I have never really examined why I have never been inclined to have children up until this current period in my life. My position often comes as a surprise to many. They seem to think that the mothering gene that has supposedly been engrained in all women has been yanked out of me. From simple conversations with friends to medical practitioners, I am constantly, gently, but sometimes overtly reminded of their natural expectation that I would have a child, eventually.
I remember once being denied access to the IUD form of contraception based solely on the fact that I didn’t have children. The doctor was stunned that it was my first choice and sent me home with a NuvaRing which up until this day still sits in my closet collecting dust. I was shocked at her even asking why and I didn’t have the words at the time to convey why this was the best method for me but realised too how relatively unheard of it was for women and particularly married women.
Suspicion over my non-inclination sometimes even has people concluding that it may be as a result of my own or my husband’s inability and that my position is just deep rooted in bitterness and glossed over with a cool girl, carefree appearance.
Based on my life experiences, I always felt that my parents found parenting burdensome. But perhaps they were confused as to how they should go about doing it, or they were continuously pressured by other societal factors which put a strain on developing the bonds. Either way, while they coped financially, childhood experiences taught me that while children bring a special joy, there should be a complete awareness of self before there is any intentional motivation to become a parent. Their attitudes influenced me to wholesomely interrogate feelings of certainty, to question my personal desire and to be okay with myself for saying “not yet”.
Another deep seated reason for not being sure is the fact that I feel as if I am playing catch up with my happiness for years I missed out on. For the past five years I could say I have been authentically happy and satisfied. So much so that this level of comfort often makes me scared of losing it and even think that perhaps the change will not be what I hoped it to be. While I know this is my anxiety talking and my OCD shouting over it, I can’t argue that life really feels comfortable and joyous like this too.
To air such views makes me seem like a villain, but the freedom to choose and the desire to debate one’s needs has always been met with considerable suspicion and non-support, as opposed to those who decide overnight with little to no planning, and it shouldn’t be. In fact, conversations around the reality of all our choices should be encouraged, so we could make healthier and smarter decisions for our varying life experiences, desires and realities.
