No Explanation Required

Growing up I believed I would be a mother someday. I played “house” and took care of my dolls, I babysat and changed diapers, I liked babies.

But what is the real reason I thought I’d be a mother? The real reason is because that is what society told me. Overtly or covertly, deliberately or not-so-deliberately, at seemingly every turn the message was that if you were a woman, you would be a mother – the identities were intertwined.

To be fair, most women are mothers, but does that mean motherhood is just assumed? Isn’t it a choice?

I was 24 years old when I got married - young enough that I had plenty of time to figure out motherhood. But that did not stop people from immediately asking me when my husband and I were going to have kids. A quick, “We just want to enjoy married life for a little while” sufficed for only so long. Over the next few years it felt like that was all people asked us.

In my late 20’s I was finishing up my bachelor’s degree while working full time. So now, when people asked, I said something about finishing school first. Again, that sufficed for a time.

At 30, I started feeling pressure to explain myself. That never ended well. If I was honest, and told someone I wasn’t sure how I felt, most of the time they would set about trying to convince me that it’s the best thing I could ever do. I had one person, one time, tell me they regretted having a child. Their honesty was refreshing.

By the time I was 32 the topic was really weighing on my mind. I should have children, right? I am young, healthy, happily married, financially secure. So, why am I not doing it?

Because my rationalizations were strong, that’s why. What is it that Jeff Goldblum’s character Michael said in “The Big Chill?” “Don’t knock rationalization; where would we be without it? I don’t know anyone who could get through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations.”

This worked until the day I got called out on my rationalizations by none other than my doctor. I was at my annual appointment when he asked if I was planning to start a family anytime soon (arguably, by the way, the only person for whom it is appropriate to be asking this.)

I said, “No, not now. Maybe in 2 or 3 years.”

As I said this he flipped back the pages of my medical chart – one year, two years, five years – he smiled at me and gently pointed out this had been my answer every time he had ever asked me.

And I knew it was true. Two to three years was my safe distance. It was close enough to satisfy people who said I should have a child, but far enough away that I didn’t have to actually be doing anything about it.

After that appointment I knew I had to get real about how I felt. I was the type of person who set their mind to something and did it. I got my education, I went after scholarships, I went for job promotions, I got married. I was a go-getter, I was succeeding at life. So why was I taking the sloth’s path to motherhood?

The reason, it turned out, was because I didn’t want to be a mother, and I couldn’t square this with the “should’s” and “supposed to’s” in my head. I didn’t want to have children. I didn’t want to be a parent. I had avoided acknowledging this, and I had most certainly avoided saying it, because I knew it was not how I was “supposed” to feel. And the dissonance that was once just a flicker of anxiety in the back of my mind was now becoming full blown stress.

I sat down with my husband and told him how I felt. We had talked about this over the years, and had both been fairly ambivalent about having children. That was both a blessing and a curse, because while it removed any pressure to take action, if either one of us had felt strongly about it we probably would have swayed the other by now.

Together, though, we realized that neither of us wanted to have children, that neither of us wanted to be parents. The relief I felt at this decision can’t be overstated. I could physically feel the weight come off my shoulders. I felt the anxiety that had been simmering since the day we got married melt away. I knew, I had no doubt, that we were making the right decision.

Of course, having conviction in your choices does not stop the questioners from questioning. Throughout my 30’s and 40’s I got asked frequently if I was going to have children. For a long time I continued to explain myself, but this just opened the door for commentary on my choice: “‘Oh, you might change your mind someday, ‘Well, it’s not something you have to decide now,’ ‘You still have time.’”

It took awhile, but I finally learned to just answer “No.” No explanation, no justification, no narration. Just “No.”

Nowadays I might get asked if I have kids, but I never get asked anymore if I’m going to. Such is the grace that comes with time and age. But if you’re struggling with this decision, or with anyone questioning your choices, just remember that they’re yours to make, no explanation required.