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For the record, even as I write this, I still struggle to say out loud that I don’t want to have children, or don’t want to be a parent, or I’ve decided not to have children. Each of those statements feel final in a way I’m not ready for — even if, internally, they feel truer with each passing year.
I can’t place the exact moment, but sometime around that walk by the lake, when the seed was first planted that motherhood wasn’t inevitable, I casually mentioned to my mother,
“I don’t think I want to have kids.”
Her response is likely what has now made it so hard for me to utter those words, even if I feel them very strongly with more conviction then I did 8 to 10 years ago.
So for a little bit of background, I come from a West African immigrant family, for which children are a blessing from God and a woman’s life purpose. My parents are still married, and I watched my mother be a very traditional homemaker, despite also working two jobs for most of my life.
Growing up, one of the things she would say to my sister and I, loosely translates to “meat and potatoes don’t get a Will.” Her meaning was clear: Marriage offers no guarantees and entitles you to nothing, but a child is your security. The advice is rooted in love and protection, reminding her daughters that as women, no matter how much cooking and cleaning you do, you are not protected or entitled to anything should the marriage fail, or when your husband comes to pass, and so having a child is the only way for you to protect your future.
Keep in mind that my mother was born in the 50s, in a developing nation, and has limited post-secondary education.
Furthermore, if you ask my mother, you have children, so you have someone to care for you in your later years. It is a binding social and moral contract where you sacrifice yourself and pour into your children and when the time comes, they will do the same for you.
So as you can imagine, when I casually shared that I might not be interested in having children, the response was an immediate and direct, “Do not say that! Children are a blessing, and you should be grateful to have them.”
Needless to say, I did not push back, I did not argue, but I simply internalized that my decision was countercultural, it was not to be accepted, and I should really never utter those words again.
So as you can imagine, I still struggle to say the words out loud. Partly because I’m not always certain how fully true they are, and partly because the first time I said them, they were met with shame. Even now, I share this possible truth with only a small and trusted circle: my husband, my sister, my closest friends, and my therapist.
I’ve realized I can only share this truth with people who make space for it, so I pay close attention to who I trust and who responds with care rather than criticism.
Reflection:
- When was the first time you shared with someone that you were considering not having children? How did they respond?
- Did their reaction shape your ability to speak about it again?
- Whose approval — or disapproval — has influenced how openly you express your uncertainty or decision?
