Will I regret not having children?

A couple of years ago I had a fertility test. I went to a fancy clinic off Harley Street when a balloon was blown up inside me and a photograph taken of my insides. I don’t think that’s an accurate description of what happened – but that’s what it felt like. It was something called a Saline Infusion Scan, where salt-water was inserted in me and my uterus examined.   

I was turning 40 and I was in a limbo of indecision about motherhood. 

I was single but by that point, almost all of my close friends had either had babies or were going down the egg-freezing solo IVF route. I was the only one in my circle who didn’t seem that bothered... and I wondered why. 

When I was in my mid-thirties, an older friend told me that I'd wake up at 40 and it would feel like a bomb had exploded; I would just want children. 

It didn't happen. 

I kept waiting, but there was no bomb.  

And so, I figured I would find out what the situation was, fertility wise. After years of working, drinking and stressing, I expected to be told that my chances of having a child were slim. I imagined that I’d walk out of the clinic feeling heartbroken as the full weight of a lost life crashed down on me – but at least I’d know that the ship had sailed and I could draw a line under the children thing. 

It didn’t happen that way. After the painful and invasive examination done by a young Portuguese doctor with cold piano fingers, I went to see a consultant who sat behind his expensive mahogany desk and talked about follicles and hormones. It meant nothing to me. The upshot was that it appeared that I was unusually fertile for a woman my age. 

At first, I felt proud. Like a ‘real woman’ - whatever the hell that means. But then just as quickly, I thought: ‘What a waste.' I had all this working equipment and no desire to use it. I thought of friends who would have liked to be given this news. It didn’t seem fair. 

My reaction told me what I needed to know and since then I have been much more at peace about my childfree-life.   

When people tell me that I’d make a great mother, I agree. I think that if it happened, I would give my all to be the best mum I could. But it would be my all. 

I am genuinely awe-struck by my friends who raise children, tend their relationships, build businesses – all on five broken hours of sleep. I think they are extraordinary. 

I am not built like that. I sleep a good eight hours a night and still get every cold going. As an overthinking, up-and-down type who cannot spend too much time in the company of others without getting exhausted, I believe a baby would wipe me out entirely. 

As for the rigors of domesticity, anyone who has been in my flat can tell you it’s not my strength. 

But while these might be explanations, I don’t even think they are the reasons why I don’t want children. I’m not sure there is a reason - it’s just not a desire that I have.    

Maybe it would have been different if I’d fallen in love. Maybe then I would have wanted my partner’s child. But maybe not. Maybe I avoided committed relationships because I knew deep down that I was not made for family life. 

That said, it can feel lonely to not be doing this thing that most of my peers are doing. I have felt like the teenager of the group, the kind of female equivalent of those middle-aged men who still ride skateboards.   

The freedom I have, and have always craved, can, if I’m not careful, feel like emptiness and aimlessness. 

But even with all that, I would not change my situation. 

Most days I believe I am leading the life I am meant to lead. A life that suits me.

I believe that the aunty role is an important one. I am dubbed ‘second mum’ to my best friend’s boy whose photos I show to people as if he is my own. And if anything happened to my friends, I would look after their children in a heartbeat. I really would. And I can imagine it would be the most rewarding thing in my life. 

And still, I don’t want my own.  

Will I wake up at 50 and wish I had children? Maybe. Will I hit old age and see how much I missed out on? Possibly. 

But also, possibly not.  

I put up a Facebook post about this topic this weekend. As I write this, there are 222 comments on the question of motherhood. They are honest and thoughtful, and moving. 

Some women, like me, waited for an urge that never came and have come to realise that they can channel their maternal instincts into the world, rather than their own children. Some talked about being accused of being selfish for not having children and feeling like they cannot say out loud that they do not want children for fear it would offend people. One woman even started telling people she couldn’t have children because she got so fed up of having to justify herself. For some, waiting for the maternal urge to kick in is like living in limbo. The not-knowing is a head-wreck. 

Others would have loved to be a mother and for different reasons, it did not happen. Some have been able to find peace and acceptance but for others, that is still a source of heartache. One said that she felt the power of motherhood had been undersold by the feminist books she’d read. Having a baby has given her the deepest joy and meaning. 

Some mothers, in private messages, were generous enough to tell me that while they love their children, this is not for everyone. ‘I used to think that people who didn’t want children were infantile and selfish,’ said one. ‘Now I don’t. Having children is hard and nobody should do it unless they are sure.’ 

In a comment that sees both sides, Grania Haigh wrote: ‘I didn't want children. I was quite sure. I married my second husband at 40 and was pregnant within the month - much to my surprise. I miscarried and was surprised by how upset I was. It was all very puzzling. I had my daughter at 42 and my son at 43. (Naturally, no IVF or anything).  

‘I love them dearly and I'm so glad I had them. But I can see that life would have been easier, not to mention much less expensive, had I not. It is the same thing with being married. Neither marriage nor motherhood are better than single and childless. They are just different. So many, most in fact, of my friends my age (55) are single and childless. I envy them their freedom and independence sometimes. They envy me my house and family. It is all good and it is all difficult.’

I loved that: ‘It is all good and it is all difficult.’ 

One commenter asked if people who didn’t want to have children ever worried about depriving their parents of being grandparents. 

I called mum. She said that she’d like to be a grandmother but if that doesn’t happen, she is fine; her life is already full. We talked about her own mother, who had eight children but who, in another life, would have made a fantastic business woman. ‘Not everyone is meant to be a mother,’ she said. ‘Women didn’t always have a choice, now there are so many choices. Enjoy them.’ 

I will do my best. 

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 IN OTHER NEWS 

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THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU 

To Natalie Winterlich @nataliewinterlich for this newsletter header and illustration. Is it the height of vanity to get an illustration done of oneself? I think so and I recommend you all do it!! Natalie is very talented - check out her Insta.  

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BOOKS I’M READING 

Motherhood by Sheila Heti – I loved it. A novel about a woman deciding whether to have children or not. Articulates a lot of what I’ve felt. I love this line: ‘Whether I want kids is a secret I keep from myself.' A couple of my friends didn’t like it though, so it might be a Marmite book. 

Selfish, Shallow and Self-Absorbed – a book of essays from writers about their decision not to have children. I’m half way through and it’s excellent. 

To read: Beyond Motherhood, choosing a life without children, by Jeanne Safer – this was recommended to me.

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ARTICLES I’VE READ

I often have the thought: what’s it like to be a man? This article about male bodybuilding suggests that it can be quite hard.

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THINGS I’VE BOUGHT

Knee-high socks have changed my life. They haven’t really. Obviously. But they have kept my ankles warm. Normal-length socks always fell down and left exposed skin. Knee-high socks are the answer! I wish I’d thought of them years ago.

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THINGS I’M WATCHING 

Has anyone seen Ramy? It’s on Amazon and it’s about a young American Muslim man living in New Jersey. It’s rude and funny and I loved it but nobody I know has watched it.