who can optimize their chances of becoming healthy and happy adults.

I am no perfect human and there is a chance I am not able to accomplish that mission, despite all my best-intended efforts.

Besides, couldn’t this be seen as a privilege? I think of all the women before me who didn’t have a choice but to become mothers. It was not just expected of them, it was the only form of actualization in prior societal times. Emancipate from your parents by marrying and raising the offspring.

So I asked myself: What if I don’t have children?

Ultimately, this idea has taken a big weight off my shoulders.

That might be the sign I needed.

But who knows, maybe I’ll revisit this essay in a few years with a different story.

Photo by Luise and Nic on Unsplash

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