I'm Childless by Choice (and it's not because of Baby Alive)

I never had kids and I don’t regret it.

I don’t need to justify why either. No woman (or man) who makes this choice owes an explanation to anyone. Not even their parents.

But I want to give my experience a voice so that other women like me can also be seen and heard. Because choosing a sovereign path in a world that romanticizes, and sometimes culturally expects, motherhood is worth acknowledging. ❤️

The life any one of us has today—whatever we have and don’t have—is rooted in the past. I’m no different.

I had emotionally immature parents who had unprocessed pain. They showed frustration and anger not affection and sweetness for each other, and sometimes with us kids. I never knew if they’d give me their attention when asked or if I would be dismissed, if my feelings would be welcome or invalidated, or if I would be punished and sent to my room for not behaving as expected. When I was 10, they divorced. As a young child, this is the model of love, relationship, and parenting I was shown.

As the oldest of 3 kids with a now-working single mom, eventually there came a time in my early teens when I became an after-school caretaker to my siblings while also being placed in the middle of my parents’ arguments.

My father also used to tease my growing, but already large, feet when I was a young teen. He called them ‘love boats’ while singing the TV show’s theme song and I always ended up in tears. So one day, when I heard my mom mention that her feet grew with pregnancy and never went back to their original size, I filed that nugget of info away.

So I remember the day; the day I knew without a doubt. I can’t recall the circumstances, but inside, I was angry with my parents. Fuming, actually. I was walking (presumably away from them) and said under my breath, “I’m never having fucking kids.” It was crystal clear I would break the cycle.

Whether or not that was driven by anger, I never felt the internal call to be a mother. I didn’t dream of it as a young girl, pretending to be a parent to Baby Alive, feeding it fake food so it could poop, and practicing changing diapers at age 5. That idea terrified me. But my sister loved it.

Barbie, however, was a different story. I had a few Barbie dolls, even Growing Up Skipper who grew boobs when you rotated her arm. In the privacy of my bedroom, I used to daydream of having Barbie’s pretty dresses and coats, a reason to wear a bra, and nothing better to do than to select outfits with matching shoes to go pick up Midge or Ken in a convertible car.

Despite all this, the only time I ever entertained the romanticism of motherhood was in my late 30s when I was dating my now ex-husband. Our relationship was maybe 3 years old, and while enjoying a night together at home, we began batting around the idea of children.

Because of course we’re in love and this is what two people who are in love are supposed to do at our age.

We talked and talked and talked about it. We had names picked out. We made lists and discussed how we would make it all work. And then we captured it on a large post-it and stuck in it the closet where it gathered dust. (Yeah, I still can’t believe that, too.)

Because when push came to shove, neither one of us ever truly had that calling, and even if one of us did want a kid, given the state of the world, we couldn’t find a way to justify bringing a child into it.

Climate change.

Water supply.

Food supply.

Population vs. resources.

We talked about it all.

Looking back, as potentially older parents, neither one of us wanted to carry an emotional burden of knowing that would be the kind of world we’d be leaving them in after we passed.

I’m menopausal now, and have never looked back wishing I had a kid. I also don’t look ahead 20 years and say, ‘Who will take care of me?’ Adult children don’t owe their parents anything simply because they are their parents. One can raise the most amazing kid and still end up estranged in adulthood.

Because I’ve chosen being childless, I am gifted with a level of personal freedom that is ripe for creativity, exploration, and opportunity. But I didn’t understand that when I was much younger. I was too busy living out the impact of my trauma.

So at midlife, I no longer waste that opportunity but seek out possibility.

Because now that I’ve invested in learning how to love myself, I’ve broken free from my shame that had been holding me back in life. I’m deliberately stepping into new experiences, making bolder, sovereign decisions that I feel at ease with, and growing in unimaginable ways.

I devote time and energy to what matters most to me - my relationship with myself, my healing, my business, my romantic relationship, my friendships. I am defining a life that is purely mine, void of other’s expectations. I went from an unfulfilling job to starting my own business. I had an intuitive hit to go live in Mexico, listened to it, and 3 months later began what is now a year and a half adventure. Age means nothing to me.

The way I feel as a midlife, menopausal, kid-free woman in this world—confident, self-assured, at peace with who I am—is beyond anything I could have ever imagined for myself back when I played with Barbies. And I love being who I am now, and spreading the felt-experience of ease to those around me. (This is called co-regulation.)

Because there are countless people in this world asleep to who they are and the impact of their traumas, anxious, operating in survival mode, unconsciously enmeshed in toxic dynamics, disconnected from themselves and sometimes others, who have kids. And they unknowingly pass their shit down to their children, who develop maladaptive coping behaviors. This is what intergenerational trauma is.

At the root, this why I chose not to have kids. (It’s not Baby Alive.)

What about you? Comment below if this resonates - even if you have children!